Chapter OneIdentification Number: F13463233
Age: 27
Sex: Female
Weight: 58.2 kg
Height: 176 cm
Genetic Defects: Minor, Hereditary
Procreation Status: Approved
A hologram filled the center of my office with a painting. Simple, small. Just a woman, a hint of a smile on her face.
As usual, I was alone in the Ancient Art section of the Archives, buried deep underground. My job was to destroy, piece by piece, the remnants of the world ancient humans had laid waste to in the Last War. Elsewhere in the Archives, my friend Lo sat in the Books section, and there were others who sorted ancient tools, documents, and relics from before the war. Our screens dictated what was saved, reassigned, or—like this one—destroyed. A push of a button, and the ties to the past disappeared.
The title on the screen read Mona Lisa. Her eyes captivated me like she held a secret. I couldn’t look away. Her smile, over a millennium old, taunted my curiosity. For a moment, it drowned out the word that has haunted me ever since that morning: Approved.
I was one of the many women in gray who had trained for this, waiting until our fertility was determined optimal and matched to an Elite male to fulfill our role for the Greater Good. Thoughts, hopes, wants: They were unnecessary. A distraction. The Illum that ran the city provided the Minor Defects, myself included, with everything we needed. What was left to think about?
I tore my eyes from the hologram projection, its glow illuminating my dimly lit office and my foolish desires. I could finally be chosen by an Elite for a Procreation Agreement—attend their balls and enter their towering buildings in the clouds. I would see their secret life above. Be a part of it. At least while they let me. While I was usable.
For years, I had thought about a Procreation Agreement alone in this office, wondering if the beauty the ancient humans captured in paint strokes still existed Above. Fantasies found me in my bed as my purpose was drilled into me every day. A moment in a delicate gown. A kind Elite man, spinning me on a dance floor until I was free of the horrors of the last twenty-seven years.
He’d dance with me like I was special, whisper my name in my ear: Emeline. Chasing away the words of inadequacy that had followed me my entire life. He’d capture me in his arms and bring our faces close . . . until our eyes would meet, and he’d deem me unworthy as every Elite had done.
The light fixture’s eternal drone overhead mixed with words I could never outrun.
That child ruined everything.
She should be in blue.
I don’t care what you do with her.
Get her out of my sight.
The smiling woman kept me steady, her power seeping into the room. My spiraling thoughts fell silent in the wake of her reserved beauty, as if she could see to my core, all of my secrets laid bare.
I hit delete. Her smile clung to me as she disappeared. My office became a morgue once again, barren of color, of light, of choice. A place for destruction. Four white walls, a metal desk, screens that obscured the doorway, and a single hanging light.
The city had remarkable technology. I often wondered why the Illum had us doing tasks their technology could easily perform. Why they allowed us to see what came before. It was as if sorting these relics showed us how easily they were willing to toss aside the things they saw no value in. Reminding all the women of procreation age what would await them if we failed the Greater Good.
The next painting depicted a man in a blue outfit, not unlike my daily gray, sitting on a simple wooden chair. He held his face, his pain somehow palpable even after all these moons had passed. It felt almost indecent, like I was intruding on something private. Maybe the Illum were right to rid the new world of the old world if it had caused this much trepidation. At Eternity’s Gate read the title.
“What do you think happened to him?” a smooth, unmistakably male voice said, and I jumped.
Past the screens and projected hologram, a man stood in the shadows of my doorway, his frame blocking the hall beyond. He had a rugged beauty about him, and he peered into my office as if he belonged, wavy dark blond hair falling casually into his face.
“I—I don’t know,” I stammered. His lips pulled up in a half smile, a dimple appearing on the left side, and heat rushed to my cheeks.
No one came down here, ever. I had spent every day here for ten years and never had a visitor. My gaze remained locked on his handsome face, unable to look away.
“I think he lost someone, someone he cared for.” He leaned against the doorframe, staring at the hologram.
