Three weeks after the world discovered the evolved children, Blackwood Academy has become the most scrutinized place on Earth. News vans camp permanently at our gates. Drones hover overhead until the evolved children short them out with electromagnetic pulses. Every decision we make becomes global news.
"Another government delegation," Adrian announces, entering my office where I'm reviewing applications. "Japan this time. They want to understand how to manage their evolved children."
"How many is that this week?"
"Seven."
I set down the applications—we've received over three thousand for just fifty spots. Parents of evolved children desperate for somewhere safe. Parents of normal children curious about evolution. Even adults claiming they feel the change beginning.
"We can't be everything to everyone," Vlad says from the doorway. He's been in meetings all morning with potential donors, all wanting something in exchange for their money.
"But we have to try," I counter. "These children need us."
Hope floats past the window—she's seven months old developmentally now, though only four months have passed since her birth. Dr. Sarah says her aging has stabilized, but she's effectively skipped infancy entirely.
"Mama," she calls, floating back to peer through the glass. Her vocabulary has exploded—another impossibility we've learned to accept.
"The Japanese delegation can observe classes tomorrow," I decide. "But no testing, no sampling, no treating our children like specimens."
Adrian nods and leaves to make arrangements. Vlad crosses to me, pulling me against him. "You're exhausted."
"We all are."
"Take a break. Let me handle the afternoon interviews."
"They're expecting me—"
"They're expecting the woman who's become the global face of evolved children. They'll understand if you need an hour to yourself."
Before I can protest, Devon enters with Genesis and Richard. "Mom, we have a problem."
"What now?"
"Some of the evolved children are aging. Like Hope did, but slower. The ones who were modified youngest are experiencing accelerated development."
Richard adds, "Three children have aged approximately six months in the past three weeks. Their parents are terrified."
"Can we stop it?"
"We don't even understand why it's happening," Dr. Sarah says, joining us. "Hope seems to have stabilized, but these children... it's like evolution is rushing them toward something."
"Toward what?"
"Adulthood? Optimal development? We don't know."
I sink into my chair, the weight of responsibility crushing. "We promised to keep them safe."
"We are," Devon says firmly. "They're not in pain. They're just... advancing. Like Hope did. Like I am."
"You're aging too?"
He nods. "Slowly. Maybe a month for every week. Dr. Sarah thinks we'll stabilize around our optimal age—whatever evolution decides that is."
"This will terrify people," Vlad observes. "Children aging rapidly? The Pure Architecture Movement will use this as evidence we're creating monsters."
As if summoned by the mention, Jessica rushes in. "Director Cray is at the gates. With cameras. She's demanding a statement about the 'unnatural aging' of evolved children."
"How does she know?" Genesis asks.
"Someone leaked it. Probably a scared parent."
I stand, smoothing my dress—one of the professional outfits we've had to acquire since becoming public figures. "I'll handle her."
"Jasmine—" Vlad starts.
"No. I'm tired of playing defense. Time to control the narrative."
At the gates, Director Cray stands with her perfectly styled hair and designer suit, cameras rolling as she speaks to reporters about the "dangerous mutations" occurring at Blackwood.
"Ms. Johnson-Dickenson," she says as I approach. "Care to comment on reports that evolved children are aging at unnatural rates?"
"I'd be happy to comment on the natural evolution of remarkable children who are developing in ways we're only beginning to understand."
"You call rapid aging natural?"
"I call adaptation natural. These children's bodies are optimizing, finding their ideal developmental state. It's no more unnatural than a gifted child learning to read at three instead of five."
"But surely the parents must be concerned—"
"The parents are partners in their children's journey. They're here, supporting, learning alongside us."
"And if the aging doesn't stop? If these children age into dust?"
I think of Hope, stable now, brilliant and impossible. "Evolution doesn't create to destroy. These children are becoming what they're meant to be."
"Pretty words, but can you guarantee their safety?"
"Can you guarantee any child's safety in a world that fears difference?"
She has no answer for that.
Later, as the sun sets through the restored windows of our bedroom—our refuge in the chaos—Vlad finds me standing at the window, watching the evolved children play in the courtyard below. Their light turns the stones into something magical.
"You were brilliant today," he says, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
"I was terrified."
"You didn't show it."
"I'm terrified every day. That we'll fail them. That the world will turn against them. That we're not enough."
"We're not enough. But together—all of us—we might be."
Hope floats into the room, clutching a book she shouldn't be able to read yet but does anyway. "Story?" she asks, though she could probably read it herself.
"Of course, sweetheart."
As I read to our impossible daughter while our evolved son meditates in his room, connecting to hundreds of children worldwide, I realize this is our new normal—watching children become something beyond our imagination while the world watches us.
"The castle stood against the storm," I read, "not because it was strong, but because it learned to bend without breaking."
"Like us," Hope says, too wise for her apparent seven months.
"Exactly like us."