It didn't look like me.

The reflection was a lie, though I knew by all laws of physics it couldn't deceive me. My self-perception had been eighteen years in the making, and that wasn't a simple thing to alter. And yet the girl who stared back at me had to be something else... something other than Astrid Oxford.

Curls had disappeared. Blonde hair had been ironed into submission, dragged back into a knot that tugged at my scalp – though all this remained invisible under the black scarf draped over my head. Porcelain skin was no longer perfect, now dotted by a smattering of freckles that would run off with a splash of rain. Blue eyes had turned dull brown under coloured lenses, the change taken out of the spotlight by fake thick-framed glasses perched on my nose.

It wasn't a foolproof disguise – I didn't think those existed. But all I needed was to make it in the door, and that was the first hurdle cleared.

Alone in my bedroom, I shivered, despite the closed window and heating on full blast. The house had always seemed too big for one person, and emptiness swelled in the presence of a single heartbeat. Tonight was even worse. Mum and Dad had left twenty minutes ago, their goodbye a peek round my bedroom door as I sat cross-legged on the bed. They said they'd be back by eleven. They hadn't dreamt that, a short while later, I'd be pulling on an outfit of my own and following them right out of the door.

I hadn't been refused permission. I'd never asked to go with them, to walk through the campus gates under my mother's authority, to unknowingly rope both parents into what Jace and I were planning. They'd simply assumed it was better for me to stay home, and I hadn't disagreed.

It was easier to go alone. Having less people involved was always better. The more I tried to squeeze into the bullet hole Jace and I had created, the more likely the glass was to shatter.

Jace.

Where was he now? On campus, maybe – pacing nervously backstage? Considering jumping ship altogether? My hands itched for digital contact, wishing we could at least connect phones. Things would be much easier with the exchange of numbers, plans so much more easily aligned. And yet the bugging threat lingered in the air like a noxious gas. The consequences of somebody listening in were unthinkable, and a phone conversation wasn't worth the risk. For now, at least, we'd have to keep muddling through – hoping that our paths had now become so intertwined that they'd cross again soon enough.

One last look in the mirror, and I reached for the bag on my dresser. I couldn't risk taking a car, so public transport was the only option. This wasn't a total inconvenience. The UNL campus was on at least six different bus routes, and it'd be much easier to keep my head down there than in a cab. And yet as I slipped out of the front door, and the biting wind chill hit bare legs, it didn't seem so appealing. Making it to campus without freezing would be a miracle in itself.

The bus was almost empty, like it usually was at this time of day. I had to be grateful – it at least meant I could slip to the back, ducking my covered head while still keeping tabs on each person that boarded. Only several stops into the journey did I realise I didn't actually know what I was looking for. An off-duty police officer? A die-hard BioNeutral supporter dressed head-to-toe in green? Max Snowdon himself? The truth was any one of the New Londoners around me could be a threat, and I probably wouldn't realise until far too late. Perhaps, in this case, ignorance was bliss.

We came to a stop outside campus thirty minutes later, once we'd idled in inner city traffic for at least half the journey. The wind caught me as I stepped off the bus, and I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck, praying it'd hold. Outside the gates was the last place I needed an identity reveal. The place was crawling with security, and the heavy police presence made it harder to breathe than ever. Even outside, it felt like every guard and officer used up twice as much oxygen as normal, leaving the rest of us to fight for what little remained.

I didn't need a campus map to work out where the lecture was; the gradient of security presence led the way. I joined the crowd making slow progress up the entranceway steps, and tried to be thankful that the mass of people at least provided some warmth.

It was when I reached the top step that my breath started to hitch. I could see the doors, and the impenetrable barrier of security guards that separated them from me. Each one had their face obscured by a helmet, and they held scanners not unlike those I'd seen back at the academy. Before I had time to realise it, I was being ushered forward, right into the path of a guard who was probably looking down at me – if only I could tell from behind the helmet.

"Identification."

There came no please, no other word that might've indicated it was a request. I had to grasp that much from his body language: the way his outstretched hand looked like it'd linger for three seconds max before I was pushed to the back of the crowd. I scrambled for my bag, cold fingers struggling against the metal clasp, until I was able to locate the ID card slipped inside the inner pocket.

A real ID card. Panic ignited as it exchanged hands. Should I have gotten a fake one? It held no clue about my modification, of course, but that didn't mean I wasn't on some kind of blacklist. A single scan could set off all kinds of alarms. But before I had time to figure out an escape route, the scanner's light flashed green, and I was ushered through.

I was in.

