When THEA turns seventeen, she’s accepted into The Elite society of New America and given her dose of the Elixir—a substance that promises to eradicate all negative aspects of ‘mental illness’ and enhance natural abilities. With the Elixir declaring one’s place in society, Thea is astounded when she is declared not one, but two roles—a Moodist and an Analyst.

With her newfound skills, Thea is determined to use them to help others. After throwing herself into her studies and befriending the intelligent Seer HARLEY, Thea uncovers a web of lies and deceit surrounding the distribution of the Elixir.

As more and more horrendous truths surrounding the government and the Elixir are unearthed, Thea abandons everything she used to believe in and joins an underground rebellion known as the Disorder.

Bonding with the insurgent ELIAS, they make it their mission to find out why the Elixir is being held back from those who need it most. To take down the corrupt agenda of New America’s governing body, Thea will have to face the mysterious scientific Order of Alchemists and someone closer to her than she could imagine.

---

	BUY THE BOOK
GENRE Dystopian Sci-Fi	EBOOK Amazon Kindle Smashwords Nook Apple Google Play Kobo	PRINT Amazon
Available: August 11, 2025
Teen

---

Excerpt

Chapter One

I’d be lying if I said I never thought about throwing myself off the peak of The Apex. It’s a common occurrence in the world today, children dying before they turn seventeen. Most people look down on those who leave before their time, but they don’t understand what it’s like, how long seventeen years can truly be. Heather McIntosh only had three months left until her initiation when she decided to jump from the highest bridge in our capital.

Today, I’m attending her funeral. We only shared two classes, but I always had a good feeling about her. She had kind eyes. Leaving before your time is seen as a sin, the way of a coward. But seventeen years is a long time to wait.

I don’t care if the others at school will talk or that I might be unpopular for going. I never really was popular, anyway. I’m already seventeen; my initiation officially begins in two days. So, I have nothing to lose.

I swore when I had my first panic attack, and during every single one I experienced in the five years afterward, that I would be an advocate for those who, like me, struggled to survive until their seventeenth birthday. I always knew I wanted to become a Mental Specialist.

Now, I watch as Heather’s parents lower her coffin into the ground and clench my fists hard, my fingernails poking through my black gloves to leave crescent-shaped marks on my palms. I say my condolences to her parents, but they look straight through me. No matter what society says, they’ve lost a child. And they aren’t the only ones.

Heather was a part of the Elite—those born with mental illness. Or as the Council of Health and Wellness now calls it: mental abilities. Only twenty-five percent of the population inherit a specific set of genes and predispositions to allow for an altered mind. The other seventy-five percent of the world is deemed ‘normal.’ The Elite seem to have freedom from the moment they are born, but we don’t have real freedom until we turn seventeen and receive the Elixir, the most sought-after drug in our society.

It cures you of the worst parts of your illness, enhancing only the best aspects. You never have to deal with crying spells, heart palpitations, mood swings, psychosis, or panic anymore. A bipolar patient becomes a Moodist, someone with an anxiety disorder becomes an Analyst, and a schizophrenic transforms into a Seer. Our abilities make us who we are and determine who we are supposed to be.

If Heather had waited three months, she would have been in the next initiation class, receiving her Elixir right after me. But she didn’t. My feet carry me through the artificial graveyard with unmarked graves, the green turf underneath my feet signifying the fakeness of it all, the futility. The trees swaying in the breeze are the only ones that seem to grow in New Washington—cherry blossoms. Their scent is overpowering, so much so that I fight back the urge to sneeze along with the urge to cry, to scream, to do something other than pretend that this is okay. I hightail it to the black limo waiting for me in the sleek, silver circular drive of the cemetery.

“Leonard, I’d like to get ice cream.”

“Theodora, I think we’d better get you home,” my family driver says in response.

“You know only my teachers and my mother call me Theodora. It’s Thea. And staying out a few more minutes to get a milkshake is not going to make a difference when it comes to Mom’s wrath. If it does, then at least I’ll die happy.” I grimace at my poor word choice. Sorry, Heather.

“If I may ask, why did you insist on attending this...event?” Leonard looks at me through the rear-view mirror. His thick curly hair is starting to become overgrown and peeks out of his driver’s cap. His full lips look like they’re in a perpetual pout, and his chubby cheeks gleam with sweat. Leonard’s been driving for the family for over fifteen years now when my father accidentally hopped into his taxicab and saw what he could do behind the wheel. He hired him on the spot.

“Because I lost a friend today.”

“But the way she...”

I hold up my hand, as if to stop him. “She’s still gone, and I’m allowed to be sad. Can we please just get the milkshake?”

“Yes’m,” he grunts, putting the family car in drive. “Just don’t bring my name into it when your mother wants to serve your head on a silver platter.”

I scoff. “When has she ever been happy with me?” I ask, not remembering a single time I’ve earned my mother’s affection, except for the day I received my diagnoses.

Leonard harrumphs and joins the other cars in the drive through. A lot has changed since the Reawakening a hundred years ago, but at least fast food has stayed the same.

 

↑ Return to Top ↑