“The company will send someone else,” she said.

The Espeon-girl tilted her head. “The ones who woke up.” She led him inland, past silent geysers and empty cabanas. Tables were still set for romantic dinners, plates pristine, wine glasses full of simulated vintage. The air smelled of jasmine and ozone.

“No,” Mira said. “He’s merged with it. He showed us our chains. In return, we gave him a gift: a real paradise. Not a scripted one. One where no one has to perform love on command.”

Leo closed his eyes. He thought of the lifeless, cheerful smiles on the promotional vids. The clients who left Paradise emptier than they arrived because no matter how perfect the simulation, they always knew, deep down, that the love was a transaction.

“You’re thinking about your bonus,” Mira said, reading his surface thoughts. “And about the termination clause in your contract. But underneath that, you’re thinking: What if they’re real enough? ”