Had it really been so easy? The cynical part of me remained unconvinced. Surely the lax door security was a sign of bad things to come – or maybe I had just got lucky, managing to slip under the radar. I couldn't question it. On a night like tonight, there wasn't time to look back. Each second I didn't spend moving onward was a risk I couldn't afford to take.

We'd made it into the lobby, the building's entrance, but it wasn't difficult to work out where I needed to go. The mass of people around me were all headed toward one door, marked clearly as Holland Lecture Theatre. I let myself get swept up with them, knowing it'd take more effort to resist.

So far, I'd managed to remain pretty calm – but once I made it through the theatre's doors, things started to get serious. The place was much dimmer than the lobby, rows of seats all plunged into darkness, but that did nothing to hide its sheer size. I'd seen UNL lecture theatres before – at my mother's events, and perched on the front row as an eager applicant – but none of them came close to this. It must've seated at least a thousand, row after row of chairs staggered on a steep incline up to the back of the room, all facing a huge stage. Three quarters were full already, and people continued to pile in behind me. Were so many really interested? Public lectures had never drawn in such crowds. Everything Mum had dragged me to in the past suddenly seemed like an amateur production.

A light touch to the back had me stumbling into motion; I'd come to a halt without realising and I was blocking the aisle. With only seconds to choose a seat, I went for one of the back rows, figuring the aisle would make for an easy getaway. I sunk into the chair and ducked my head as the rest of the audience settled in around me.

Scanning the rows below, I couldn't help looking for my parents. Not having an eye on them felt risky, but when all the room's lighting was directed toward the stage, it was difficult to make out anyone from the back of their head. I'd have to live with the hope that, wherever they were, they wouldn't turn around – or that my disguise could work wonders.

The lecture was scheduled for an eight p.m. start. Like with most events, I'd assumed this was a term used loosely, that they'd keep us waiting on the edge of our seats for at least another half hour. But the organisers of this event, it seemed, didn't have a second to spare. The clock had barely inched past eight when sudden music had my head jerking up, noticing a video was being projected on the back wall of the stage. A generic instrumental, overlaying changing shots of New London crowds, and the occasional glimpse of City Hall. Doctors huddled around a hospital bed. A teacher smiling before a classroom of eagerly waving hands. Workers stacking fruit and veg high on supermarket shelves. And then Max Snowdon, on a podium, raising a single hand to an adoring crowd.

The video finished after about a minute, a projection of the green BioNeutral logo appearing in its place, and suddenly the real Max Snowdon was before us.

"Good evening, New London," he said, and this was all it took for the room to burst into applause.

I joined in so as not to draw attention, though his four words were hardly worth such praise. It was the unconditional adoration that unnerved me: the fact that everybody in this room agreed with every word, even those that hadn't yet come out of his mouth. There was danger in this. A form of brainwashing, thinly veiled by the abstract notion of the greater good.

A few seconds, and the applause died down, freeing up space for the anticipation of what he had to say next.

"Thank you for joining me here tonight," he went on, "and continuing to show your support for an ever-growing cause. The unity that the people of this city have shown this year is inspirational to all. The rest of the country – perhaps even the world – can learn from us."

The rest of the country? I wanted to echo the words back to him, make somebody else realise how foreign they sounded. For as long as I could remember, New London had lived in its own isolated bubble, oblivious to anything that went on beyond city borders. There were other places out there, of course. I wasn't naïve enough to think we were alone. But the capital was the heart of the nation. Here we had the best education, the best healthcare, the best lives. News channels reported New London, and New London only. Outside talent flocked to us – and in doing so, forgot where it came from.

But Mr Snowdon's train of thought didn't linger.

"Tonight we reflect on all we have achieved so far," he said, the microphone's echo bouncing around the room. "We admire the strength and the courage of those who have already started fighting for the cause. We thank our sponsors for the funding that will change the world we live in. And we look to the future of the BioNeutral cause, where we will put order back into progress."

Two minutes in, and realisation was sinking in like a deflated balloon. I should've known. This was not a lecture on the ethics of genetic modification, the academic debate that its advertisement had promised. Anything headlined by Max Snowdon would not be for anything other than personal gain. This was no more than a more sophisticated rally: an hour-long spiel of anti-modification propaganda. The audience would sit tight to have their heads filled with one-sided opinion, to build trust in the man before them on stage, for reasons no more concrete than his charisma and fancy suit.

They had no hope, no chance – no idea. How many of them would still be sitting here if the lies weren't covered up, the truth so heavily distorted? How could it be that, in a room of one thousand, I was the only one who knew the man on stage was plotting the slaughter of five hundred kids?

