It’s AI, it’s manipulated —”

“Did I manipulate my wrist too, Percival?”

I held up my phone: the photograph from the night he’d grabbed me in my apartment, the deep purple handprint on my skin.

“You were hysterical that night,” he stammered, his eyes flicking around the silent room.

“I’d never hurt you —”

“Yvaine probably heard that exact sentence,” I said.