Children of Eden by Joey Graceffa

when I sneak out tonight to see Lark. With my eyes looking flat like everyone else’s, and what’s more keyed to someone else’s identity, I can walk past any Greenshirt without a qualm.
    â€œWhen do we leave?” I ask.
    â€œOh, they’re ready, but your surgery won’t be for a little while. Another couple of days at least.”
    â€œAnd with them I can pass as an official citizen, a firstborn?”
    She nods. “These will be a huge step up from the black market lenses criminals use. They can’t access all of the technology. Some things, like the filter for the altered sun rays, and the identity chip, work okay on the cheap, removable lenses. But there are deeper layers that no one has been able to suss out . . . until we found someone brilliant. Normally, the lenses are manufactured in a factory, and then sent to the Centerfor further modification by EcoPan. The cybersurgeon we found managed to hack into the Center to get the exact specifications. You don’t have to worry. They’ll work perfectly. Lots of other second children aren’t as lucky as you.”
    â€œLots?” I repeat. This is the first I’ve ever heard of other second children. What a day for revelations.
    â€œA few, yes, but others use the cheap, removable lenses too. My sources don’t talk much, as you might imagine. But from what I gather there are criminals using lower-quality fake lenses, rebels, cheating husbands and wives . . .”
    So I’m in great company. But back to the second children. “How many of us are there?” I ask.
    She presses her lips together briefly. “Not many. According to my source, perhaps twenty still walking the streets.”
    â€œOh, that’s . . . Wait, what do you mean still ?”
    â€œOh, honey, you’ll be just fine. We found a real genius to make your lens implants, bought the most secure identity, bribed all the right people . . .”
    â€œWhat are you saying?”
    She bites her lip. “My source told me that the survival rate for second children trying to integrate into society . . . isn’t as high as we’d like.”
    â€œYou mean, we die?”
    â€œNo, no,” she hastily begins, then amends it to “Well . . . a few are captured. But there are a lot who simply . . . disappear.”
    A chill tickles my spine.
    â€œDon’t worry, honey, it won’t happen to you. We’ve taken every precaution.” She shakes her head as if tossing away the unpleasant thoughts.
    I’m haunted by the image of second children disappearing. The way Mom said it, it sounded like they just evaporate, turn into mist and drift away. It must be the Center, though,capturing second children. They must be dragged away into the night and fog, and no one ever knows what happened to them.
    Mom won’t talk about it anymore, no matter how much I press. Not long afterward Ash comes home, and with a quick mutual glance Mom and I agree not to discuss anything serious or worrying in front of him. Stress aggravates his condition. I also want to ask where I’ll be going. Will it be to a childless couple? Will I be posing as an orphan, adopted by a kind relative? I might even have a brother or sister. Will I like them?
    My new family must be kind, though, if they’re taking the risk of welcoming in a secret second child. They’ll be generous and loving and patient and caring, and they’ll help ease my way into the world. I know they will, because only that sort of person would defy all Eden to help a child.
    How can I worry too much when I have Lark’s company to look forward to? Dinner passes insufferably slowly. I know I should be savoring every moment with my family before it all changes, but my thoughts keep straying to tonight.
    Before I go to bed, I look at my strange, multicolored eyes. What will I feel like when my eyes are flat and