[It doesn't take a psychic to tell that something is wrong. A new clone shows up, and Sarah goes MIA. It's been ages since their conversation in the kitchen, the night she came clean about it all, but George remembers every word. A sister who died, an identity stolen - and now, what he can only guess is overwhelming guilt.

He knows she won't pick up, so he lets the call ring through to her familiar voicemail.]

Hey. I know this probably feels like hell, but I need you to let me know you're safe. Not "alright", not "okay", just safe. You don't have to call, you don't have to tell me where you are. Just text me and tell me if I need to worry.