The Darnell Facility was on lockdown. From the moment we stepped out of the lift, I could tell it was different here: long, open corridors become sealed doors at every turn. The walls were still stark white, and yet the top floor had lost the glare of downstairs. Beaming artificial lighting had been replaced by intermittent spotlights, the gaps between each one leaving room for our shadows.

I could hear my every breath, and though we seemed to be alone, I couldn't shake off the feeling that someone else could too.

"What is this place?" I dared to whisper.

Beside me, Jace glanced around. "I'm not sure," he said, "but if my dad's got anything to do with it, I don't think the answer is going to be pleasant."

The entrance stood before us: a set of white double doors, locked into place, accompanied by a security system on the wall. They had glass panels, which seemed like a blessing – until I took a step closer and noticed something odd. The glass was distorted, finished with some kind of glaze that reduced everything behind it to warped shapes. Here, it seemed, even windows wouldn't give away clues about what we'd find inside.

The security system was a keypad: tiny buttons dotted with letters, numbers and symbols. The square itself held endless possibilities; guessing a combination would be pointless. We had more chance of a convenient system glitch, one that'd open the doors with no question.

But there was something else. Something tiny, almost insignificant, easy to overlook. A thin slot running down the edge of the keyboard – just wide enough for an ID card.

Jace seemed to notice, too, because he soon reached inside his pocket.

I held my breath as he slid the card through the gap. I wasn't sure what I was expecting – the sudden wail of an alarm, maybe? There had to be something to stop us walking in. And yet when the keypad flashed green, a subsequent whirring alerted me to the fact the doors were opening, I realised that wasn't the case. In possession of Max Snowdon's ID, it seemed, we had all the power in the world.

"It can't be that easy," I dared to breathe. "Can it?"

"I'm not sure." Jace slid the card back inside his pocket, leading our first steps across the threshold. "Either way, I don't think we should relax yet."

The tension in the air was almost unbearable as we edged our way down the corridor. Silence only served to make things worse, when our shoes squeaked with every wrong movement and made us jump every time. There were no doors on our side, just one long winding path leading to one at the end. No wrong turns. No wrong decisions. Just our own steps, forming the space between us and what we needed to find.

We reached the door several seconds later, and I glanced over my shoulder as Jace moved to swipe through the second keypad. The coast was clear, or at least it looked that way. A beep turned my head back again, and I looked over to see him reaching for the handle on a door that had since clicked open.

He pushed it ajar, pausing for inspection. "This is it," he said. "The lab."

A sudden breeze rushed over me as the door opened properly; the temperature difference between the two rooms was startling. It felt like we were stepping outside again, though I could see full well the lab was enclosed by all four walls. The chill seemed to enclose us, icy tendrils squeezing air out of my lungs, and the closing door only served to remove our escape route.

Beside me, Jace shivered. "Why is it so cold in here?"

And yet with the same question running through my mind, I was unable to provide an answer. Instead, I took a few tentative steps further into the room. Each one was watched carefully; the floors may have looked clear, but I didn't trust them to stay that way. In such quiet, it felt like anything could jump out, and I wasn't sure we'd have anywhere to run.

I'd never had any intention to study science. Back at school, a combination of parental influence and natural talent had kept the focus on Modern Humanity, leaving everything else to fade into the background. Biology students were a breed of their own. Advances in engineering had made it one of the toughest subjects, and a biology admission to UNL was pretty much a ticket to a successful life. I'd never been one to spend lunch hours in the lab, peering down microscopes and staining genetically altered tissue, so the environment was foreign to me. A sweeping look at the lab I found myself in pulled up nothing familiar; I couldn't recognise any of the equipment, stationed on benches or whirring away in the corner. It was all a mystery, as innocent or sinister as my brain chose to make it.

"Jace," I said, as the first hints of panicked realisation began to set in. "All this stuff... it means nothing. I don't recognise any of it. How are we supposed to know what we're looking for?"

"We don't," he answered. With his feet glued to the floor, he glanced around, eyes scanning row after row of benches for something that might stand out. "I mean, I've taken biology classes, but this is way beyond that. I've never seen any of this tech before. It's all brand new."

"Brand new," I said, "and paid for by the Snowdons."

It was true, but he chose not to acknowledge it. "Maybe this isn't what we need to be looking at," he said. "I mean, what's the use of evidence if nobody can understand it? The public aren't scientists. We need something else."

"Like what?"

"Like..." His voice trailed off, and I watched his eyes dart around the room once more, desperately scanning for some kind of clue. Then, roaming near the corner, they came to a halt. "Like documents."

My gaze followed his, landing upon a door tucked away in the corner of the room. A narrow metal passage, placed to escape notice.

