Mira’s throat closed. “That’s not possible. Memory isn’t a hard drive.”

She hovered over the delete button.

The video-Mira’s eyes filled with tears. “You don’t. That’s the point. But you still have the USB drive. You still have tomorrow morning. And you still have this.”

“It is if you know which sectors to corrupt.” The other Mira held up her own hand. Her scar was gone. “I opened the file three hours ago. I’ve already forgotten why I’m scared. I’m recording this loop so the next me—the real me—won’t make the same mistake.”

She looked at her left thumb. The scar was still there.

“He said, ‘Take care of your sister. She’s more scared than you.’”

She couldn’t remember why she’d walked to the drawer.

She looked up. The other Mira was already mouthing the answer.