My leg was shaking.

Because of this, it hadn't taken long to realise that my footwear choice – the pair of heeled ankle boots my mum had bought specially for the occasion – had been misguided. They were much too obvious. Every so often I'd notice the tap-tap-tap on the wooden floor, remember with a start that my nerves were showing, and stop – except this only lasted until my mind started wandering again.

Waiting outside the UNL admissions office, it was safe to say I'd had calmer moments.

The receptionist had left me alone in the waiting room: a bare box decorated only by a houseplant and the world's stiffest sofa. The exit seemed like a gesture for my nerves, but in reality, it just made my shallow breathing all the more obvious. Sitting here, there was too much space to break the poised façade I was fighting to maintain.

I couldn't stop twisting the ring on my index finger; the motion of the circling gold cross was inexplicably soothing. Though I wore it all the time, the habit of fiddling only appeared when I was nervous. For that reason, it was kind of a wonder I hadn't snapped it clean in half in the last twenty minutes.

Only two years ago I'd inherited it – and even then, not officially. It belonged to Nova before she went missing, back when it was odd to see any of her fingers bare, and I spent most of my time begging to try her rings on. I didn't care much for history, but the gold cross was some kind of old religious symbol. Nova had tried to explain it to me a few times; she was a complete nerd for that stuff, always reading up on weird old beliefs about Gods and commandments and prayers. In fact, she loved it so much she even got the same cross tattooed on the back of her neck when she was seventeen. My parents didn't know about that one.

It was weird that, with Nova gone, the ring hadn't followed her. But on that night when blue lights had been flashing outside my window, and I'd woken up to my parents screaming my sister's name after a speeding car, it had sat on the hallway carpet like some kind of sign.

The irrational side of me once wondered if it held some kind of clue, like keeping it would eventually lead me back to Nova. But after studying it for the best part of two years, I'd had to reach the crushing conclusion that it was just what it looked like: an old piece of jewellery.

The door opened then, and my head snapped up, meeting the gaze of the pale-faced receptionist who'd first left me here.

"The interviewer is ready for you," she said. "If you'd like to come with me."

I rose from my seat. My legs felt unsteady beneath me; I still hadn't got the shaking under control. There was no logical reason to feel so terrified about what I was one hundred per cent prepared for, but my body wouldn't listen to rational thought. Smoothing down my pressed skirt, I followed her into the hall.

I thought I knew the way. Orla had described everything about her interview in painstaking detail when she'd returned last week, gushing about how well it had turned out. The admissions office was at the end of the corridor, overlooking the campus' main courtyard. But just as we were approaching the door, the receptionist made another turn and headed down a separate hallway.

Perhaps she was new on the job? This wasn't the place I'd heard about from any of my other classmates, who'd discussed nothing but interviews for a month straight. And I couldn't resist asking.

"Are you sure this is the right room?" I began tentatively. "Only, I thought the office was back there..."

We'd come to a halt in front of another door. The plaque read J.D. Nielsen – not the name of the admissions tutor my mum had spent the last two weeks prepping me to meet. I hadn't even heard the name before.

"Oh, it is," the receptionist said. "We're doubling up on interviews this week. Dr Nielsen is taking the second group."

My heart was pounding louder now, and I wanted to tell her that I didn't mind waiting, but a phone had already started ringing somewhere down the corridor. She was brushing past me before I could get a word out. "Just knock for her, okay? I have to take this."

With that, her retreating figure disappeared down the hall. As my gaze returned to the plaque, it occurred to me that the door was all that stood between me and the interview I'd been anticipating for years. Whether I liked it or not, the next twenty minutes would determine my future. And they were now in the hands of a total stranger.

My knocks came out feebler than I intended, and for a couple of seconds I wondered if Dr Nielsen had heard them at all. However, just as I was about to try again, I heard the voice from inside.

"Come in."

Taking a deep breath, I went for the handle. The office was smaller than I imagined – much more claustrophobic than anything Orla or Verity had described. Dr Nielsen sat behind a glass desk, which was empty save for a single photo frame, angled just the right way to stop me looking. She was a very pale woman, with a kind of Nordic look about her: blonde hair, scraped to the back of her head, looked almost white, which matched skin that could've been crafted out of paper.

I expected her to stand to greet me, but she didn't move, instead staring at me unsettlingly as I closed the door. Only once the silence got too much to bear did she break it.

"Astrid Oxford."

I swallowed over the lump in my throat, daring to step forward, even though it seemed to go against every instinct I had. "Yes," I said. "That's me."