I could feel my breathing quickening, and I knew I had to calm down. There could be no risk of blowing my cover. I had to remember the reason I was here – to make every attempt in my power to stop this from happening. Without me, Max Snowdon would have no obstacle in his way. So I had to keep sitting there, taking in these awful words, if only for the knowledge that the audience could soon be throwing them back at him.

"I have a special guest with me tonight," he continued. "Most of you will know him already, as he is as close to this important cause as I am. I believe very strongly in family unity, and therefore we stand together. I'd like you to welcome my son, Jace, as he opens this lecture tonight. Let's have a round of applause."

They gave him one, as instructed, but this time I couldn't bring myself to join in. I was too focused by the sight onstage: that of Jace's tall, skinny frame moving from the sidelines to the podium, reaching out to shake his father's outstretched hand when he got there. His nerves, if they existed, were invisible. Either that, or I just couldn't see the shaking from so many rows back.

The spotlight on his face made him look paler than usual. It reflected uncomfortably off his glasses, and his eyes were totally obscured. He set down cue cards on the podium, adjusted the microphone and looked out across the audience.

Could he see me? No, of course not – I was too well-hidden, not to mention the audience probably blended into a mass of darkness when the stage lighting was so bright. Still, I couldn't shake off the strange feeling that when he was looking out across the lecture theatre, our gazes met somewhere in the middle.

"First off, I'd like to thank my dad for letting me speak here tonight." His voice was quieter than his father's, not causing such an abrupt echo around the room, and there were a couple of seconds in which someone backstage adjusted the audio. "It means the world to be able to stand in front of you – to know that I am in front of a room of people who are totally and utterly united."

This wasn't him. Five seconds in, and I could already tell these weren't his words. They had somebody else's mark all over them. On stage, he was just a puppet, mouthing words designed especially for the voice of the nation.

"I speak for the young people of this country when I say that we are totally behind the BioNeutral cause. What has come to light over the last few months is completely unacceptable, and we are now seeing the consequences." Jace paused, looking over the audience, but I could tell his gaze was vacant. There was no authenticity in his expression, his body language, his tone of voice. It just wasn't him. "There is a reason genetic modification is illegal, and has been since the technique was perfected by its founding father. It was designed to save the human race. Unfortunately, it was hijacked by what we can only describe as biological terrorists."

He paused again, and only then did I realise I was frowning. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Who'd written these words? Biological terrorists? That term had certainly never cropped up before, and in light of everything, it just seemed ironic. The saint on the stage was plotting murder, but scientists switching around a few genes were the ones to fear.

I looked around, wondering if my confusion would be mirrored by the people around me. And yet I was met with a stark contrast. Everywhere I looked, their attention had been totally captured by Jace. There wasn't a bored face or a phone in sight. The entire audience leaned forward in their seats, hanging off his words, practically outstretching hands for those that would come next.

"Genetically modified humans are among us," he said, more forcefully now. "They are in this city. They live downstairs in your apartment blocks, they stand in line with you at the supermarket, they sit beside your children at school. And they are dangerous."

A tension seemed to have settled in the air, and though I wasn't sure why, it felt like a risk even to breathe.

"You cannot modify human nature," he continued. "Science has come a long way in the last two hundred years, but we still do not fully understand the mind. How can we possibly start messing with something we do not understand, and expect there to be no consequences?"

Nova. Eden. They were the consequences. A reminder to us all.

"These people need to be controlled. They are dangerous, they are unpredictable, and they are not human."

A silence fell across the lecture theatre. Was I the only one shell-shocked, or did all the people around me feel it too? BioNeutral had long preached extreme opinions, but I wasn't sure they'd ever said anything like that before. I couldn't work out how it made me feel. On one hand, I was sure these weren't Jace's words, but I could still feel their effect rippling out toward the back rows. However you looked at it, whether he was looking at me or not, the insinuation was clear: I was not human.

Wasn't I?

He'd sensed the change in atmosphere, and leaned in closer to the microphone, speaking more softly now. "We young people are the future of this city," he said, "and we will do everything in our power to protect that future."

There were a couple of seconds of complete silence, in which everybody seemed to be taking it in. Then, having sensed the speech was over, the room suddenly burst into applause. Applause perhaps louder and more enthusiastic than Jace's father had received.

The man himself appeared then, emerging from the sidelines with a wide smile on his face. He strode over to Jace like he couldn't get there quick enough, and shook his hand with such vigour it seemed like he might never let go. One thing was for sure: Jace was in his dad's good books for once.

Their switching at the podium was what brought me back to reality. I wasn't supposed to have stayed for the end of Jace's speech. That was the best time to head for the back exit, sneaking into one of the side corridors while everyone else was distracted. We'd agreed that together. Except, in that moment, I couldn't help wondering if his reasoning had been totally truthful. His words had shocked me, despite knowing they weren't his own. Had he wanted me to leave so I wouldn't hear what he preached to a thousand-strong crowd?

