I get the feeling that she doesn’t like me.

I watch her talk on the phone, and I can infer from the expressions on her face that she’s distressed about something, although I don’t exactly know what. I’m not paying attention to the conversation. Instead, I am looking around the house.

I’ve only ever lived in the Institute, and so this house – this Argent house – fascinates me. I’ve heard stories about the regions and have been lectured about the classification of status, but I never knew it was this strict. I glance at her and notice that she’s staring at my belt. I look down at the blue cord wrapped around my hips and frown. Is there something wrong with it?

I almost forgot. The Argents don’t permit blatant colors in their region. The Institute told me to take this off after I passed the gate. I start to undo the belt, unhooking the clasp and pulling the cord out of my belt loops, but I stop when I feel her gaze rest on me. She’s glaring at me, and there is a red tint to her cheeks.

“What are you doing?” She asks.

“I’m taking this off,” I tell her, tapping the belt. “Is it true that the Argents aren’t lenient about colors?”

“Well, yes, but – “

“Okay,” I say and slide the belt off. I roll it up and hold it in my fist. Afterwards, I stand there and patiently wait for her to finish talking on the phone. The blankest expression covers her face. She frowns, remembers something, and starts talking on the phone again.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” She shouts on the phone. “No, look, I thought we weren’t ever going to … yes, I know. Is he a trial? He doesn’t look like a trial, mom. I don’t care if he’s 2nd Gen … mom. I don’t get lonely, mom,” she sighs. “I can handle being by myself at home. I’ve done it for the last seventeen years. I think I’ve grown accustomed to being by myself.” She pauses as she listens to her mother’s reply. “Mom, can we just … you have a meeting? Okay … fine. Just come home soon if you can. I don’t want to be left alone with this thing.” She grips the phone tightly. “Alright. Bye.” She hangs up, takes a few seconds to breathe deeply, and turns to me with a strict glare. “Give me that,” she says, walking forward and reaching her hand out. At first, I don’t know what she’s referring to until she gestures at my belt. I hand it to her, and she squeezes it in her fist and walks over to the counter again. She steps on a black tile a bit more discolored than the others, and a medium-sized hole opens up on the floor. She tosses my belt inside, closes it with another click of her heel, and watches as the tiles slide closed.

I take a mental note of where the trashcan is located as she crosses her arms and eyes me condescendingly.

“What’s your name?” She finally asks.

“Luhan,” I supply. “What’s yours?”

“Emer,” she replies. “Now, did the Institute give you that name, or did my mom name you during the order process?”

“I don’t know,” I shake my head. “The Institute doesn’t usually tell us what their customers requested. We are what we are.”

“I see,” she says. “Well. Do you at least know what my mom ordered you for?”

“I’m supposed to wait for her mandate until I can fully pursue my assigned job,” I tell her.

“But you’re not just my mother’s worker, right? You’re mine, too.”

I blink. “I believe so. Since you’re in the same household …” The Institute’s regulations flutter in my head as I process the information. “ … I believe that wouldn’t be against the rules.”

“Rules?” She snorts. “Right. Because the Institute has always been loyal about that.” She turns her back to me and grabs something off the table. It’s a pancake. She bites into it, a thoughtful expression on her face. “So that means I can give you a mandate. If the Institute hasn’t changed anything since they started the first Exon, then the rules should still be the same … oh. You can clean my room. How about that? You can do that, can’t you? I’m sure my mom would appreciate that.” She smiles to herself and finishes the pancake with a quick bite. “I’m going to the library. Later.” She wipes her hands and walks away, leaving me in the kitchen. I enter the house, close the front door, and approach the plate of pancakes on the table. My senses tell me that it’s supposed to be delicious, but I don’t have cravings for food.

I search for her room.

According to the information I have recently obtained, the layouts of all Argent houses are relatively similar. It is customary to have an upstairs and downstairs bathroom, both of which are located near the top and bottom of the staircase. The stairs lead to the kitchen and dining