Is that how I look? Sophie wondered. When I’m at my lowest, feeling most abandoned and hopeless?
Lux looked as wretched as Sophie felt. She wondered why. Then she caught on—if they had Lux, that meant they must have found Jim too.
“Well,” she said coldly, looking past Lux and her mother, to Strauss. “Did you shoot him?”
“Not quite. But presently,” Strauss replied. “Get up.”
“Why?”
“We have to tell Andreyev,” Moira said, her gaze vacant.
Sophie recalled what the consequences would be if Andreyev withdrew his funding of the Vitro Project: her mother deposed, the Vitros either exterminated or sold off. Sophie wasn’t sure which she would choose in their place. It seemed to her that living without control of your own will was hardly a step above not living at all. She would rather be shot than become an empty, voiceless vessel existing only as an extension of someone else. But that’s not a choice I can make for them, she thought. She knew, deep in her heart, that if the Vitros were killed by Corpus, written off as failures, some of the blame would fall on her. I never wanted any of this. She’d been played the whole time, led by the nose by Nicholas. But she couldn’t well shift blame on him—he was only trying to break free of the people who’d controlled and used him his entire life. She’d have done the same in his position.
Sophie stood and went to the door, her eyes drawn to Lux. Her mother handed her a sandwich wrapped in a paper towel, which she ate in five giant bites. They walked down the hall, toward the staircase leading up, and all the while Sophie summed up her twin, comparing herself to Lux from head to toe. Why you? She halted at the doorway to the stairs, letting Lux go first. Why did she keep you and not me?
She churned with a conflict of envy and relief. Lux was the daughter Moira had kept, while Sophie was the one she’d abandoned. On the other hand, Lux was the one she’d turned into a listless doll; at least Sophie had a will of her own even if, at times, it landed her in trouble. She knew she’d drawn the long straw between them.
They found Andreyev outside, where the afternoon was fading to evening—she’d been in the cell for nearly twentyfour hours, she realized with a shock; he was being looked after by two of his personal bodyguards and was hitting golf balls off the bluff and into the sea with a heavy driver. Several of his balls went wide and only narrowly missed smashing into the Corpus helicopter crouched off to the right; his bodyguards flinched whenever this happened. Dressed in a striped polo, khaki shorts, and an argyle tam, he looked like a harmless middle-aged tourist on vacation. But when he turned around and saw Sophie and Lux standing side by side and Moira’s and Strauss’s grim expressions, a dark look fell over his face that banished any such illusion.
“Let me explain,” said Strauss, but then she gave a short, bitter laugh. “Rather, let Moira explain.”
Moira did, succinctly. Andreyev listened without expression, looking down at his driver, which he swung absently at the grass. When Moira finished, Andreyev swung the club and Sophie flinched, thinking he was going to hit her mother with it, but he just propped it against his shoulder and turned a narrow eye on them all.
“A strange mess,” he said. “So my Lux has imprinted on this pilot instead of me. And where is he?”
Strauss cleared her throat. “He’s on the island. He has nowhere to run, so it’s only a matter of time before we bring him in.”
Andreyev nodded as if only half listening.
“We have other Vitros,” said Moira. “In just a few hours we can—”
“Is this atrocious disorganization indicative of all your projects, Victoria?” Andreyev asked, cutting Moira short as if she’d never spoken. “Or am I to lay all the blame on Dr. Crue here?”
Strauss and Moira exchanged challenging looks, as if each wanted the other to take the blame.
“Why don’t we go inside?” said Strauss. “We can discuss reparations in private.”
“Is there anything we can get you?” Moira asked. “Dinner? Coffee?”
Andreyev sighed and handed the club to one of the bodyguards. “Don’t try to coddle my goodwill, Dr. Crue. I am about finished with Skin Island and all of you.”
Strauss shot Moira a dark look. Sophie couldn’t take it any more; she stepped forward. “It’s my fault!” she said. “Stop blaming them—I was the one who got in the way. My mom has nothing to do with it.” Why she was standing up for her mother, Sophie had no idea—some lingering sense of filial duty? “But look at yourselves! Look at what you’re doing!” She took a step toward Andreyev and his guards closed around him menacingly, as if they expected her to throttle him. “This is wrong. Taking away people’s ability to choose their own lives, turning them into slaves—it’s abominable!” She nearly choked on the word, recognizing it as one of her father’s favorites.
“Sophie, stop this,” Moira said tightly. “None of this involves you.”
Andreyev’s gaze was fixed on Sophie, and the corners of his mouth sank lower and lower. He said nothing.
“There’s so much good you could be doing here, but instead of helping the world you choose only to help yourselves.” She wasn’t lecturing; she was pleading. She felt tears on her cheeks. Turning away from Andreyev, she went to Lux and took her hands, tingling with the eerie familiarity with which Lux’s fingers twined in her own. “You’re a person, Lux,” she said. “Your own person. You don’t have to listen to them. To any of us. Think, Lux. Think. Tell them what you want—tell them you want to be free.”
Hands grabbed at Sophie, pulling her away. Her mother dragged her away from Lux while Strauss closed her hands around Lux’s shoulders. Her twin’s eyes were serious, the blue of her irises almost gray, and restless as the sea.
“Get her under control or I will,” Strauss warned.
“Come inside, Sophie,” said her mother. “You’re not helping.”
“Mom, you have to see how wrong this is,” Sophie said, begging. She searched Moira’s eyes for some sign of regret, but Moira seemed more concerned with hushing her up than contemplating her life decisions. Sophie’s pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Strauss looked wrathful and Andreyev tired; Lux’s eyes were lowered, hidden behind the fringe of her pale lashes. Her brief flare of righteous anger fizzled into smoke, and Sophie let herself be led inside.
Her mother, Strauss, and Andreyev closeted themselves together in Moira’s cramped office while Lux and Sophie were put into Lux’s room. The door was locked from the outside and a guard took up station in the hallway. The girls were left alone with one another until, Sophie guessed, the adults worked out what was to be done about them. If Lux was useless to them, having imprinted on Jim, would they let her live? If they killed Jim, would her bond with him be broken? Would she be free or would she just imprint on someone else?
Sophie threw herself into a small wooden chair by the window, hooking one leg over the arm rest. Lux perched delicately on the edge of the bed and stared at her hands. Sophie watched her closely, wondering how deeply beneath the skin their similarities ran. If Lux was just a day old, she doubted they had much in common beyond appearance.
It was inappropriate and made no sense at all, but a small pang of jealousy struck Sophie in the chest when she looked at her twin. Of course she would never have wanted to be in Lux’s place, but at the same time . . . Was it because of Lux that Moira moved to Skin Island and gave up Sophie and her dad? It seemed a valid explanation. Her father must have rejected the idea of using Lux as a Vitro, and that’s why he left. If it hadn’t been for Lux, would her mother have left with them?
Sophie sensed there was something she was missing, some final, hidden stroke that would paint the complete picture of her life. Why did Moira Crue stay on Skin Island—and why did she allow such a terrible fate as imprinting to befall her own daughter, even if it was to save her life, as she’d claimed? No sooner did Sophie think she’d found all the answers than yet another question arose and shattered her illusion of truth.