Hi, guys! I bring you this chapter from Orlando International Airport, where I'm currently waiting for my (delayed) flight back to England. Over the last two weeks I've had the most incredible trip to Toronto and Florida, which partially explains my absence with this story. I've had a lot of trouble with this chapter but many hours spent travelling have at least forced me to work on it with few other distractions. Now I've overcome this main mental hurdle I'm hoping the rest of the story is going to flow a lot easier.

It's been a while, so here's a recap of the previous chapter:

Astrid was taken to the testing room for a DNA test, but a BioPlus lawyer arrived at exactly the right moment and presented a contract that got her out of the test. She was then taken to BioPlus HQ, where they told her that she was about to become the test subject for a new experimental drug: Dysintax.

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            I thought there would be at least time to prepare. But this, apparently, was a luxury we couldn't afford.

The drug name was barely out of Smith-Glover's mouth before he moved onto logistics, determined to have me cooped up in a BioPlus laboratory the following morning. It seemed unlikely even Max Snowdon would move that fast, but it didn't seem to be a risk we were willing to take. All that mattered was that BioNeutral would catch up with me eventually, and I had to be ready when they did.

After all, the consequences of the alternative were unthinkable.

My parents were oddly non-vocal about the entire decision, despite spending at least twenty minutes alone in Smith-Glover's office after arriving at the building. After an eerily quiet taxi journey home, they both disappeared into the study at the first opportunity, leaving me to it.

Apparently, being the guinea pig for an untested, unregulated BioPlus concoction was something I was supposed to handle alone.

Which didn't bother me – at least at first. Only once the scale of the surrounding uncertainty became obvious did I start to feel nervous, and by that point, it was already far too late.

The actual injection was fine. There was something comforting in the fact that I had no other option: that if I didn't accept the flow of neon green liquid through my bloodstream, it'd only earn me a permanent sentence somewhere beneath the streets of New London. Surrounded by a cluster of technicians in pristine white lab coats, I could at least gain some kind of sense that I was paving out an alternative route.

But then the side effects kicked in, and I realised my body was willing to go to any length to make sure I regretted my decision.

Nausea seeped in somewhere on the ride home, and by the time the car pulled up at the foot of our driveway, I was wrestling with the door to avoid emptying my stomach on the leather upholstery. The reflex was relentless, and I could barely stumble ten feet to the house between violent contractions of my abdominal muscles. I wasn't sure what Dysintax contained, but the sudden crippling effort to get rid of every trace was far from a reassuring sign.

I hoped time might bring some relief, but the night hours did little more than provide opportunity for the effects to worsen. On top of the sickness, the oscillating waves of blazing sweats and unbearable cold were just as debilitating. I'd go from ice to fire and back again in thirty seconds flat. The layers of sweat seemed to build on top of each other, and by the time sunlight started filtering through the bathroom blinds, I could've sworn they'd amounted several inches.

The twenty-four-hour mark seemed to hold some kind of significance. I wasn't sure how long I lay there, cheek pressed against the edge of the toilet bowl, before realising that the symptoms had disappeared. Though I'd been left with barely enough strength to lift my head, it seemed the worst was over.

And when the government officers showed up three days later, pounding on both the doors and windows like they were closing in on all angles, it seemed to work.

They claimed, once the vial of my blood was in their possession, that the results were not instant. But had there been a single molecule leaning toward the suggestion that I was modified, I was willing to bet the cuffs would've been fastened in seconds.

There was no word from them for three whole days. And as things currently stood, silence was the best outcome we could hope for.

"You've heard nothing? Nothing at all?"

The question came from Orla, cross-legged at the foot of my bed, staring at me with a kind of hope tinged by hesitance. An expression that seemed to put a face to everything I'd felt over the last few days.

I shook my head. "Not a whisper."

She'd showed up unannounced at the house that afternoon, plagued by curiosity since it wasn't safe for us to talk over the phone. Just pressing the speaker to my ear felt like Max Snowdon was breathing down my neck. Neither of us had dared to return to school after the incident at the results collection, and there were only so many solitary hours that could be spent cooped up inside our houses before we started going certifiably insane.

"That's exactly what happened with me," she said, shaking her head in mild disbelief. "I thought, you know, it might have something to do with my mum. Maybe she'd managed to cover something up. But obviously not."

