“I haven’t been idle, Emer,” My mom continues. She looks as if at any moment, angry tears will rim her eyes. “I overheard your conversation with that man.” For a moment, I have to stop and think about what she is talking about until I remember the man who had entered the council room. “ … I looked into the archives,” she is saying. “Finally. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew it was wrong – no, I didn’t want to do it. Because I already knew what I was going to find; I just couldn’t see it.”

I stare at my mom. She is breathing heavily. My mom, who is mostly composed and certainly maintained, is breaking in front of me for the first time.

I find that I don’t know this woman. I don’t know her at all.

“I did it, Emer,” my mom sighs. It’s as if a great weight has been lifted off her shoulders, but at the same time, a heavier burden has weighed on her heart. “I broke into the archives. I work for the Government, and yet I broke the law. And do you know what I found?” She questions me. She sounds delirious. She is looking at me, but I feel as if her soul has left her body. “I found your dad’s journal. Every council member keeps an entry of their activities to document their life as a worker for the Government. It’s hardly ever checked. It’s secure. But he had a personal journal. I’m … I’m his wife!” She proclaims. “I couldn’t do it before, but when that man spoke to you, when I heard that, I had to – I needed to – I could finally find out for myself without being afraid.” She watches me. Her whole body is aching with the emotional pain, but her eyes remain steady. “Sometimes, it’s easier to believe in a lie.” She pauses, giving me time to collect my thoughts. I wait for her as she takes a lengthy breath. “And I let myself believe it.

“I hacked into his personal journal … my own husband’s. Can you believe that? That he would keep something from me? And yet … and yet I broke into his file. We’re both dirty,” she nervously laughs. “We’re both stained.” She lifts her hands to inspect them, as if she has literally marred her hands. She lowers them and pulls something from the pocket of her purse. Flattening a collection of papers against her skirt, she holds it firmly with both of her hands and begins to read.

“’Entry 72, Lian.

“’The creation of 2nd Gen Exons has been announced,’” my mother quotes. “’That idea is the most despicable idea to have crossed a man’s mind.’” She furrows her brows and bites her bottom lip. “’I’ve tried numerous times to protest against the creation of these faults, but each and every time, my voice is unheard. I suspect that some of my fellow council members have heard of my distaste for these creations and are plotting to convert me. It’s unfortunate that they are blinded by the progression of technology and can only see the fundamentals of science rather than the importance of the human race. I can only hope and pray that one day, they will see what I see now, and will not live to see the repercussions of being involved with those that do not technically exist.’”

My father. My father was against the Institute all along. I bring my eyes to the ground and mentally unravel the tiles on the floor as my mother continues to read the entries of my father’s journal.

“’Entry 73, Lian. I have personally asked the Institute to discontinue the creation of Exons. As I expected, they did not listen to me. My resistance against these automatons is growing more and more evident by the day. If I intend to keep my family safe, then I must remain conscious of my surroundings.’” My mother turns the paper over. Her eyes are glazed. “’Entry 74. I have formed an alliance with two other members who agree with me that Exons should no longer be created. Behind the scenes, we will do our best to influence bigger powers who are willing to defend and support us. In the future, I hope to see a world filled with only creations that breathe.’”

“So he was against it,” I mumble to myself. Hearing my own voice surprises me, and I flinch. My mother shakes her head to keep me quiet and moves on to the next paper.

“’Entry 75. I have been asked to visit the Brass region for this week. I know what to expect; I know I will be in danger. Owners of the Institute have approached me and threatened my family. I understand that my life may end very soon. But I would rather die for my family than live instead of them.’” My mother stares at the paper for a very long time. Eventually, the glaze on her eyes fades away, and a new, dull shell covers her irises. “That was his last entry,” she murmurs. “Before he disappeared.”

“But he never disappeared,” I say. “He was killed.” I was right. My suspicions were correct, but having them confirmed doesn’t comfort me.

“They’re … sick,” my mother barely releases the word. “The Institute is sick!” She says strongly. “They … why would they … when I read this, Emer, I swear, I swear to you, I want