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wearing her contacts. “ Listen to me. There is more to this. She’s in control. There’s a plan, Miranda. A plan. And I can’t stop her—”
“Why am I here? What do you want ?”
“Because she wants to use you. She brought you here. But she let her guard down and now I’m here and it’s really me. It wasn’t me before, please. Believe me.” Her next words are garbled from her crying. “I didn’t want him to die.”
I believe her. My left hand balls into a fist until a knuckle pops. Can I really hurt her when she’s Sequel? If what she says is true, she’s trapped inside. She’s a prisoner like me, but worse. I still own my body. If she drifts too close, it would be my responsibility to end her before she causes more damage.
“Did she kill Noah?” I say. “Was that Nina?”
“Yes...”
I visualize how we found Sequel on the operating table in Key Tower. She had scraps of memories from the previous Miranda, like me. Mrs. North must’ve put whatever North Iteration 9-A is inside of her then. Hidden the identity underneath Sequel. Then the DJ’s message activated it somehow, the same way Mrs. North recalled memories in me last summer. Mrs. North showed me the truth, that I wasn’t the Miranda everyone grew up with, but a replacement. A fake. Sequel is still holding the gun at her side.
“This thing she wants me to do. She wants me to gather something, or lead something, I don’t know. I don ’ t know. I can’t see much. But it’s bad. It’s really bad. She wants me to find the other creators and kill them. Then she wants to . . .”
“Stop,” I say. “She wants you to do it, or she’s taking over and doing it herself? Which is it?”
“It’s both . Sometimes we’re both in here and I can’t tell where I start and she ends.”
“What does she want you to do?”
She closes her eyes. Her hands curl into fists. “She’s coming.”
“Give me the gun.”
She considers the gun again, like she forgot she was holding it. My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear her. “She wants me to gather the eyeless. To open the way for them. To—to lead them. I don’t know what it means .”
I just stare at her, feeling how Noah’s dried blood is thicker in the creases of my palms. Rimmed under my fingernails and cuticles, like badly applied nail polish.
Save your words, I want to say. I don’t care. Leave me alone.
But part of me can’t help but listen.
Eyeless.
Open the way.
Lead them .
    Them, Mrs. North said in the memory. This is it. These are the monsters we’ve been waiting for. It has to be.
“What are the eyeless? Is it some kind of weapon? Sequel, look at me!”
She looks. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she keeps shaking her head. “No. No. No. Miranda.”
I push off the wall and stretch to the end of my chain, until it bites into my wrist. The cuff pulls the skin; the cut on my arm opens again. Warm blood rolls down my arm and inside the cuff.
“Give me the gun!”
She has something else attached to her hip. A key. She pries it off and holds it up, a gun in one hand and a key in the other. “I don’t want to die,” she says. “You’re going to kill me.”
“We can help you! We can. . . .” It’s a lie, and I know it. My hands are sticky with Noah’s blood. Noah is dead because of her. There will be no helping her. But if what she says is true, then Sequel is innocent. It’s the identity inside her that’s guilty.
Her eyes blink rapidly, then freeze. Looking right at me. Nina’s eyes. “I don’t need help,” she says.
Nina takes a step back and shakes her head. Her smooth face breaks again, crinkling. “Noah...” she whispers.
I wiggle my wrist inside the cuff. My blood has lubricated it, but it’s still too tight to slip my hand through. I fold my thumb across my palm and pull with everything in me, until my eyes see little white zooming stars.
I give up.
She drops the key. It bounces twice, ringing on the con- crete floor.
“I want to live,” she says quietly, as Sequel