The fluorescent lights of the R&D department hummed a flat, scientific note, a stark contrast to the brooding, almost gothic atmosphere of the main field office. Nathan stood awkwardly in a space that looked like a cross between a surgical theater and a Hollywood special effects workshop. Gleaming chrome tables held unidentifiable gadgets, and half-formed silicone faces stared blankly from mannequin heads.

Luke was already there, leaning against a table and examining a jar of what looked like liquid skin with mild distaste. He’d swapped his previous outfit for sleek black tactical pants and a tight grey t-shirt, looking more like a dancer than an FBI agent. He gave Nathan a slow, appraising glance.

“Nervous, newbie?” Luke asked, his voice a lazy drawl. “Don’t worry. The screaming usually stops after the first hour.”

Before Nathan could formulate a retort, the door hissed open and Kevin Copeland strode in, followed by a man in a pristine white lab coat. The specialist was thin, with wire-frame glasses and hair so short it was almost nonexistent. He moved with a quiet, precise energy.

“Summers, Copeland,” Kevin said, his tone all business. “This is Dr. Aris Thorne, head of Applied Disguise Technology. He’s the reason you won’t look like two idiots in wigs by tomorrow.”

Dr. Thorne offered a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “A pleasure. Let’s dispense with the theatrics and discuss the substrate of your new identities.” He gestured to two life-size holographic projections that flickered to life in the center of the room. One was Arabella Montclair, her features haughty and perfect. The other was a smiling, fresh-faced young woman with tousled brown hair and freckles. ‘Allison Reed, NYU Sophomore’ glowed beneath her image.

“The principle is advanced biodynamic replication,” Thorne began, tapping a tablet. “We performed full-spectrum body scans on Miss Montclair and, separately, on Miss Reed. The data isn’t just measurements; it’s pore structure, subcutaneous fat distribution, muscle tone at rest, the way light refracts off their particular skin. Our printers,” he nodded to two large, coffin-like units against the wall, “will synthesize a dermal sheath.”

“A what?” Nathan asked, his voice tight.

“A second skin,” Thorne clarified. “A full facial mask and necessary body prosthetics, constructed from a polymer that breathes, sweats, and even tans. It is attached with a medical-grade adhesive that lasts for seventy-two hours before requiring reapplication and cleansing. You will not ‘take …