I want her to say my name again.

She brings so much life to my name. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s as if, just by hearing her speak that word, I can exceed any expectations, both past, present, and future. I can do anything if she calls my name over and over again.

I’ve never felt this strong before, and I don’t understand how a voice can affect me. The Institute has called me by name, but it didn’t sound like this. Hara has said my name. Emer’s mother has said my name. So many people have said my name.

But none of them can match the beautiful way that Emer says it.

This feeling - this strange tinkling in my makeshift heart – is difficult to describe. Out of all the words that I have downloaded, not one appears to define the current beneath my skin.

Perhaps this feeling is indefinable. If that is so, then I will have to find a word to depict it. If I give it a word, then maybe I will be able to comprehend it better.

“Do you still want to go to a bar?” I ask her.

“Of course I still want to go,” she replies, sounding miffed.

“But what do you expect to find there?”

“What do you mean?” She asks as she carefully picks her way through some bramble.

“Your dad disappeared seventeen years ago. What kind of information do you think you’ll be able to find on an event that happened that long ago?”

She glares at me. “E – Luhan,” she corrects herself. “I know that was a long time ago. And I know that the people who were there during that time may not be here now. But I need to try, all right? I’m not a master-sleuth. But I can only do what I’m capable of doing.” She sighs. “Why am I trying to justify myself for you, anyway? You’re just so … never mind.”

“There’s one up ahead,” I say, trying to be helpful. I point to a building with yellow lights peering through the foggy windows. She picks up her pace, and I follow her. She pulls open the door magisterially and steps inside.

The bar is a restrained ruckus. There are about ten customers seated at tables with mugs of drinks in front of them. Some are dozing off, while others continue to drink. Others talk in hushed tones, their heads ducked together in conspiracy. Bar tenders wipe down the counters with bleached rags or talk on their phones.

“Hey there,” Emer says as she walks up to the counter. One of the bar tenders, a woman with short, cropped hair, stops cleaning a wine glass and looks at Emer up and down. After giving her a cursory once-over, she sets the glass on the counter and crosses her arms.

“So what’s an Argent doing in here?”

The hum of conversation abruptly stops. I can sense Emer tense at the question.

“I’m here for a drink, of course,” she states. The bar tender shakes her head, but she pops the top off a wine bottle and fills up a small shot glass. She pushes it towards Emer, who easily catches it by blocking it with her palm. She makes no move to bring the glass to her lips.

“Argents don’t come here for drinks,” the bar tender says. “They’ve got loads of better drinks in their homes.” She leans toward Emer with a provoking smile. “You’ve never been here, have you? Let me tell you something, Argent. Rule number one: you don’t go into a bar at midnight. Not here you don’t. I don’t know what you are in your prissy region, but you’re nothing here.”

“That’s fine,” Emer says, tapping the rim of her glass. “I only came for a few things. I’m not here to stir up anything.”

“Yeah?” The bar tender leans back and gauges Emer’s stance. “Like what?”

“What do you think of the Institute?”

The bar tender gives her a wry grin. “The Institute doesn’t affect us. We can’t even buy Exons, so why should we care?”

“But about what they do,” Emer clarifies. “Their business. Their products. I want to know if you think that those Exons are worth the time.”

“They seem nice enough,” the bar tender admits as she wipes her hands on a towel that is lying on the counter. “But like I said. They’re not my problem. Why are you asking me this, Argent? Since when did a Brass’s opinion matter?”

Emer leans her chin against the palm of her hand. “Listen … I need to know something.” S