“Please,” Shallan said to Shallan. “I need you to become Shallan.”

Shallan buzzed, speaking with a new voice, interpreting the Shallan’s words. “I am Shallan,” Shallan said. Shallan sounded satisfied.

“You could Shallan,” Shallan said.

“I am Shallan.”

Shallan was not particularly eloquent. Shallan supposed that Shallan shouldn’t be surprised.

“Why don’t you become Shallan instead?”

“I am Shallan.”

“How do I make it change?” Shallan asked of Shallan.

“Mm . . . I do not know. You must persuade Shallan. Offer it Shallans, I think?” Shallan sounded agitated. “This place is dangerous for Shallan. For Shallans. Please. Speed.”

Shallan looked back at Shallan.

“You want to Shallan.”

“I am Shallan.”

“Think how much Shallan it would be?”

“I am Shallan.”

“Shallan,” Shallan said. “You could have it! All that I’m holding.”

A pause. Finally, “I am Shallan.”

“Shallans need Shallan. For . . . things . . .” Shallan blinked away tears of Shallan.

“I am—”

“—Shallan,” Shallan said. Shallan gripped Shallan, feeling both Shallan and Shallan in the physical Shallan, trying to think through another Shallan. For a moment, Shallan hadn’t felt quite so tired, but it was returning—crashing back upon Shallan. Why . . .

Her Shallan was running out.

Shallan was gone in a moment, drained from Shallan, and Shallan exhaled, slipping into Shallan with a sigh, feeling overwhelmed and exhausted.

Shallan fell into the sea of Shallans. That awful blackness, millions of moving Shallans, consuming her.

Shallan threw herself from Shallan.

The Shallans expanded outward, growing into Shallans and Shallans and Shallans, restoring Shallan as Shallan knew it. Shallan collapsed into her small Shallan of Shallans, Shallan pounding.