‘Binary Proteinic Project,’ read the folder in Lucy’s hands as she made her way from her office after her brief stop at the nursery.

  Approaching the Director’s office, the tightness in her chest faded, replaced by a fluttering lightness in her stomach. She would have preferred to delay the meeting, but the echo of her sandals against the polished floor probably betrayed her approach; at night, he usually kept his office door ajar while working.

  She pictured him waiting, elbows resting on his desk, fingers intertwined under his nose, wearing that bitter expression she knew all too well—the one that said, ‘You know I hate being kept waiting.’

  Shaking the folder in her hands to steady her nerves, she quickened her pace.

  ‘You act like you’re his subordinate. Still the same submissive fool you always were,’ her mother would’ve said, the same mother she hadn’t spoken to in years.

  Submissive or not, she couldn’t ignore the Director.

  She considered telling him the real reason for her delay—no her visit to the nursery, but the crushing realization of her miscarriage. Maybe it would spare her the reprimand he was surely preparing, the cutting glance and calm but biting tone that hurt far worse than any formal scolding. Maybe, by telling him about her loss, she could appeal to his humanity and…

  No. Lucy lowered her gaze. She was too tired for that gamble. If a reprimand was coming, so be it. She only hesitated over whether to mention the miscarriage at all.

  Then she remembered that man’s words after her second loss: ‘Face it. You’ll never be a mother.’

  Decision made. For now, she would keep it to herself.

  In front of her stood a door—ajar, just as she’d guessed—with a plaque that read, ‘The Director.’

  “Bernardo?” she called softly, knocking before stepping inside.

  The office was dimly lit.

  As it turned out, Bernardo Templeton—according to the ID badge hanging from the chest of his lab coat—wasn’t waiting for her with his hands clasped over the desk or his eyes ready to shoot those darts of disdain. Instead, he stood by the wall, studying the projected blueprints of a building, one hand on his chin and a thousand thoughts flickering behind his glasses.

  Bernardo was so absorbed in his own musings that it took him a moment to notice she’d entered.

  “It’s about time,” was all he said.

  The clock read just past midnight, and he was still wearing the same lab coat he’d put on eighteen hours ago, buttoned all the way to the top.

  He was a man around fifty-something, slightly taller than she was but just as gaunt, with a long face and sparse, ash-gray hair that never quite managed to fall completely.

  “Tell me what they say,” he requested, flicking one of his long fingers toward the documents; he didn’t even bother to pick them up.

  Lucy didn’t need to open the folder. She had conducted the analyses herself and written the report.

  “It’s as we suspected,” she began. “The comparison between the twins’ behavior and binary star systems couldn’t have been more accurate. Two stars orbiting so closely they exchange matter until they merge into one.”

  Bernardo let out a dry chuckle. “Uh-huh. Or one dense star cannibalizing its partner, driving it to collapse,” he remarked.

  Lucy shrugged. “I guess it depends on your perspective. The cause lies in the chemicals within the Binary twins’ brains. Their neurotransmitters work in perfect inverse synchrony. If serotonin levels rise in one, they drop in the other—even without a physical link. Before the… intervention we performed on Brun, we detected abnormalities in his tyrosine levels. Now, we’ve confirmed that, during that same period, Broga experienced excessive production of norepinephrine, epinephrine, and dopamine.”

  “I see,” Bernardo said, nodding. “Three neurotransmitters synthesized from tyrosine. Two individuals experiencing opposite sensations simultaneously, but as if they were doing it through the same body. That would explain Binary-C’s schizophrenic episodes. And now, with Binary-R’s mind effectively absent, Binary-C turns to art.”

  Lucy cleared her throat. ‘His name isn’t Binary-C. It’s Broga,’ she almost corrected, but chose to stay on topic instead.

  “The synchronization between the twins,” she continued. “It helped them metabolize the first dose of the Primary Plasma. But the studies confirm your fears.”

  As those words sank in, the excitement drained from Bernardo’s face.