"But it doesn't make sense," I continued. "They were fighting tooth and nail to lock us away just four days ago. And now suddenly they're giving up this easily?"

"It must've worked." The statement, calm and level, seemed to resonate right through me. Even meeting Orla's gaze sent an odd sense of uneasiness snaking its way up my body. "Maybe Dysintax was what we needed all along."

"It can't have," I protested, though I knew that every piece of evidence was pointing in the opposite direction. There was just something in me unwilling to believe that our problems were solved, just like that. "What does it even do?"

"It's supposed to hide the markers of modification."

"But what does that mean?"

"Well, I'm not an expert on the science behind it," Orla said, with a small shrug, "but I did try to press them for all the information they were willing to give. They say synthetic DNA has some kind of tag on it, something that doesn't quite fit against the background. From what I gather, Dysintax is supposed to remove the tag."

Her explanation was the best on offer, but I still couldn't quite wrap my head around the whole thing. The idea of markers – tiny molecular flags on every strand of borrowed DNA – seemed far too much of an abstract concept to consider as the workings of my body. It just couldn't be possible.

"And I guess that explains the side effects," Orla continued. "When something's trying to rip off part of your DNA, it's not really surprising that your body reacts less kindly."

"I guess." My hand absent-mindedly rose to my neck, brushing once against the hidden patch of skin beneath blonde curls. I didn't realise I was doing it until I noticed Orla watching me, her unspoken words concealed beneath an impassive expression. "I just don't think we should relax yet."

"No kidding." Orla looked like she was trying not to roll her eyes. "There's no chance of relaxing as long as Max Snowdon's still loose in society. Not to mention his robot of a son."

"You mean Jace?"

I said it without thinking, and only once Orla's gaze paused on me did I realise it had perhaps come out a little too fast.

"Yeah, who else? There's only one kid standing at those podiums, reading off the BioNeutral agenda like his dad's holding a gun to his head."

"I'm not sure he's much of a threat on his own," I said, though I wasn't sure if my statement could even convince myself. With everything that had happened, Jace Snowdon's motives were one thing that remained about as clear as New London smog before the global collapse. "Like you said, it seems like his dad is the main instigator here."

"Yeah, and anyone who shares those genes is definitely to be trusted," Orla said, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, Astrid, just because he's parroting all that's being fed to him doesn't mean he hasn't got a dangerous mind of his own."

I couldn't bring myself to say anything, instead sinking deeper into my own thoughts as I picked at a loose thread on the bedsheet. There was something about Orla's expression that gave the impression I'd already said too much, and the easiest way to avoid putting my foot in my mouth any further was to keep it shut in the first place.

Thankfully, this seemed to serve as her cue to continue. "So when are you planning on going back to KHA?" she asked. "I was hoping for next week, if things have calmed down from the results, but Mum seems determined to keep me out of that place for as long as possible."

"Oh," I said. Really, I should've been more prepared; the conversation with my friends had always been inevitable. Yet I found myself stalling anyway, swallowing over the words lodged in my throat. "About that... I kind of have something to tell you."

She froze, her gaze locked on mine without moving a muscle. "What?"

Both of us could sense what was coming, yet the suspense hung in the air anyway, a heavy atmosphere pushing down on everything. The pressure seemed to stop my lungs from expanding. "I'm not going back."

Even Orla wasn't capable of hiding the flash of surprise in her eyes. "Please tell me you're joking."

Resisting the urge to shift uncomfortably under her gaze, I swallowed. "I'm not."

"You're leaving?" she echoed disbelievingly. "After all this shit we've just gone through with Dysintax, you're going to go ahead and quit anyway?"

"It's supposed to be... safer."

"According to whom? Your parents?"

"Well, yeah," I said, thinking back to the conversation they'd forced me into just two days ago. My father had done most of the talking, leaving my mum to hover behind him, like she was leaving herself enough space in case she saw the flash of green in my eyes. "But it's not just them. I'm not sure it's a good idea to go back there either."

"They've taken the precautions," Orla said, but it came out sounding too clinical, lacking all the authenticity I was searching for. "You think Drew-Vaughn hasn't thought of that? She's scared out of her wits, just like the rest of them."

"I know."