I waited for her to introduce herself, but she didn't, simply gesturing for me to take the seat in front of her. Though facing each other head-on was pretty much the last thing I wanted to do, I didn't really have a lot of choice. So I sat down.

There was nothing in front of her, which came as another surprise. At least five other classmates had told me of the way they'd had their applications and essays scrutinised right in front of them. Had this woman already memorised my every word? Nowadays, it wasn't unthinkable, but she looked too old to be even a first-wave modification.

"Astrid Oxford," she said again, making me wonder if this was some kind of challenge in itself. "Daughter of Katherine Oxford, professor of Modern Humanity, by any chance?"

"Yes."

"Your father is Harrison Oxford, chief executive officer of Oxford Environmental, the company responsible for city-wide conversion of waste to renewable energy?"

So she'd done her research. "Yes."

"My, my." She was smiling, but total dissection wouldn't find any warmth among it. All I really wanted to do was shrink further back into my seat. "What an impressive family you come from. The pressure must really be on for you today."

How was I supposed to respond? Any word I had to offer was going to get torn to shreds regardless. "Well," I said, "they just want me to do my best."

"Of course." She nodded. "Tell me, Astrid: what area of study are you hoping to pursue at the university?"

At last. A question I was actually prepared to answer. "Modern Humanity."

"Following in your mother's footsteps?"

Now, at least, I had found a stronger voice. "I suppose so, yes."

"How much of that decision has been your own, and how much would you say has come from pressure from your mother?"

For a second, I just stared at her, wondering if I'd misheard. But the longer I spent in Dr Nielsen's company, the more I was starting to realise I had to prepare for anything. "None of it," I said, trying not to sound irritated. "She hasn't pressured me at all. It's what I want to study."

"Right." She couldn't have sounded less convinced if she tried, but at least she chose to move on. "Well, Modern Humanity. I'm sure you already know that's a popular subject among our applicants. You don't mind if I ask you a few questions, do you?"

About time, I couldn't help thinking.

"No, of course. Go ahead."

"I'm sure you've already covered a great deal at school. That much has been obvious from speaking to some of your classmates. So let's backtrack fifty years or so, hmm? Around the time of the global collapse. To what extent do you think Britain's role was pivotal in the uprising from said collapse?"

It was hard to mask my sigh of relief. Here was a question I could answer, without worrying about the reaction it might evoke from Dr Nielsen. Even a woman of her strange nature couldn't question fact. The entire page of the textbook was laid out in my head, the pages smoothed over; my photographic memory meant I had full ammunition of all there was to know.

"Well, the hunger crisis was responsible for most of the deaths during overpopulation," I told her. "After Britain became the hub for genetic research, it was Kristopher Holland and his team who were able to develop the long-sought-after process of DNA modification. A year later, once staple crops were altered and exported from the country, production of wheat and barley soared by over 400 per cent—"

But I was cut off. "Astrid. You're not answering my question."

I stared at her, confused. "Sorry? I thought you asked—"

"I didn't ask for something I could read in your school textbook," she said, as I felt my heart begin to pound once more. "All you're giving me is fact. What do you think?"

I hadn't moved, but it felt like she'd knocked me right out of my seat. The importance of eye contact had been drilled into me during every session of interview prep, but nobody had ever mentioned it might seem like she was seeing right through me. I could barely find any words to respond. "Well, I think that... without the scientific developments from this country... the hunger crisis might've... well, we might not have recovered as well..."

But Dr Nielsen was already shaking her head. "Another fact. Anybody with a basic knowledge of Modern Humanity could tell me that."

"I'm not sure what you—"

"Let me try something different." Without noticing, I'd gone back to twisting Nova's ring around my finger, and I realised this at the same time Dr Nielsen did. She studied it for a few seconds before looking back at me. "Are you a Christian?"

I almost did a double take. "No, of course not," I said, a little defensively. "Nobody's a Christian in this day and age."

"How about a Muslim? Sikh? Buddhist? Caodaist?"

I couldn't work out what she was getting at, which made it a lot harder to wipe the look of confusion from my face. Was this some kind of trick? "No," I said slowly. "I'm not religious. All of those faiths pretty much died out fifty years ago."

It wasn't like she didn't know this already. It was a fact of our society; nobody of the last two generations really knew anything different. You were more likely to come across a dodgy genetic lab than a church or mosque on the streets of New London. The concept of religion was foreign to all of us. It was only Nova's unusual interest that stopped me being completely clueless.

"Another fact." Dr Nielsen shook her head. "Fact, after fact, after fact. I want you to tell me what you think, Astrid. The abstract concept of an all-knowing, all-powerful being, watching over the world – how does that make you feel?"