  “The issue with prolonged drug use, correct?” he said, reaching for the folder to verify the results himself.

  With his attention diverted, Lucy allowed herself a private smile. Seeing things play out as Bernardo feared—but not as he wanted—gave her a rare sense of satisfaction. These moments didn’t come often, so she savored them when they did.

  Trying to mask her delight, she took a measured breath and explained.

  “Now that the Binaries’ DNA is intertwined with the Primary Plasma’s, prolonged use of sedatives and other chemicals would significantly disrupt their neurotransmitters and proteins.” She paused, ensuring her tone remained neutral. “You won’t be able to keep those children in a vegetative state like you planned. You’ll have to give them autonomy, keep them healthy, and actively monitor them until they reach the physical maturity we need for the project to succeed.”

  Disappointed, Bernardo snapped the folder shut and tossed it onto his desk.

  “Fine. All the more reason to move forward,” he said, nodding toward the projection on the wall. It displayed an image of a new laboratory featuring large, tall, oval-shaped glass containers.

  “And that?” Lucy asked, feigning mild curiosity.

  “Our new facility in New Somalia,” he replied. “We’ll return to Pannotia at the end of the month.”

  “Pannotia?!” she blurted out, instantly regretting the vehemence in her voice.

  As she’d expected, the director clicked his tongue in irritation and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “I just don’t get it…” he huffed. “How can someone as brilliant a scientist as you be this foolish at the same time?”

  There it was—his sharp words. The truce had been far too short-lived.

  “We’re in Columbia, Lucy! This continent is eighty percent ice. I don’t need to tell you how hard it is to get supplies out here.”

  “Bernardo, I’d be the happiest woman alive if we left this godforsaken place, but we came here precisely so we wouldn’t have to worry about the Markabians. Why go back to their territory? Why not head to Gondwana instead?”

  “No, no,” he said. “Ignacio Rotanev is already in Gondwana, and I’d rather keep my distance from that man. Pannotia is the best option I have within reach right now, Lucy. Winter is approaching, and the maritime routes will soon be cut off. The project has become more complicated than I anticipated; I’ll need access to the containers quickly—quickly! I can’t wait until the thaw to get them.”

  Lucy pressed her lips together.

  “You talk like you’re running this project all by yourself,” she said, trying to contain her fury. “Have you forgotten that you and I have already worked for the Markabians and that things didn’t end well with them?”

  Bernardo’s mouth turned downward into a grim curve, the shadows around the deep lines from his nose to his sharp chin accentuating his displeasure.

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  “If you think that hasn’t crossed my mind, Lucy, then maybe you’re not as bright as I thought. There are powerful people willing to spend a lot of money to keep the Empire’s noses far away from us. The decision’s made. At the end of the month, we’re moving—and if necessary, we’ll move again. We’ll bring Binary-C with us to New Somalia.”

  “His name is Broga,” she said aloud this time—without stuttering!

  Bernardo gave her a look that shouted, ‘Don’t waste my time with nonsense.’

  “Binary-C,” he emphasized, “is coming with us. Binary-R will be sent to another continent—Rodinia, perhaps—and it’ll happen soon.”

  ‘My brother… You’re going to bring my brother?’

  ‘I’ll bring him tomorrow so you can say hello.’

  The promise she had made to Broga just minutes earlier crashed into her thoughts, along with the image of the boy smiling at the prospect of seeing his twin again.

  “Why-why are you separating them?” she asked, her words stumbling under the weight of emotion.

  “If we can’t keep them in a vegetative state,” Bernardo explained, “then we need to keep them as far apart as possible. We have to make sure their blood doesn’t mix before it’s time. Besides…”

  He gestured for her to close the door. Lucy obeyed.

  “I’m concerned about what happened yesterday,” he added in a lower voice. “I assume you’ve heard the rumors.”

