Violet sat in a metal and cement room; to the left was a large window, which she guessed was some kind of two-way mirror. Across from her were two people, a man and a woman, scribbling things down on pieces of paper.

She was taken outside of the drug store the day before—a woman in a black Lincoln had approached her, flashed a badge saying she was an FBI agent, and asked her to come with her. When Violet refused, the woman lied, and told her they had Tucker in their custody.

Violet was kept in a holding room when she had first arrived. They didn't tell her anything. She asked repeatedly for Tucker, but soon realized he wasn't really there, and that the woman had lied to get her in the car.

She didn't know what exactly she was there for, but she knew it had to be about the things her and Tucker had done. Her mind raced vividly with ideas—ideas about what they were going to do with her now that they had her, and she wondered what exactly they knew.

She rocked back and forth in her holding room for hours and hours. The only thing they let her keep was Tucker's poem. She picked the edges off of the paper, balling up little bits and throwing them across the room. She read the poem again and again, wondering if she would ever see him again.

And now, here she was, sitting in front of these two strange people, who were talking indirectly about her via scribbled messages on a paper. Finally, one of them spoke.

“Violet July Beaudreaux,” The woman began. “Gained citizenship on July eighteenth, nineteen-ninety-eight. Parents: Beauregard Beaudreaux and Ruby-Jean Duchannes-Beaudreaux, in Savannah, Georgia. Two brothers, two sisters.”

Violet stared at the table.

“I'm Agent Monroe, and this is Agent Carter.” She gestured to the man, who nodded. Violet stayed silent. Agent Monroe had red hair, pinned back halfway, with thick glasses and pale skin. Agent Carter was your typical suit—he was a clean-cut brunette with serious eyes and a square chin.

“You're probably wondering why you're here.” Agent Monroe said. Violet looked up.

“Violet, how long have you known Tucker Marshall?” Agent Monroe asked.

“About a month,” Violet said, barely audible. “He's new in my town.”

“And how long have you been romantically involved together?” She asked.

“A few days.” Violet muttered.

“Mmmhmm,” Agent Monroe nodded, writing something down. “In that time, have you noticed anything... unusual?”

Violet clamped her lips together.

“Violet, you're not on trial, here. Okay?” Agent Monroe promised.

“I'm going to assume that you already know, or else you wouldn't be asking.” Violet said.

“That's a good assumption.” Agent Carter said; the first words he spoke.

“So then why are you asking?” Violet hissed.

“We want to hear it from the source.” Agent Monroe added. Violet hesitated, but decided to comply. She didn't know where she was, and she certainly didn't see any point in trying to fight them.

“It started with just a few sparks,” Violet began. “And then before we knew it, the lightning was so strong, we killed a pig just by kissing each other.”

Monroe and Carter violently scribbled on their notepads.

“We kept at it. The next day, we practiced some more and before we knew it, we were changing the weather.” She finished.

“Changing the weather?” Agent Carter asked.

“If I got scared, there was terrible thunder and rain. If I was calm, there was soft sunlight. It didn't make any sense, but that's what happened.” Violet shrugged.

There was a sudden knock at the door, and a woman in a white lab coat entered the room. She was blonde, with a messy bun, that had a pencil driven through it.

“Sorry we started without you, Steph,” Agent Monroe said.

“That's okay!” She said, cheerfully. “I'm just running late.”

Violet watched as she took a seat, on the edge of the table, and searched frantically for her pencil in every pocket. Agent Carter pulled it out of her hair, and handed it to her.

“Thanks, Mark.” She chuckled.

“Sure.” Agent Carter kept his sterile, serious expression.

“Violet July,” The blonde woman smiled. “I'm Doctor Stephanie Brisk. It's so nice to finally meet you.”

“What do you mean, finally?” Violet asked.

“Well, I've been tracking your behavior for a long time.” She shrugged. “It's nice to see you up close and in person.”

“Will someone please just tell me what is going on?” Violet demanded.

“Sure, sure.” Dr. Brisk nodded. “Violet, how long did it take you to become attracted to Tucker Marshall?”

“What?” Violent scoffed, annoyed.

“A day?” Dr. Brisk guessed.

“Yes.” Violet rolled her eyes. “I guess, yeah.”

“But you'd never had a boyfriend before?”
“No.”

“Why do you think you were so easily attracted to Tucker?” Dr. Brisk continued.

