We each sat in stiff metal chairs along a sleek glass desk. Genevieve leaned her tanned body against the desk as she scanned over us with her ice blue eyes. The glass wall behind her overlooked the city where the bright sun reflected off silver panels of the lengthy towers like glitter. It was difficult to know where to focus.

"I thought we were supposed to meet a committee," Evee said and sat back in her chair, "No offense, but you're just, you know - one person?"

Genevieve let out a light-hearted laugh, throwing back her head and showing the perfect rows of her white teeth that matched her stark white hair cut sensibly to her chin.

"You have me there," she said and leaned off her desk, "Our committee can be, shall I say? A formidable bunch. You have many questions I am sure. I thought it would be best to get them all on the table before we discuss integration terms."

"Integration," Mat blurted, his legs spread far out in his chair as he leaned back and his arms crossed, "You people keep talking about it, but we still don't even know what it means."

"Please forgive, such informalities," Genevieve said, "We rarely meet guests who have experienced the extent of isolation you all have had. These matters can be rather difficult to explain all at once for even the most knowledgeable of exiles."

Nate's stare perked up in his chair and onto Genevieve as he waited for her to continue. She looked back at him and away from her desk.

"Knowledgeable?" Evee said, as if she were offended.

"What am I about to explain to you, will go against every idea that led you to our Union. I only hope that you listen with understanding and the utmost sensibility," she said and straightened the short hem of her sleek white dress.

We waited in silence for her to continue.

"The Vossler Union was founded by my father, Dr. Vossler, two hundred and sixty-one years after the first council was established. Are any of you familiar with the duties of the first council?"

"They decided where the resources went," I spoke up, "They did it, so everything was fair, for everybody."

Genevieve laughed again. This laugh was pained as if she felt sorry for me. A wallow of regret grew within me for saying anything at all.

"Indeed, that was what they were brought together to accomplish," she said, and nodded, "But time can make one fond of almost anything."

"So they weren't fair?" Evee said.

"They tried, but greed became the language of their day. After the self-indulgent acts of the council were no longer able to be ignored by its people, my father had a vision of a community separate from the council and their restrictions on his work. He desired for a new community that rewarded its people for not who they were but what they could do for their fellow man."

"What does this have to do with us?" I said and looked down at the floor and away from her pressing eyes.

"As a response to my father's work, under a new leader, the council formed a new alliance. The Allied Nations," she said with disgust.

Her disgust and words paralyzed me. We all remained still in our rigid chairs.

"It would not be until the assassination of five of its leaders," Genevieve paused before she continued "-before the First Child Law was enforced by the Allied Nations."

The nooks and cracks of all the chairs sounded as we shifted in our chairs.

"It was made the law that the first child of every family would be -"

"Donated," I whispered aloud.

"Yes, donated," Genevieve said with pained eyes and nodded, "Or risk the loss of their rations and shelter. For many families the only lifeline available to them."

"That's not true," Evee interrupted, "What about the travelers?"

"Yes, the travelers," Genevieve said, "Though, I've heard the life of a traveler isn't as freely traveled as it is told to the young."

Evee squirmed back into her seat.

"It must be incredibly difficult," Genevieve continued and softened her voice, "To carry the burden of marks that have no meaning to you."

We all turned our heads and looked at each other, shifting in our seats as her words collected in our ears.

"They have a significant meaning here. One that has been starting back at us for generations."

"What are you getting at?" Mat said.

"You marks are no accident, children," she said and paused, "They helped those in power to aid in a war you had no choice but to fight in."

"A war?" I said and gasped.

"A war we have been fighting long before you were born," Genevieve said and walk forward, "A war to get in and a war to keep those who wish to corrupt again, out."

"Wait, a minute," Evee said and waved her hand, "I'm still not understanding, anything you're saying. We fought a war?"

"It's a technology we are still attempting to understand, but it allows those with the knowledge and training to manipulate children's minds and force them to engineer weapons and obtain coded information at an unstoppable rate."

"I can barely start a fire," Evee said, her voice now raised, "How could I or could any of us make weapons?"

"That is still unknown. But, we believe it increases the connectivity within your minds, making them vulnerable to suggestion. We have heard of accounts from undercover sources that marked children are subjected to frequent doctor visits. We believe this is when the conditioning takes place."

It was falling together as she had warned us. It was as if someone I had never met had been watching me my whole life. Knowing more about myself than I ever did.

"You still haven't answered me?" Mat said, "What do we have anything to do with what happens here?"

"You are asking all the wrong question, young man," Genevieve said, and leaned forward, the hem of her short skirt rising, "You should be asking -"

"What would they need all those weapons for?" Nate interrupted, his voice flat as if he were still thinking.

"Exactly," Genevieve said and smiled down onto Nate, the hem of her skirt at his eyes as she stood beside him.

Evee huffed in her chair and looked over Genevieve up and down.

"Earlier, you may have also pondered about what could my father have worked on that was so dangerous that he was forced here into exile, just like yourself. His work is the reason I am standing here today."

"We don't mean to be rude," I said and looked at the others, "But, I think we're still lost."

"What age would you guess me to be?" Genevieve said, with a titled smirk, "And do not hold back for the sake of my feelings."

We each gave our guesses, but nothing over thirty or maybe forty. Genevieve couldn't be. Not with her smooth skin and the bright whites of her eyes.

We waited for her to tell that at least one of us had guessed correctly. When we did not receive such an answer, we went silent. My eyes scanned her pure white hair and how it caught the reflection of the lights overhead.

"I should clarify that I did not expect for you to guess correctly," she said.

"Then how old are you?" I said.

"Four," she said slowly, a smile growing under her peached colored glossy lips, "Four hundred and sixty two years."

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