No. She wouldn’t do it. They couldn’t force her.

  Lucy fled from the office of the man who had married her, the man she had once believed she loved.

  Why couldn’t her feet move faster? Why couldn’t she take the long strides Bernardo took when he was in a hurry? Why were her thin, ungraceful legs only capable of short, clumsy steps? She needed more speed. She needed to escape. But where to?

  Her sandals scraped against the gray floor, producing a harsh sound, and the corridor became an echo chamber, amplifying her desperation to get away.

  “I won’t do another surgery like that,” she said.

  The image of little Broga lodged itself in her mind. The boy appeared like a ghost, just as she’d seen him in the nursery a few minutes earlier: sitting on the floor surrounded by papers and crayons, drawing at a plastic table as if he were a normal four-year-old and not a scientific anomaly torn from his parents and now from his twin to be studied day and night.

  In her imagination, Broga’s enormous amber eyes sparkled with curiosity, freezing time with every blink. His beautiful brown hair, smooth like a porcelain helmet, was within reach of her hands. She could almost touch it. In the dreamlike version of her frustrated wish, Lucy dared to stroke his little head. She did it gently, and he responded with a warm smile.

  Everything seemed magical and ethereal—until Broga’s amber eyes lost their spark of life. His mouth contorted, his tiny teeth detached from his gums, thick saliva dripped between his lips, and a red streak ran down his forehead, splitting his face. Lucy knew it was blood, flowing from a horizontal incision on his head. She also knew that if she looked up, she’d see his brain exposed. She knew because she had made that very cut on the other little one, Brun.

  In her nightmare, Broga became Brun.

  That child will never be normal again. You ruined his life.

  “Brun…” Lucy whispered.

  Yes, Brun is the boy missing part of his head because you took it—not because you believed in the project, but because you wanted your name etched in the annals of science.

  Lucy’s heart twisted painfully.

  “I won’t do it,” she said again.

  If you don’t, Bernardo will. Broga will end up just like his brother Brun, with or without you in the operating room.

  If she did it, the child would live, but her conscience would be destroyed. If her husband did it, the child likely wouldn’t survive the operation. Maybe that would be for the best.

  No! Broga doesn’t deserve to be left disabled, and he doesn’t deserve to die either!

  Then an idea struck her, You have to take him out of this place. Don’t quit or request a transfer as Rosa did. Escape. Take Broga and run. Do it now!

  The air felt heavy. The ventilation system worked fine; it was her who was struggling to breathe. It was the nerves.

  No. She couldn’t do it. Taking the child and escaping would require courage, and she was a coward. If not, why hadn’t she done it before?

  Because you never stopped to think about why you couldn’t have children. And you didn’t think about it because you didn’t care. You always hated your mother, and getting pregnant only to lose it might’ve felt terrible, but it was better than becoming a mother. Better than turning that beast you have for a husband into a father. Only when you destroyed a child’s life did you realize how much they matter. You remembered the four failed attempts and feared the fifth. And now that you’ve just found out that one failed too, you understand what you’ve lost.

  The thought was both enlightening and terrifying, so much so that sobs clawed their way up from deep inside her and crawled through her throat. Lucy clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. A sharp, stabbing pain pierced her heart—her black, selfish heart that hadn’t hesitated to destroy a child’s life.

  Was she having a heart attack?

  Leaning against the wall, Lucy stopped, fearing she might collapse. But no. Fate didn’t want her dead. Not yet. The pain eased, and she managed to move forward.

  “Maybe you’re not cut out to be a mother,” she said, picturing her mother pointing a finger at her, “but at least you can act like one.”

  Yes, she would take Broga away from this place.

  Turning into a corridor, she headed straight for the dormitory wing.

  She walked at a brisk pace but tried to stay as quiet as possible. It was late, and most of her colleagues were asleep, but a loud sound could draw attention. If someone poked their head out of a door and asked what the rush was, she wouldn’t know what to say. She never lied; she was too bad at it, turning red and stammering—and she hated stammering!

  The hard part would be getting Broga out. She could pass through Security with her credentials, but what excuse could she give the guards at the nursery? Or the ones at the lab’s exit?

  Well, she’d think of something.

  The corridor was narrow, the light harshly white, the walls gray, and it was lined with narrow doors. Her room was at the end. Why the hell had she chosen the last room? When they’d moved to this lab, it had seemed like a good idea, but now, because of it, it would take forever to get there.

  A noise. She jumped and turned to see if someone was behind her. Bernardo, maybe. No one.

  Next time, don’t be so obvious and act natural.

  Lucy entered her room. Holding her breath, she turned on the light. Though it was unlikely Bernardo would be there, for a moment, she imagined him in his pajamas, lying on the bed, reading a book, just as she often found him when she returned late from her work area.

  But the two narrow beds in the room, separated by a nightstand, were still neatly made. No one had used them since the cleaning service had tidied up that morning.

