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Jemma clenched her fist before relaxing the one on her injured arm, breathing until the pain faded. “Are they treating you all right?”
    “I mean, sort of. It depends on the day and the definition of ‘all right.’ They don’t beat me or anything. Um, hold on, Jasmine says she wants you to ask Dr. Harris where they last met. Is this some weird dating service? Seems like a lot of effort for a hookup.”
    Jemma sent a laugh before looking to Dr. Harris, miming writing. He frowned, then handed her a crayon and paper. Jemma held the crayon lightly, knowing from her meals that if she held something too tightly, it would hurt where Josh had insert the tracker. Jasmine wants you to verify where you last met.
    “My brother’s house,” typed Dr. Harris. Beside him, Josh waggled his eyebrows. Jemma looked back down at her paper while she responded to April.
    “Oh my God, she actually blushed,” sent April. “I didn’t think she could do that. She’s totally old, not like, I mean, no offense if you’re old, too, but I wasn’t expecting that.”
    They must not have given April the same information they’d given Jemma. “None taken, I think,” she sent. “I’m a lot closer to your age than to Dr. Harris’s, anyway.”
    “It’s time to stop communicating with her for right now,” typed Dr. Harris, and Jemma nodded, feeling the connection break on the other end, too. As when she Talked with the others, the connection hadn’t been obvious like it was when she Talked with Jack, and it cut out more quickly, too. “Now, I’d like you to try contacting this man.” He handed her another sheet of paper.
    Once more, Jemma studied it before trying to make contact. His name was Ben. He was from Illinois. He liked painting. He was 43. His photo looked like it had been taken from some sort of professional website or a business card. He wore a collared shirt, blue like his eyes. His hair was dark.
    “Hello.” Instead of the echo Jemma expected after her earlier success, she was met with stabbing pain. She clutched her forehead until she felt a careful hand on her arm. She looked up, brow still furrowed, to see Dr. Harris.
    “We won’t try contacting him again today. He’s telepathic, but he’s not been given the injection.” Jemma nodded, swallowing away the pain. Dr. Harris typed for several minutes, and Jemma’s pain faded as Jack’s connection grew into the place it belonged.
    “Jack,” she sent, smiling at the echo, ignoring the fact that though his connection still seemed to help, even with the drugs, contacting him at this distance through whatever barrier the labs had still hurt. She saw Dr. Harris shaking his head, but it seemed to be directed at the monitor, not at her.
    “Jemma.” Her name held a caress.
    “Jemma,” Dr. Harris typed, the repetition from the electronic speaker jarring, “the difference in your connection with Jack and your connection with April is astounding. Look.” He turned the monitor so she could see it, and Jemma shifted, grateful he seemed willing to share today. “You can clearly see the rise and fall of your conversation with April here, how when you aren’t actively sending or receiving, the background connection is nearly undetectable. It’s there, but barely.” He pointed at the activity line, just above the bottom of the relevant portion of the monitor. “When you’re communicating with Jack, though, it’s amazing.” Without his needing to move his finger to the newer sections of activity, Jemma could see the difference. She could see the two blips of activity from their brief exchange, and she could see their connection between, still ongoing, nearly as high as some of the actual exchanges between herself and April.
    “We want to extend that to a conversation between you and April,” Dr. Harris continued. “What we’re going to try is having the three of you communicate at once. You’ll initiate that. Then, when I let you know, you’ll continue focusing