"We don't need the tests, the equipment, even the lab," he said, as our eyes locked once more. "We don't need any of it. Not as long as there are records. People working here in such a highly-funded place – they're going to keep records. Meticulous records. Records that won't have a number or a word out of place, because they know they'll take a cut salary if they risk it."

For a moment, I was frozen. The realisation was sinking over me: that Jace was talking sense. And if we were going to find anything, there was a good chance it would be behind that inconspicuous silver door, tucked away in a corner.

We moved for it at the same time. Jace had started out closer, so got there first, his figure between me and the handle. The security system looked identical to the one we'd encountered outside – and a swipe of Jace's dad's ID confirmed it was just as easy to slip past.

The room was small, and smelt far too musty for such a modern building. A hanging bulb was the only light source, illuminating three enclosing walls of shelves and a set of desks in the middle of the room. Two monitors sat on the desktops, screensavers flashing in such perfect rhythm they were like a set of a blinking eyes. Just the look of it sent a shiver racing down my spine – or maybe that had more to do with the temperature, which stepping out of the lab had done nothing to improve.

"Is it worth trying the computers?"

Jace considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't know what'd get us in. There's no way to find out a password – let alone in a couple of attempts. We'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."

He glanced up at the shelves looming above us, and my gaze followed. In any other part of the building, I might've pointed out that there didn't seem to be an old-fashioned way. The fifteen-storey shard of glass emerging from the centre of campus was hardly an ancient monument. And yet here, in this room, everything had shifted.

"And you're sure we're going to find anything?" I squinted up at the shelves. "It looks like mostly books."

"Exactly." He'd already turned his back, running a finger across the collection on the bottom shelf, scanning them for something of interest. "This is a place of medical research – however twisted that definition of medical may be. The laws on that kind of thing are strict, and they haven't changed in a long time. There might be polished, refined results on that computer... but that doesn't matter if we get our hands on lab books."

"I'm not following," I said, though he was now so intently scanning the shelves it seemed wrong for me not to do the same.

"Original documentation," he said. "Handwritten records of what these researchers are doing on a day-to-day basis. They have to complete them. And even if they weren't so keen on following the law... I know my dad would want a record of where his funding's going."

He was right. I couldn't argue, and in that moment, the movement of my gaze across shelves of books became that much more urgent. Some were textbooks, instruction manuals, the odd paperback. All were wedged in so tightly it would be a struggle to retrieve them, though without a speck of dust, it didn't seem like they'd been sat there long. Those without lettering on the spine, that spot of initial identification, were the most suspicious. These were hard-backed notepads, no doubt with a wealth of handwritten information inside. We just needed to find the right one.

Jace had already set to work on pulling out a few volumes, setting them spine first on the desktop and flicking through the pages at lightning speed. I turned back to the shelf at eye level, yanking out an unlabelled green notebook. My fingers trembled as I tried to turn the pages. He'd been right: these were lab books. The pages were full of untidy handwriting, covering the page top to bottom and even leaking into the margins. Dates, times, step-by-step methods. Tables of results, carefully drawn lines filled in with numbers in mismatching ink. None of it made sense to me. Even if I could decipher the tangle of writing, the scientific method was lost on me. Concentrations, dilutions, acronyms – it was like a foreign language.

And even a supercharged memory couldn't unpick what it had never understood.

The first book was lost on me, so I tried a second – but the problem didn't change. Yet another hundred pages filled with meaningless jargon, and if I didn't understand, there was no way the British public would either.

Books started to pile up on the desktop at the same rate the shelves got emptier. I darted from wall to wall, picking out different versions of what always turned out to be the same thing. Green books were no success, so what about red? Or black? But I soon found the colour of the hardback didn't make the slightest bit of difference; without a biology degree, I was totally out of my depth.

Panic was starting to set in. We'd risked everything by sneaking in here, and somewhere across the campus, the lecture was still going on. How long would it be before Jace's disappearance became suspicious, and the unofficial search party was sent out? How long before Max Snowdon reached inside his jacket pocket, only to realise his ID card was nowhere to be found? The answer didn't bear thinking about, and yet I couldn't stop it playing on my mind.

I glanced around the room in desperation. Jace was still flicking through books beside me, brows furrowed in total concentration, but clearly understanding no more than I did. There had to be another way. I scanned the shelves up and down, looking for something different. The books all seemed to blend into one another – until my gaze caught on the opposite wall.

These weren't books. I moved closer, and pulled one down, realising soon after that it was a file. Sliding my finger under the tab, I let it fall open.

The first thing that struck me was the photograph. An passport-style image of a boy around my age, give or take a couple of years. I didn't know him, but there was an unmistakable familiarity about his face that I couldn't shake off. It sparked an odd feeling inside me, a squirming in the pit of my stomach that wasn't totally related to the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Had I seen this boy somewhere before?