  Standing in front of the two narrow beds, Lucy allowed herself a faint smile. Legally, she and Bernardo might be husband and wife, but in that room, to the people working on the project, they were just two scientists who shared a room for sleeping and nothing more.

  Come on, she didn’t have much time! Bernardo might have decided to take a break and rest. He could be on his way there right now. He might open the door at any moment.

  Broga is counting on you, she reminded herself.

  She turned toward the wardrobe and stubbed her toe against the leg of Bernardo’s bed—the room was truly cramped. She cursed under her breath, then pulled a bag out of one of the drawers. But as she unzipped it, ready to pack her things, she froze. Her overwhelming urge to flee hadn’t allowed her to consider how she’d look carrying a child in one arm and a bag in the other. She’d be the very image of someone escaping, and it would draw far too much attention.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  What would she say if someone asked why she was walking out with her belongings in the middle of the night? ‘I’m taking the kid to the movies’? No. It was better to leave the bag. Instead, she grabbed a small blue thermal blanket made from tough synthetic fabric, rolled it up, and wrapped it in a beige coat made from the same material. That would do. It was freezing cold outside.

  With her modest bundle tucked under her arm, Lucy opened the drawer of the nightstand, pulled out her ID badge identifying her as a first-class neurosurgeon, some cash, and slipped them into the pocket of her pale blue lab coat. Then she reached deeper into the drawer and found something that would be extremely useful. Bernardo had brought it over from another lab.

  ‘You never know when we might need it,’ her husband had said. How ironic. Lucy was certain Bernardo wouldn’t have brought it had he known she’d use it to escape. But then, how could he have known? Until just a few minutes ago, not even she had entertained the thought of fleeing.

  She closed her eyes. Taking that device with her meant her escape plan was serious—very serious. She hesitated for a few seconds and nearly backed out. What if Bernardo looked for it tonight of all nights? She swallowed hard.

  You’ve already ruined the life of a four-year-old. How will you live with yourself if you ruin his brother’s too?

  She grabbed the device. It was small, resembling a communicator. She stuffed it into her pants pocket, turned off the room’s light, and left.

  Lucy once again faced the long, narrow gray hallway lined with doors. She had about a hundred feet to walk before leaving the dormitory wing—a long walk ahead.

  What if Bernardo appeared at the end of the corridor? He’d ask what she was doing with that coat, where she was going, and she’d stammer so badly she’d sound like a pot lid rattling on a boiling pan. She’d probably end up blurting out her absurd plan.

  What would happen when they found out she’d taken Broga? Worse, what if they caught her in the act? The Order wouldn’t be pleased. What she was about to do was treason.

  And once again, the horrific image of Brun with his skull split open, a thin stream of blood trickling down his small, tender face—the image etched in her memory like a snapshot during the Major Surgery—flashed in her mind. No. Broga wouldn’t suffer the same fate as his brother. She wouldn’t allow it.

  If she got caught, the least they’d do was revoke her neurosurgeon’s license and throw her in prison.

  Don’t fool yourself, Lucy. The Binary Project is ultra-classified; countless laws have been broken to keep it running. You know too much, and those people will fear you’ll spill their secrets. They won’t let you rot in a cell. They’ll put you to sleep with a bullet to the back of the head, and you’ll wake up in a ditch.

  Her skin crawled. If she was caught: bullet to the head, ditch.

  She thought of Dr. Rosa Tyler, her only friend there. Rosa wasn’t the first to request a transfer, but Rosa didn’t handle nearly as much classified information as she did. Rosa could resign after signing a confidentiality agreement and walk away. Of course, those who left the project knew the rules and understood they’d ruin their lives if they ever talked. But this was different—this went far beyond resignation.

  Damn. Her heart was racing, her legs trembling. She felt like she was walking on clouds—black clouds.

  “Maybe you’re not cut out to be a mother, but at least act like one,” she repeated to herself and kept going.

  Fortunately, she made it to the end of the corridor without anyone opening a door or suddenly appearing.

  She turned left. Bernardo’s office was to the right, and she held her breath as she crossed that section. What would she do if she heard her husband’s infuriating voice behind her, asking, ‘Lucy, where are you going?’

  She glanced over her shoulder several times. The door to Bernardo’s office was at the end of the hallway, appearing smaller with each step she took. It was ajar, just as she’d left it, and the light was on, though she couldn’t tell if anyone was inside.

  Again, luck was on her side. She didn’t hear a thing.

  She turned into the corridor leading to the nursery—

  And bumped into someone.

  “Lucy, darling, where are you rushing off to?”

  She looked up to see Rosa staring at her with wide eyes.

  Her relief was immense. She hugged her friend and planted a kiss on her cheek—a gesture that screamed, ‘Thank you for being you and not someone else!’ Then she hurried down the hallway without saying a word.

  “Lucy, where are you going?” Rosa asked again, worried.