  “Y-yes. That someone tried to steal a dose of Primary Plasma. But-but they say it was a misunderstanding, that it was taken to attempt replication, because according to a new study—”

  “Come on, Lucy!” Bernardo interrupted, collapsing into his chair and rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “It’s no secret everyone’s been in a frenzy these last few years, trying to capitalize on these two kids. Ever since their blood tests came back positive, there’s been no shortage of people wanting a piece of those proteins. It’s worked to our advantage—we’ve got endless resources at our disposal. But you know how investors are: smile at one, and the other gets offended. Then there’s the Order—they don’t care who smiles or who sulks, only about the end result.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “What I’m saying is that a lot of people are vying to squeeze as much as they can from these kids… Like vultures fighting over scraps of meat. Yesterday, I spoke with Bobby Grant. He told me that over in Gondwana, another team of scientists is successfully wrapping up the first stage of their project. Their Binary clones are about to turn one year old… and they’re still breathing.”

  “Really?!” Lucy exclaimed, surprised. “None of ours…”

  Bernardo nodded, clearly not too happy with the news. “Yeah, yeah, I know. None of ours have made it past two months. From what Bobby told me, the youngest of Ignacio Rotanev’s sons is in charge of the research, and the old man is thrilled about the prognosis and eager to bet his fortune on it. This isn’t professional jealousy, Lucy, believe me. It’s just that, according to Bobby, well… Rotanev’s intentions are to turn the clone into a living tracker for Primary Plasma—a sort of bloodhound to track down doses… any that might have been left behind somewhere.”

  “But isn’t that a good thing?” she asked. “I heard the Vicars say many doses were lost during the Order’s first great expansion.”

  “Whatever, Lucy. The problem is Rotanev’s experiments require active doses of Plasma, and we’re the ones holding the largest reserve. While we might have priority running the main project, someone could still… well, you know.”

  Lucy thought she understood what he was implying.

  “You mean the other day wasn’t a misunderstanding, but… a theft?”

  Bernardo shrugged. “I might’ve believed the excuse about taking it for replication if you’d told me that a decade ago. Lucy, these days, we all know replication is impossible. If Rotanev’s putting money into creating a tracker, it’s because he’s certain Plasma can’t be reproduced. This has become a race to the finish line. I wouldn’t put it past anyone to cut corners to see results sooner rather than later. My worry is that, in their desperation… well, some might try to sabotage us.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Bernardo looked genuinely concerned.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But even if I’m wrong, Lucy, remember—we only have a few doses of Plasma left. We can’t afford to waste them. Separating the Binaries is a precaution. I’m sure the members of the Order will understand, especially now that we’re so close to our goal.”

  ‘My brother… You’re going to bring my brother?’ the little boy had asked.

  ‘I’ll bring him tomorrow so you can say hello,’ she had replied. Fine, the separation didn’t have to happen tomorrow, but maybe the day after.

  With the boy’s hopeful smile etched in her mind, Lucy knew she had to escape Bernardo’s office before she broke down and started crying right there. She feared she might collapse and confess to Bernardo about losing the baby.

  “Well, you wanted the reports… There they are,” Lucy said, pointing to the documents on the desk as she turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Bernardo stopped her. “I didn’t call you here just to bring these reports. I need you to prep Binary-C for surgery as soon as possible. We’re moving forward with Major Surgery, and I want you to handle it.”

  Lucy’s mouth fell open, as though an invisible hand had yanked her jaw down. She gasped for air, blinking rapidly, her eyes darting anywhere but at the Director’s face.

  “Major Sur-Surgery?”

  Why couldn’t she stop stuttering?

  “You’re doing it to that poor child, too?”

  “I’m not—you are, just like last time,” Bernardo said.

  “I operated on Binary-R…” Lucy started, then corrected herself. “Not Binary-R. I operated on Brun! I managed to synthesize his genetic material. We already know how his neurotransmitters work. What more do you want? Why are we putting Broga through the same hell?”

  Bernardo’s eyes widened, and his fists clenched.

  “Do you want to keep your voice down, for goodness’ sake?”

  Lucy pushed the door closed to appease him. Not that it mattered if anyone overheard their argument. By now, everyone in the lab knew the nature of their relationship; shouting matches were practically routine.