I dragged my gaze away from the photo, forcing it toward the text. There was a lot of it, but one thing stood out immediately: Kristopher Holland Academy. Followed by a large red stamp.

Of course. I didn't know him personally, but there was at least a concrete reason why his face stuck in my mind. I must've seen him around campus before. A face in the crowd that'd buried itself, unknowingly, in the back of my head. And now it was here in front of me.

I reached for another with a shaky hand, opening it up. The photo – and the flash of red – made my heart skip a beat.

"Orla."

The name escaped me without warning, and it caused Jace to look up. "What?"

"It's Orla," I said, resisting the urge to run a finger over the printed image. It felt strange to have her looking up at me, those familiar features set against such a foreign backdrop. "Why do they have Orla's details here on file?"

The books Jace had been studying now sat forgotten on the desk; his attention was reserved only for me. "Orla Shields? Did she get accepted here?"

"It doesn't matter. These certainly aren't student files. Not tucked away like this."

"Then what are they?"

For this, however, I couldn't give him an answer. All I could do was reach for the next file and reveal the information inside.

A fair-skinned girl, hair in fishtail braids, that I didn't recognise. Kristopher Holland Academy. Red stamp.

Fiery red hair and freckles to match. Kristopher Holland Academy. Red stamp.

Startling green eyes and a pretty smile. Kristopher Holland Academy. Red stamp.

Before long, the files started to pile up. Each one was a new face, an unsuspecting victim grinning right back at me. Just a glance was enough to start the nausea rising from the pit of my stomach, crawling slowly toward my throat. And then, suddenly, I saw something that made my whole body lurch.

Porcelain skin. Blonde curls. Vivid blue eyes. Old Stratford University College. Red stamp.

"I'm in here." The words came out as little more than a croak, significantly weaker than I'd been expecting, like the shock of the photographs had whisked my voice away. I cleared my throat to try again. "It's me."

Jace froze where he was standing, but the angle of the file in my hand meant he could see the smiling picture of me clear enough. It couldn't have come as a more sinister contrast to the real expression on my face. "What does this mean? What is this?"

"We're all modified," I breathed. "They must've got these records from BioPlus somehow. Every modified kid in the city, they're in this room."

When he spoke again, Jace's voice was unsteady, like he was struggling to keep control of his own nausea. "Like some kind of... hit list."

I'd been thinking it, of course, but hearing the words aloud came as a whole new shock. The panic was swelling inside me faster than I could control it. We'd been optimistic coming in here, but now things were spiralling out of control. How could we have ever thought this would come to anything? We'd been stupid and naïve, thinking we could waltz in, take the necessary clues like somebody would've signposted them. And yet the deeper we dug, and the dirt piled up around us, it started to become apparent we might just be burying ourselves.

Then, suddenly, I heard something. A distant crash, somewhere behind more than a few walls. But no doubt on the same floor.

"What was that?"

I spun around to look at Jace, but instead of our gazes meeting, I realised he'd already turned his back. His attention had returned to the shelves, and he was now frantically pulling more files down, like he couldn't grab them fast enough.

"Jace," I said. "I heard something. We need to get out of here."

It was like he couldn't even hear my voice. "If this is a list of modified kids," he said, "Eden should be in here. Maybe there'll be a clue about what happened to her."

"We haven't got time." I glanced back at the door, left slightly ajar to give a view of the empty lab. The crash hadn't sounded again, but every part of me was on edge waiting for it. "We need to get out of here before we're caught."

"She's got to be here," he muttered, still flicking through pages. "She has to be."

The room was a mess. Our efforts had completely destroyed the place, and it only occurred to me in that moment. Books had been pulled haphazardly from shelves, and files spilled from the desktop onto the floor. No doubt our fingerprints were all over everything. Even if we managed to get away, making an inconspicuous exit was now near on impossible. The consequences of what we'd done – or were trying to do – would still catch up.

"Jace."

With my gaze torn between him and the door, the decision had to be made in a split second. A part of me wanted nothing more than to bolt for the exit, but that wasn't what we'd come for. Jace and I had come as one, and despite differences that sometimes seemed to stretch to the ends of the earth, we'd leave the same way.

I moved closer. But in the moment I did, he appeared to seize up.

"What?" I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "What is it?"

I tried to get a better look at his face, but his head was ducked, and the only thing I could see was the top frame of his glasses. Hair fell from the front of his style, only obscuring the view that little bit more. His gaze had caught on something, and whatever it was, it had stuck like glue.

"Jace," I tried again, frantic now. "What?"

"It's me."

The notion of a heart skipping a beat had always seemed like an exaggeration, but in that moment, I was sure mine did. The whispered words crossed the space like a wisp of air. Mishearing them was wishful thinking.