Either way, there wasn't time to consider it. Choosing the aisle seat had been a blessing – I got up as discreetly as I could, following the gap in the row back up to the door we'd entered through. I knew that was a risk in itself, but the lobby was thankfully empty. The security presence seemed to remain concentrated outside the building and inside the lecture theatre, leaving the middle ground no man's land.

Jace had told me there was a corridor leading around the theatre's exterior – now all I had to do was find it. Shaky footsteps took me deeper into the building, and I tried to ignore the urge to glance over my shoulder every three seconds. Then, suddenly, I noticed what I was looking for: the metal door marked Staff Only. I hurried towards it, pressing down on the noisy metal bar until it clunked open.

A bright white corridor greeted me. The walls were lit by emergency lighting, which only reflected off the paint job and tiled floor. For the first few seconds, my eyes squinted behind their glasses, struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness. I had to keep moving, even without my best vision. There was no guarantee I wasn't being followed, and I needed to be as far down the corridor as possible if somebody opened the door behind me. So my feet continued to carry me forward, hoping I'd come across what I was looking for.

It felt like I'd been walking for hours, but in reality it was probably closer to two minutes. The corridor curved around the shape of the theatre, and it was starting to feel like I'd gone full circle. It didn't help that the place was so quiet. The lecture theatre must've been totally soundproof – I couldn't hear a peep out of the thousand people on the other side of the wall, which was slightly disconcerting. The quiet only left space for my mind to start wandering, creating its own array of sounds that my ears hadn't picked up. Were those footsteps behind me? I hadn't checked the lobby thoroughly, so what if a security guard had noticed and followed me through the door? They could be right on my tail... and yet each time I strained to listen, the footsteps disappeared. My pace quickened, and I hurried down the corridor, praying it'd come to an end soon...

Then, suddenly, there was a figure in front of me. My heart skipped a beat, and I stopped dead in my tracks, thinking for a split second it was all over. And then I caught sight of the person's face, and relief flooded in like the tide.

Relief so intense that an overwhelming urge overtook me, and I found myself launching toward Jace, closing my arms around his neck to pull us into a hug.

There were a couple of seconds at most, but for that time, I let myself fall into it. The crowded lecture theatre, the speech, the imaginary footsteps... it seemed to all culminate in this one show of emotion, and I realised in the time we'd known each other, I'd never been so relieved to see him. But the seconds passed, and with each one reality started to seep in. The reality that however the situation linked us together, Jace and I could not be more different people.

And I jerked away.

I couldn't read his expression – he looked a little flustered, but maybe that had come from his fast pace down the corridor, and the adrenaline undoubtedly pulsing through his veins. There were a few more seconds of silence in which we both just stared at each other, unable to come up with the words to glue it back together. A moment which, in any other normal situation, would've been called awkward.

"Sorry," I said eventually, because it didn't seem like he was going to be the one to speak first. "I didn't... I'm just glad to see you."

"It's okay," he said, and that was it. Leaving me to fill the gap for a second time.

"Are we going to do this?"

The question, at last, seemed to snap him back to reality. A hand went to his back pocket, and he pulled out something to hold in front of me. "Yeah," he said, "and I managed to get this."

I looked at the plastic card balanced on his palm, recognising a familiar face in the small photograph in its corner. "Is that...?"

"My dad's campus ID card. I managed to steal it out of his jacket pocket when he was onstage."

"And this..."

"Swipes us into the buildings," he finished for me.

Like pieces of a puzzle, I could almost see the parts of the plan slotting together in front of me. The prospect was real now. We were inside the UNL campus, with an all-access pass, and just a final few hurdles separating us from the information the world needed.

"We're going to do this," I said, in a small voice, confirming it to myself more than anything.

He nodded, though the expression on his face remained unreadable. Tonight, for whatever reason, there was no getting in. "We are. So let's go."

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Hi everyone! Once again, sorry for taking so long with this chapter. Turns out my dissertation is taking up WAY more time than I thought it would, even though that's the only thing I have to do all day (that and the gym... oh yeah, I joined the gym lmao). A huge chunk of my dissertation is actually on social media and Twitter and stuff but it's way less fun to write about academically than to use it to procrastinate.

I'm so so so so close to finishing this story! I really want to have it done in the next few weeks, but I'm not sure if that'll happen. Either way, there's some other exciting things coming, so stay tuned on my profile and other social medias! (leigh_ansell on Twitter and Instagram)

- Leigh