"It's probably never been safer," she continued. "Since everything happened with Casey, security will have only gotten tighter. Nobody's getting in unless she wants them to."

"I still don't think it's a good idea."

"But what about UNL?" Orla pressed. "The admissions have been put on hold, and you're pretty much ditching your chances of getting in if you leave that school."

"This isn't about UNL anymore." The words came out snippier than I intended. It was like the pent up frustration, held in for so long without an outlet, was finally leaking out of me. "Don't you realise? This whole thing is so much bigger than getting admitted to university. Even if we did get in... there'd only be worse to come. Constant suspicion, random genetic testing... not always enough time to get hold of Dysintax. You really think our problems end with an acceptance letter?"

"I just..."

But even Orla was struggling to gather together her words, as if they were running water slipping through her fingers. When our eyes met once more, she stopped trying, and the quiet fell between us like a blanket.

"It's too much of a risk," I said eventually. "Just mentioning Eden Clarke's name at the collection put me on BioNeutral's radar. One negative test isn't going to convince them I'm innocent. And setting foot on that campus just feels like putting myself under a spotlight."

"So what are you going to do?"

I traced my finger absently along the seam of my bedsheet, suddenly finding it much easier to focus on than Orla's curious gaze. It was the first time I'd voiced the thought aloud: even in front of my parents, I'd lacked the confidence to share. They thought I was still mulling things over, totally unaware of the path already paved in my mind.

"I'm transferring," I said, "to Old Stratford."

For a moment, Orla just stared at me, like there was some kind of mismatch between the movement of my mouth and the words she was hearing. "As in the college?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Astrid..." When I looked up, the intensity of her gaze seemed to run right through me. There was a slight pause before she said anything else. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, it's just..." She trailed off, leaving part of me to wonder if she'd ever finish, before the second part of her sentence gave me my answer. "It's different to KHA, you know? The type of people that go there. Aren't you worried you're going to... stand out?"

"Not any more than I would if I stayed."

"But still..."

"Orla, I know, but it's not like I've got a lot of options." I didn't like to admit it, but her hesitance was unnerving me, and doubt was the last thing I needed in my mind when I was about to run headfirst into the decision. "I should never have mentioned Eden. But it happened, I can't take it back, and now I have to deal with the consequences."

She fell quiet for a moment. "I'm just worried about you."

"You don't need to be." I forced a smile. "I'll be fine."

"All the schools across the city have started imposing mandatory genetic testing," she said. "I heard Mum talking about it."

I shrugged. "Then I'll have to get hold of more Dysintax. It worked for us this time – why not again?"

But for this, Orla didn't seem to have an answer: she fell quiet, and her lack of words somehow seemed to resonate throughout the room. It wasn't that I was without all the doubts she was voicing – I was just doing everything I could to push them out of my head. The plan had plenty of flaws, entirely too many loopholes which held the potential for something to go wrong, but I didn't have a lot of other choices. Staying at KHA would put me right in the firing line of whatever was to come.

I didn't know what Old Stratford University College was like, since there had never been much opportunity for me to find out – not about it specifically, or any of the other schools across New London. The gates of the academy campus had always been firmly closed, keeping its collection of students very much away from the general population. We were a breeding ground for the genetically superior, cooped together like too much mediocrity might contaminate us.

But I was already scaling the fence, ready to jump right over to the other side.

"Just promise me you'll be careful," Orla said eventually, seeming to sense that nothing she could say would change my mind. And she was right. "Don't go running into any more trouble than you need to."

"Would I ever?"

The rise of her eyebrows was all the answer I needed. Then again, it wasn't like I could blame her; my track record wasn't exactly stellar, and with the trouble I'd landed her in recently, the least I could do was take a little accusation.

"I'll try," I said instead. "I just need to stay under the radar. And if I can find out any information about Eden Clarke while I'm at it, then that's a bonus..."

"Nothing I say is going to stop you thinking about that, is it?"

"It's important," I said. "I know it is. And if the information might help to figure out this mess... then it's got to be worth it."

When I looked at her, she was shaking her head slowly, eyes fixated on me like that might help her figure me out. "I really hope you're right."

"So do I," I said. "Because if I'm not... I have a feeling that we're all in trouble."

"Yeah." Her voice was quiet, almost to herself, and yet seemed to hold all the power of the loudest scream. "We definitely are."