“I don't know.” Violet laughed, irritated. “I just was.”

“No, you weren't.” She shook her head. “It wasn't a coincidence.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we designed you two to be together.” Dr. Brisk said casually. Violet's eyes widened.

“Designed?” Violet muttered in disbelief.

“You're a product of bioengineering.” Dr. Brisk said. “We created you and Tucker—“

“Created? What do you mean?” Violet interrupted. “I wasn't created. I was born. I have parents! I have a family!”

“Technically, you do have parents. But they'll never know you.” Dr. Brisk explained. “Ruby and Beauregard aren't actually related to you.”

“What are you talking about?” Violet narrowed her eyes, frustrated.

“What we did—well, not we as in me, because this was long before I was ever part of this agency—but we as in my superiors, placed you as a newborn with the Beaudreaux family.”

Violet's head was spinning.

“You were actually a synthetically-created embryo. We grew you in a simulated womb, with a donated egg and sperm. When you came to the full gestation stage, you were born, and then when you were one day old we gave you to the Beaudreauxs.

“See, Ruby-Jean gave birth to a still born-baby. I know they always told you that you almost died at birth. But, in actuality, the baby was never living. After, they brought her into a separate room, and exchanged her for you. You were the miracle baby of Bellview.”

“I don't understand.” Violet hung her head.

“It's confusing at first, I'm sure. But everything will make sense soon.”

“Why?” Violet snapped. “Why did you do it?”

“Science!” Dr. Brisk said excitedly. “We did it with thirty girls and thirty boys—sixty total. Genetically, you were all modified to have some kind of mutation in your DNA that gave you a certain power. You and Tucker have the ability to manipulate the weather, there's another couple that can travel through time, there's another couple who has the power of regeneration...”

Dr. Brisk carried on, but most of her words were blurred nonsense to Violet.

“And we made it so the powers were activated by the same hormones and chemical reaction that comes with falling in love.” Dr. Brisk continued. “We didn't want your powers to be exposed too soon. It was essential to the experiment for you to grow up as normal as possible. And people don't usually fall in love—or lust, or infatuation—until they're at least your age.”

Violet felt tears beginning to run down her face.

“I want to go home,” Violet whimpered. “I'm sorry about the pig, I'm sorry about the field. I don't want this. I just want to go home.”

“I'm sorry,” Agent Monroe said. “I'm afraid we can't let you go home.”

“So now I'm a prisoner?” Violet sobbed.

“Only if you see yourself as one,” Dr. Brisk shrugged. “I know it seems awful and terrible and scary; but this is really a good thing.”

“How?” Violet boomed. “How can ripping me from my life and my family possibly be a good thing?”

“You're contributing so much to the world!” Dr. Brisk answered, bright-eyed. “You are a milestone in the world of science. You are the biggest scientific success in the history of the humanity.”

Violet felt like she was going to be sick.

“We took already established human genes and mutated and manipulated them to be exactly what we wanted. We molded you—like clay.” The more the doctor talked, the more upset Violet got.

“Well, good for you!” Violet shouted, slamming her palms on the table. “Good for you. You morphed and molded us and ripped us away from our lives. Congratulations. You're all fucking monsters!”

The agents stayed silent, but Agent Carter looked alarmed, like he was reaching for his gun or handcuffs—something to protect himself if Violet went off.

“Mark, it's okay,” Dr. Brisk said, turning to Violet. “This reaction is normal. You're experiencing heavy psychological trauma, and you're overwhelmed.” She nodded.

“I think after some rest and food you'll be able to approach this situation rationally.” Dr. Brisk rose from the table, taking her leave from the room.

Violet's eyes were swollen with tears. She clenched her teeth so hard she thought they'd break. Agent Carter and Agent Monroe sat in silence with her for a few minutes, but eventually, they broke the quiet.

“Violet, you have a room here now.” Agent Monroe said.

“Yeah, I've seen it.” Violet rolled her eyes. “A cot and a four-inch TV.”

“No, no.” Agent Monroe shook her head. “You have a permanent apartment here now. All of the subjects of this project do. Kitchen, bathroom, everything.”

“Great.” Violet said, uninterested and unimpressed.

“Is there anything you need? Anything we can get for you?” Agent Carter said. Violet choked back tears—swallowing spit and sadness, trying to make her frail voice work. She composed herself enough to say one word through her teeth.

“Tucker.”