I could have asked a million questions—Who are you? What are you doing here? Are you authorized to be here? Why are you so handsome?—but I asked a question that mattered more to me than all the others, one that was dangerous.
“You’re . . . curious about art?”
“Yes. Aren’t you?”
For one wild moment, I wondered if an Elite had come to evaluate me for the mating contract. Could he even be my proposed Mate? Suddenly, I found myself desperate, like Lo, to be accepted. The man looked toward me, but my eyes flew to my lap, unable to meet his gaze. I couldn’t risk the rejection of being seen. Not yet.
“All the time,” I finally admitted, and my pulse turned painful at my honesty. I took a steadying breath. “Have you always been interested in art?”
“No, but lately I am,” the man told me.
“Is art common there?” I asked. Would I see real art in the clouds?
“I can’t give you our secrets,” he said smoothly, “but maybe one day I could show you.”
My insides twisted in anticipation or apprehension; I didn’t know. Maybe both. I had been told since my earliest years that I was beneath the Elite. The Academy preached this every day, intermingling with the harshness of my birth father’s teachings. Were they wrong? It was a traitorous thought, one that could condemn me. We weren’t permitted to question the Illum.
Frustration coursed through me at how little they told us. Perhaps the Elite had lessons that consisted of more than how to be a compliant vessel for offspring. If we weren’t learning how to get to the clouds by being the perfect Mate, we learned horrifying lessons on the Last War. Endless hologram lectures warned us of all the risks to life without the Illum to guide us. How ancient humans had torn themselves apart and wiped themselves out. Their conflicting beliefs and ideologies created an irreparable divide that had resulted in near extinction. The Illum had knitted it all back together, saving humanity. The Illum had seen to the rebirth of society, illuminating the best way forward with their superior intellect. The Academy portrayed the Illum as saviors of mankind. Gods and religion had no place here. We could only trust in the Illum, unseen yet always watching.
“Would you like me to leave?” the man asked, interrupting my busy mind.
“No,” I exclaimed, too quickly, standing. I didn’t want to be alone again, not yet.
“All right . . .” The man cleared his throat. “I don’t know your name.”
“Emeline,” I told him as I got a look at all of him, still partially concealed in the shadows. There was a mysterious ease to him. The man stepped into my office, and my eyes flew to my desk. This was a trap of some kind, a test. Another lesson from the Academy found me.
Should you be successful in your dedication to the Greater Good and matched with an Elite Mate, you will find your true work has just begun. Every meeting with your proposed Mate will be watched by the Elite collective. Your ability to perform publicly is as critical to your success as your ability to carry an offspring.
If your behavior is unsatisfactory or displeasing, you will be among the fallen in blue. Follow the Illum’s protocol, abide by the rules of the Minor Defect population, and constantly seek self-improvement, and you will rise, fulfilling your use for the Greater Good.
“Are you going to look at me, Emeline?” the man asked, his voice closer now. “I swear I won’t bite.”
Never look at the Elite, Emeline, my birth mother had warned. I had been only four years old, boarding the Pod for the Academy. My only memory of her speaking to me. Just look down and they will leave you be. You must look down.
But I couldn’t displease the Elite. I took a deep breath, lifted my chin slowly, and sealed my fate as my eyes collided with his. His light brown irises had a ring of amber along the inside, as if a star had burst from the pupil. They were beautiful.
I held his gaze, my throat too tight. I waited for his rejection, disgust, and cruel words. But he didn’t flinch. His eyes went wide for a single breath, yet he didn’t look away.
“It’s nice to meet you, Emeline,” the man said, his dimple appearing. He approached my desk, extending his hand across it. “My name’s Hal.”
I raised my hand to his, disbelief flooding my veins. The light from the hologram cast his features into sharp relief, heightening his beauty and large frame.
And that he was dressed in blue.
I dropped my hand instantly. “You’re a Major Defect?” How had I missed that? Weren’t they not allowed to leave their sector?
Copyright © 2025 by Ariel Sullivan. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