  “Bernardo! I performed a lobotomy on a child—do you get what that means? I mutilated a child for the rest of his life! What would his mother say if—”

  She stopped. She was about to burst into tears.

  Bernardo stared at her.

  “His mother and father are one of us, Lucy. They’ve been willing to make sacrifices since the day their babies tested positive. I’m sorry these kids had to pay the price, but neither their parents nor we are to blame for them being born with the mutation—a mutation, I might add, that we’ve all been waiting for.”

  “They weren’t given a choice, Bernardo, and neither were their parents. Can’t you see how far we’re sinking into this bottomless pit? If you want to deceive yourself, go ahead, but don’t try to deceive me. Everything we’re doing is for our egos and to satisfy a bunch of heartless investors!”

  “Enough, Hikaru!” Bernardo snapped, springing from his chair and slamming the papers onto the desk. “What’s gotten into you? I don’t remember you throwing such a pathetic tantrum the last time you operated on the other twin. You had your doubts, sure, but nothing like this kindergarten-teacher whining!”

  Lucy shuddered at how coldly he spoke, horrified to think how many times she herself might’ve sounded the same—in the name of science. Of course, losing another pregnancy had been a punishment! Maybe it was for the best. After all the atrocities she’d committed, she didn’t deserve to become a mother.

  She recalled what had happened a few weeks ago in the operating room. She saw herself preparing for the procedure: scrubbing her hands, donning gloves and a surgical mask while the nurses, under Rosa Tyler’s supervision, shaved little Brun’s head as he lay on the table, blissfully unaware of what was happening. She remembered cutting into his skull with the laser and removing part of his brain.

  ‘Imagine it were your child who tested positive for the proteins—would you still be doing this?’ she had asked herself back then.

  Maybe she’d hesitated because she was burdened by four lost pregnancies and her mother’s voice echoing in her mind, reminding her how unfit she was to care for a life beyond her own. Maybe her mother had been right all along.

  That time, Lucy had silenced her doubts and done her job—and done it well. But now…

  “I won’t do it.”

  “You will,” Bernardo said, calm but resolute. “Our investors are pleased with our progress and want us to do the same with Binary-C. If I refuse, someone will take advantage of their discontent and use their influence to replace me as project director.”

  “Bernardo, we still don’t know the long-term effects of what we did to Brun’s brain. Look at the results in these reports, the impact on his neurotransmitters and proteins. What if, years down the line, we’ve irreparably damaged both brothers’ genomes? The project would collapse, and—”

  “Lucy,” Bernardo interrupted. “I spoke with the elders of the Order. Now that Ignacio Rotanev and his team have succeeded in cloning, they’re ready to treat the original Binaries’ tissue as nothing more than study material—or, at worst, as disposable.”

  A horrified gasp escaped her.

  “Heartless monsters…” she murmured. “I won’t operate on that child, Bernardo. If you want to please those monsters so badly, do it yourself.”

  “Lucy, I don’t have the time to please everyone,” Bernardo admitted. “I’m overseeing the lab’s repairs and getting that dimwit Binary-R ready for transport. And besides…” He looked down. “We both know there’s no one more qualified to perform that surgery than you. I’m not as skilled a neurosurgeon as you are. I’m better suited to command from behind a desk than at the operating table. You’ll do it, whether you like it or not. That’s an order.”

  Tears streamed down Lucy’s face.

  Alarmed, Bernardo stood up.

  “What…? What’s wrong with you?”

  Finally, she confessed:

  “I lost our fifth baby.”

  Bernardo took a deep breath, clasped his hands behind his back, lifted his chin, and stared at her through his glasses, his brown eyes turning to cold, emotionless stones.

  “We should’ve stopped trying after you lost the second one,” he said, though his lips quivered slightly.

  Lucy turned and left the office the way she didn’t want to—crying.

  “The operating room will be ready for you first thing tomorrow morning,” he called after her.

  Lucy Templeton hated Bernardo as her boss, but she hated him even more as her husband.