  Please, Rosa, don’t raise your voice. Please! They’ll bust me! Lucy begged silently.

  “If I tell you, you’ll stop me,” she whispered, though she was already too far away to be heard.

  She took the left corridor, passed the restrooms, and stopped before the next turn. When she rounded the corner, she’d make eye contact with the guards stationed at the last door—the nursery.

  She set the coat with the rolled-up blanket on the floor. Even though the guards wouldn’t question her actions, it was better they didn’t see her carrying spare clothes. It might raise suspicions.

  ‘What a klutz I am! I must’ve dropped it without realizing,’ she’d say if someone noticed the bundle on the floor.

  She patted her pocket to ensure her ID badge was there. She wouldn’t need it yet; she was saving it for when the guards at the complex’s exit asked for it. Taking a deep breath, she cleared her mind, hoping her fear wouldn’t show on her face, and moved forward.

  This time, she didn’t hesitate to enter the nursery. The guards stayed silent. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

  Broga was still sitting on the floor with a red crayon in his hand, drawing what looked like a swirling pattern on a sheet of white paper.

  Thud, thud… Thud, thud… Lucy’s heartbeat was so loud it hurt. Her breathing was shallow, and she was terribly nervous.

  “Hi,” she said to the little boy.

  Broga looked up at her with the same calm demeanor as before, his huge amber eyes blinking quickly. ‘You again!’ his gaze seemed to say. Then he looked past her legs, searching for someone who wasn’t there.

  “Where’s Brun?” he asked.

  “I’ve come to get you, Broga,” she replied.

  His eyes lit up.

  “Are we going to see my brother Brun?”

  Lucy pressed her lips together. She had to lie.

  “First, we’re going somewhere else, and then we’ll go get Brun, okay?”

  Broga nodded.

  “You’ll need to come with me quietly, all right?” she said. Thankfully, she didn’t stutter. She extended her arm, gesturing for him to take her hand.

  Thud, thud… Thud, thud…

  The boy stood up with a fresh smile. He dropped the crayon and, rubbing his little hands on his white pajamas, left a few more red smudges on the fabric. The state of his clothes didn’t matter now. What mattered was that he was already wearing white rubber slippers; there wasn’t time to find anything else, and it was far too cold for him to go barefoot.

  Broga held up the paper he had been drawing on and offered it to her. She took it and smiled, even though the swirling red scribble made her skin crawl—it looked like a pool of blood. Was it a grim premonition of the minutes ahead?

  Thud, thud… Thud, thud…

  Don’t think such nonsense.

  Lucy folded the paper and tucked it into the pocket of her pale blue lab coat alongside her ID badge. She flashed Broga a smile that said, “See? I’ll treasure your masterpiece right here.” Then she took his hand. A strange calm washed over her as she made contact with the boy. Her heart stopped pounding so violently.

  I won’t let them do to you what I did to your brother. I promise.

  But the sense of peace disappeared the moment she took her first step out of the nursery.

  “Don’t look at the guards. Don’t look at them, and they won’t look at you.”

  She walked down the corridor, leading Broga by the hand. She didn’t know if the guards were watching her, and she preferred to imagine they weren’t—that they were still standing by the door with their chins up and feet together, even though no one was using the nursery anymore.

  ‘I’m taking the child to the lab. More tests,’ that’s what she’d say if someone asked. It was a logical lie.

  But it was still a lie. And she wasn’t good at lying.

  She turned into the right corridor.

  No sound of footsteps. The guards weren’t following her. She picked up the blanket and coat and moved. Her sandals scraped the floor, creating an awful echo. Making noise while trying to go unnoticed wasn’t helping, but she couldn’t contain her urgency. She felt invisible hands pushing her from behind—some shoves so hard they might’ve knocked her face-first to the ground.

  Thud, thud… Thud, thud…

  She glanced at the boy, and he looked back at her. She faked a smile, but he didn’t. It was as if the little one had realized that picking up his brother Brun along the way wasn’t—and had never been—part of her plans.

  Just stay quiet, please, she pleaded with him in her thoughts.

  She looked behind her. Nothing. She was lucky. She stopped at one of the many intersections in the hallway, peeked out to ensure no one was around, and glanced left and right like she was about to cross a busy street. The doors to the rooms were closed. The path was clear.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered to the boy, and they stepped into the elevator.

  The steel doors closed, sealing them off from the outside world and confining them to a cold, gray metal box. Lucy pressed the button marked G. Her car was in the garage. She prayed no one would think of going there at that moment.

  She fixed her eyes on the door and, as they descended, slipped on her coat and wrapped Broga in the blue blanket, covering his head as well.

  “Hold it tight, like this,” she said, crossing her hands to demonstrate. Then, an urge to wrap her arms around him—to give him the sense of safety she so desperately needed—washed over her. But she didn’t. She was trembling and didn’t want the boy to feel her fear.

  Thud, thud… Thud, thud…