I couldn't figure out what she wanted. Religion was never touched upon as anything more than an outdated concept at school; we didn't delve into details. I wasn't Nova, reading up about this stuff in my spare time. Ironically, though she'd had no desire to attend UNL in the slightest, she was the one who would've aced this interview.

She'd tried to explain it to me dozens of times, but I just didn't get it. The whole idea was ridiculous. It had already been proven that humans were in control; we could alter any aspect of biology we wanted. Not to mention there hadn't been much sign of a 'God' when the entire planet was collapsing under the weight of fifteen billion people.

Wasn't he supposed to intervene? For someone supposedly in control, the death of billions of people seemed like an odd thing to sit and watch.

"I don't know," I said eventually. "It's just... not true. You can't believe in something that's never been proven to exist."

"What about something that hasn't been proven not to exist?"

"Billions of people died," I said, the words coming out louder than I intended. "How can you believe in something that let that happen? If we hadn't stopped relying on somebody else and solved things for ourselves, none of us would even be here."

"And what if your faith is so strong that you can overlook that?"

I couldn't believe she was still pushing, not when her argument had already become unthinkable. "Then you're deluded," I said, before I could stop myself. "If you haven't cottoned on to the fact that we're on our own here, and we've got to do things for ourselves... well, then you're not going to get very far."

She was still looking at me, but her cold blue eyes said something I couldn't read. "That's a strong opinion for somebody wearing that kind of ring."

I wasn't sure why I suddenly felt so defensive, but I moved to cover it with my hand anyway. "It was my sister's," I said. "That's all."

"Was?"

We were broaching dangerous territory now; I had to be careful. But I couldn't resist defiantly holding her gaze. "Yeah. She's not here anymore."

I half expected an interrogation, but Dr Nielsen seemed to sense her cue to back off – for what had to be the first time since I'd walked into the room. "I see."

But as the silence settled once more, I began to come back to my senses, remembering exactly where I was. This was my interview, the one I'd been waiting months for. Even being plucked from the thousands of applicants to be invited here was an achievement in itself. There had been thirty minutes to determine the fate of my future... and this was how I'd fared.

Struggling to answer anything she'd given me. Fighting my corner with a bland opinion shared by most of the population. In that second, my heart plummeted to the bottom of my stomach.

"Look, I didn't mean to say all that—" I said, in a poor attempt at damage control, but I didn't make it to the end of my sentence.

"There's no need to apologise." It was supposed to sound reassuring – at least from anybody else – but nothing about Dr Nielsen's inflection made me feel any shade of better. "What's done is done."

Which was exactly what I was worried about.

"Can we perhaps go over a couple more questions?" I asked desperately. "I really think I need another chance to—"

"There won't be any need for that."

"But—"

"Astrid," she said, and it was at this point that I had enough sense to shut up. "There's really nothing else we need to discuss. The interview is over."

I sat in stunned silence as Dr Nielsen leaned back in her seat. She continued to study me, with the kind of expression that made me feel like I'd become her latest successful prey. The panic was rising inside me, but there was nothing to gain from protesting further – not with somebody like her. There weren't enough words in the English language to reverse the damage already done.

"The admissions office will be in touch with you soon," she told me. "You will receive the results once we've made our final decision. Please do not try to contact any members of the office for early information."

I was supposed to be gathering myself to leave, but every muscle in my body had been paralysed in fear. Everything I'd prepared for had come to an end in the blink of an eye. This was the moment for me to get up, leave the office and return to face everybody else. Orla and the rest of my classmate's elation couldn't have been further from the dread weighing me down. I had to go back to my friends, my peers, my parents with this. And my window of opportunity to change anything had long since closed.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Astrid," Dr Nielsen said, reaching across the table with an outstretched hand. When I finally managed to take it, her skin was ice cold to the touch, and I almost pulled back in surprise.

It was my cue to say the same thing, but after everything, the words refuse to leave me. The lump forming in my throat was pushing them too far down. Instead, I wrenched my hand from her grip and rose from my seat.

I could feel her icy gaze on my back as I turned around, sending a chill right down my spine.

Perhaps this was the reason for my excessive force on the door as I left, and why the deafening slam echoed all the way down the corridor.

---------------

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! This was actually a really fun one to write, and I'm happy with the way it turned out. The photo at the top of the chapter is how I imagine Nova's ring to look.

As always, the positive feedback I have received so far has been so encouraging. If you have absolutely anything to say, leave it below, and I'll love you for it.

- Leigh