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Dr. Shannon takes a flashlight out of her pocket. Sonya knows this ritual, too. She sits up straighter as Dr. Shannon shines the light into her right eye to look at the Insight.

“Many people in the Aperture are on medication to help them stabilize their moods,” Dr. Shannon says. “Your lot in life is difficult, and you should have the tools to manage it.”

Sonya unrolls her sleeves.

“You know what might help us all manage it?” Sonya says. “Fresh produce. More than one set of sheets. Some way to pass the time that isn’t kicking a half-deflated soccer ball around on some asphalt.”

Dr. Shannon sighs.

“Unfortunately, I am not authorized to offer any of those things. Medication, however...”

“Do I seem like I have unstable moods to you?” Sonya says.

“No,” Dr. Shannon replies. “You are very much under control, Ms. Kantor, and you always have been.”

Sonya puts her cardigan back on.

“Then what’s the problem?” she says, and she stands to leave.

Three

He’s back.

Standing in her kitchen with a glass of water in hand, which means he went through her cupboard to find it. His big hand outstretched to touch the thyme growing behind the sink, in the patch of light that comes in from the emergency stairwell. He’s wearing a chain around his neck. At the end of it, a ring with a purple stone that she recognizes as his mother’s.

When he sees her looking at it, he tucks it under his T-shirt collar.

“I think I made myself perfectly clear,” she says. “You’re not welcome here. Which means you’re also not welcome to rifle through my things.”

She leaves the door open behind her.

“Not much to rifle through,” he says. “But if I needed a bunch of old fraying wires, you’re the first person I’d come to.”

She looks at her row of wooden crates, like a garden path leading to her bed. She has a collection of things, just like Graham Carter. A crate for tools—even old, rusty ones have their uses—and one for wires; one for nails and screws of all sizes and shapes; one for bits of things, plugs and jacks, small speakers with no boxes, antennae, switches, and splice caps. And on a low table near the bed, her soldering iron, one of the greatest finds of the last decade.

“They must be pretty desperate if they’re relying on you for techsupport,” he says. “Before the Delegation fell, you couldn’t even hang a picture frame.”

“Before the Delegation fell, you hadn’t betrayed your entire family,” she says. “Things change.”

His jaw works like he’s chewing on something. He sets the glass down on the kitchen counter and takes a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

“I’m here to give you another chance at earning your freedom,” he says.

It’s only the memory of Nikhil’s worn face that keeps her from telling him to go fuck himself.

“There’s a girl,” he says. “She was an illegal second child under the Delegation. Illegal second children were, when discovered, removed from their birth families and placed with upstanding members of the community who couldn’t have a child of their own.”

His voice sours at that.It’s for the good of us all,Sonya thinks automatically, one of the Delegation’s key phrases. Replying to him with that phrase would have earned her at least thirty DesCoin. Enough for lunch at Al’s—closed now, of course.

He continues: “The Delegation was in power for thirty years, so unfortunately not everyone can experience any restoration. But we’ve been locating the children who are still minors now, and so far, we have returned all but one to their birth parents. This girl is the last one. She was three years old when she was taken from her parents, but we can’t figure out where she was placed. The others, we just matched the parents’ account with the adoption records. We put pictures of Grace in all the newspapers, asking for information, but no one has come forward with any. It’s very strange.”

He unfolds the paper as he speaks. He handles it with careful fingers, as if it’s tissue and might rip at the slightest pressure.

“Our offer is simple,” he says. “Find her—or find out what happened to her—and earn your ticket out of here.”

Sonya gestures widely to encompass the apartment. “You may have noticed I’m a prisoner here. Not exactly in a good position to find anyone.”

“You will be given a pass to move in and out of the Aperture while you conduct your investigation,” he says. “We will monitor you, of course, via your Insight.”