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“Paigelynn isn’t in that kind of danger.”
“No signs of psychosis?”
“Not a single one.”
“Good. Watch out for it. When you break someone’s reality, it can cause serious downstream effects.”
A memory of Mira’s dead body makes it hard to breathe, police lights flashing in the background, my father screaming my name.
“No shit.”
“You’re going to have to feed her the truth in small bites. One good thing: she was taken in when she was twelve. She has memories of normalcy.”
“Yeah.”
“Some of them were much, much younger.”
Anger rushes through me as I finish my coffee. “We need to find them.”
“It’s harder. No trail. The ones who are older have records. Birth certificates. School attendance. Parents we can track. The newer ones…”
“Designed from birth to just be the closest thing to a clone as you can get.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“It’s ingenious,” I say, awe at the complexity and arrogance it takes to turn babies into products you carve up like a butcher overpowering my own disgust.
“In a sick way, yes.”
“It’s all sick.”
“And we need to stop it.”
On the screen, Paigelynn moves again, the sheet sliding off her chest, one creamy breast round and high as she rolls onto her side and nestles in. I smile at the image, memories shoved away, back into the box where they belong.
“We are stopping it, Debbie,” I say, my phone interrupted by another text. “We are.”
CHAPTERELEVEN
Paigelynn
I am on a throne.
My crown is heavy, so much weight my neck hurts. I struggle to balance it, but I cannot let it fall. That will make the world lose its orbit around the sun.
A chill runs along my skin. I am completely nude, my hair swept up in braids that pile around the crown, woven into it so it holds the heavy gold in place. Cool metal rubs against my ass, my thighs, the outer edges of my vulva, uncomfortable but necessary.
I breathe slowly. Carefully. Controlled. Discomfort is of no consequence.
I learn to ignore it.
Pain is necessary. The burden of ruling the world comes with sacrifices.
I am alone, in a large ice cave, the ceiling endless, the floor nothing but thick ice with shapes trapped in it, the surface shiny and reflective. Light, cold and blue, fills the space. My platform is metal, forged with thick curling majesty.
Each breath I take suspends time.
Each second I think captures millennia.