Before I said anything, he looked up, and our eyes locked. "It's me."

My mouth opened to form words which never quite got there. All I could do was let my gaze fall to the file in Jace's hands, and hope the shock that washed over me wouldn't pull me under. Because it was unmistakable. His photo, clearly a few years old, stuck in the top corner of the document. Those same eyes. Those same glasses. And a smile that could not have been more different.

Marked, for some reason, with a green stamp.

"No," I breathed. "It can't be."

"It is," he said, with a strange distant quality to his voice. We may have been stood in the same room, but he'd already retreated miles away. "It's true. It adds up."

"What adds up?"

It was then that I heard it again: another crash, closer this time. I couldn't identify the source of the noise, but whatever it was, it was moving in our direction. Another fleeting glance cast toward the door made me consider running for it. If only I could bring myself to do it.

"I'm modified."

The words had been coming, and yet out in the open, they seemed to shatter my world with little regard for anything. The shelves in the room stayed put, but that didn't change the collapse around both of us.

The noise didn't have anything to do with the rubble we found ourselves standing in. When it sounded for a third time, the urgency became something I could no longer ignore.

"We need to go," I said. "Someone's coming."

And yet Jace didn't move a muscle. As if the temperature had truly gotten to him, he stood frozen. "I'm modified."

"Jace."

"I'm modified," he repeated. "I'm not... me."

"Look, I know this is hard to deal with," I said quickly, reaching for his arm, "but this isn't the time. You're still you, okay? It doesn't make you any less of a person. But if we don't get out of this place right now, you could well be."

I expected this to be enough to coax him forward, but when my hand landed on his arm, he seized up once more. A sudden rigid movement had his head darting upward, and our faces were now so close I couldn't do anything but stare into his eyes.

"Do you realise what I just said?" The note of anger changed everything, and I realised I'd never heard anything like it before. "I'm modified. I'm one of... you."

I swallowed over the lump that formed in my throat. A new kind of fear had overtaken me, so strong it seemed to paralyse every muscle in my body. The noise in the hallway, louder now, couldn't even break me out of the trance. Because there was something I'd noticed. And once it'd come to my attention, I couldn't seem to think of anything else.

Jace's eyes, once a dark brown, were now vividly blue.

His side effects were coming out. He was losing control. And we were trapped in this tiny room, with government officials quite possibly two doors away, ready to lock us away for the rest of our lives.

"You knew about this," he spat, and a sudden shift in movement had him gripping my arm instead. When he had me by both, I could barely move. "You knew, didn't you? You knew about this all along, knew that I wasn't even human, and you're just trying to make me one of you..."

"Jace," I pleaded, so desperately I could feel myself close to tears. "Stop. Let me go. This isn't you."

"Who knows what is me?" he shouted. A sudden shake had me rattling from side to side, and I struggled harder to free myself from his grip. But he was much stronger than me, and really, I didn't have any hope. "What does me even mean? How can you tell with all these great big pieces of fake DNA?"

"Please," I breathed. "Please snap out of it."

"I don't need to snap out of anything! I'm just like you, aren't I? Like you, and Eden, and your big freak of a sister."

For a moment, anger replaced fear, and it was this sudden shift that gave me the power to yank out of his grip. The action caught him off guard, and I seized the opportunity to move back, keeping the route to the door in my mind in case it became necessary.

"Remember what we're here for," I said. "Remember why we're doing this. It's because being modified doesn't make you any less of a person, and if anything, you're living proof of that. It's just... right now, we need to get out of here."

"No." The anger in his eyes was powerful, and I kept myself braced, like he might lunge at any moment. I knew what it was like to lose control, to give into those side effects, and he was anything but predictable. "I'm not going to live like this."

"Yes, you are. Jace, please, snap out of it."

"You knew about this, Astrid... I know you did."

He really looked like he was going to lunge at me. The pure anger written all over his features was the proof that I couldn't trust him at all. Could I leave him here? Could I make my own escape? But even if I managed to make it across the building without being caught, I wasn't sure I'd be able to live with myself if Jace then disappeared once and for all.

I was faced with an impossible decision.

But then, suddenly, there were footsteps in the lab, and I realised it had been made for me.

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

Hi everyone! Phew, I am mentally exhausted. I got so determined to finish this chapter because I'm so close to the end of the book that I've written 3000 words today. I NEVER write that much. I'm proud of myself if I hit 1000. So I think I deserve a pat on the back, right?

Also, YEAH. JACE IS MODIFIED. I know that was probably one of the more predictable plot twists in this book, but trust me, this is just the beginning... for the next two books you won't know what's hit you ;)

Leave your comments to let me know what you thought! My brain hurts now, and comments will definitely make it better. Definitely.

- Leigh