My eyes shift over to the comparison on the right, which also has a similarly infected cell surrounded by little particles. This time, I don’t see any tubes for the particles to attach to. “This is what’s actually happening,” the lab tech explains. “We’re missing something from our cure particles that can attach to the cell’s receptors. If we don’t develop that, the rest of the particles can’t work. The cell can’t come in direct contact with the medicine, and the cell dies.”

I cross my arms and exchange a frown with Day, who shrugs helplessly. “How can we figure out the missing piece?”

“That’s the thing. Our guess is that this particular attaching feature wasn’t a part of the original virus. In other words, someone specifically altered this virus. We can see traces of that marker on it when we label the cell.” He points to tiny glowing dots scattered across the cell’s surface. “This might mean, Ms. Iparis, that the Colonies actually physically altered this virus. The Republic certainly has no records of tampering with this one in this specific fashion.”

“Wait a minute,” Day interrupts. “This is news to me. Are you saying that the Colonies created this plague?”

The lab tech gives us a grim look, then returns to the screen. “Possibly. Here’s the curious thing, though. We think this additional piece—the attaching feature—originally came out of the Republic. There’s a similar virus that came out of a small Colorado town. But the tracers tell us that the altered virus came out of Tribune City, which is a warfront city on the Colonies side. So somewhere along that line, Eden’s virus somehow came in contact with something else in Tribune City.”

This is when the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place for me. The color drains from my face. Tribune City: the city that Day and I had originally stumbled into when we first fled into the Colonies. I think back to when I’d gotten ill during my arrest in the Republic, how sick and feverish I’d been when Day carried us through that underground tunnel from Lamar all the way into the Colonies’ territory. I’d been in a Colonies hospital for a night. They’d injected medicine into me, but I never considered the fact that they might have been using me for a different purpose. Had I been a part of an experiment without even realizing it? Am I the one holding the missing piece of the puzzle in my bloodstream?

“It’s me,” I whisper, cutting the lab tech short. Both he and Day give me a startled look.

“What do you mean?” the lab tech asks, but Day stays silent. A look of realization washes over his face.

“It’s me,” I repeat. The answer is so clear that I can hardly breathe. “I was in Tribune City eight months ago. I’d gotten ill while under arrest in Colorado. If this other virus you’re talking about originated first in the Republic and then came back from Tribune City in the Colonies, then it’s possible that the answer to your puzzle is me.”

JUNE’S THEORY CHANGES EVERYTHING.

Immediately she joins the lab team in a separate hospital room, where they strap several tubes and wires to her and take a sample of her bone marrow. They run a series of scans that leave her looking nauseous, scans I’ve already seen being run on Eden. I wish I could stay. Eden’s tests are over, thankfully, but the risk has now shifted to June, and in this moment all I want to do is stay here and make sure everything goes smoothly.

For chrissakes, I tell myself angrily, it’s not like you being here is going to help anything. But when Pascao finally ushers us out the door and out of the hospital to join the others, I can’t help but glance back.

If June’s blood holds the missing piece, then we have a chance. We can contain the plague. We can save everyone. We can save Tess.

As we take a train from the hospital toward Batalla’s airship bases with several Republic soldiers in tow, these thoughts build in my chest until I can barely stand to wait around. Pascao notices my restlessness and grins. “You ever been to the bases before? I seem to recall you doing a few stunts there.”

His words trigger some memories. When I turned fourteen, I broke into two Los Angeles airships that were set to head out for the warfront. I got in—not unlike my stunt with the Patriots back in Vegas—by sneaking in through the ventilation system, and then navigating the entire ship undetected by weaving my way through their endless air vents. I was still halfway through my growth spurt back then; my body was thinner and smaller, and I had no trouble squeezing my way through their myriad of tunnels. Once inside, I stole as much canned food from their kitchens as I could, then set fires in their engine rooms that destroyed the ships enough to ultimately cripple them from serving the Republic for years, maybe forever. It was this particular stunt that first landed me on top of the Republic’s most wanted list. Not too bad a job, if I do say so myself.

Now I think back on the bases’ layouts. Aside from some airship bases in Batalla sector, the four main naval bases in LA occupy a thin strip of land along the city’s west coastline that sits between our enormous lake and the Pacific Ocean. Our battleships stay there, unused for the most part. But the reason that the Patriots and I head there now is that all of LA’s airship docks are there too, and it’s where the Colonies will dock their airships if—when—they try to occupy the city after our surrender.

It’s the third and final day of the Colonies’ promised ceasefire. As the train speeds through the sectors, I can see groups of civilians crowding around JumboTrons that are now running Anden’s surrender notice on repeat. Most look stricken with shock, clinging to one another. Others are furious—they throw shoes, crowbars, and rocks up at the screens and rage against their Elector’s betrayal. Good. Stay angry, use that anger against the Colonies. I need to play out my part soon.

“All right, kids, listen up,” Pascao says as our train nears the bridges leading to the naval bases. He holds out his palms to show us a series of small, metal devices. “Remember, six per dock.” He points to a small red trigger in the center of each device. “We want clean, contained explosions, and the soldiers’ll point out the best spots for us to plant these things. If done right, we’ll be able to cripple any Colonies airship using our landing docks, and an airship with a messed-up landing bay is useless. Yeah?” He grins. “At the same time, let’s not screw up the landing docks too much. Six per dock.”

I look away and back out the window, where the first naval base draws near on the horizon. Enormous pyramid landing bases loom in a row, dark and imposing, and I instantly think of the first time I’d seen them in Vegas. My stomach twists uneasily. If this plan fails, if we’re unable to hold the Colonies back and the Antarcticans never come to our rescue, if June isn’t what we need for the cure—what will happen to us? What will happen when the Colonies finally get their hands on Anden, or June, or myself? I shake my head, forcing the images out of my mind. There’s no time to worry about that. It’ll either happen or it won’t. We’ve already chosen our course.

When we arrive at the first landing dock of Naval Base One, I can see enough of the inner city to notice the tiny, dark specks in the sky. Colonies troops—airships, jets, something—are hovering not far from the outskirts of Los Angeles, preparing to strike. A low, monotonous hum fills the air—guess we can already hear their ships’ steady approach. My eyes turn up toward the JumboTrons lining the streets. Anden’s announcement continues on, accompanied with a bright red Seek Cover warning running along the bottom of each screen.

Four Republic soldiers join up with us as we hurry out of the jeep and inside the pyramid base. I keep close to them as they usher us up the elevators toward the looming inner roof of the base, where airships take off and dock on. All around us is the deafening sound of soldiers’ boots on echoing floors, rushing to their stations and preparing to take off against the Colonies. I wonder how many troops Anden had been forced to send off to Denver or Vegas for reinforcement, and I can only hope that we have enough left behind to protect us.

This isn’t Vegas, I remind myself, trying not to think about the time when I’d let myself get arrested. But it doesn’t help. By the time we’ve ridden our way up to the top of the base and climbed a flight of stairs up to the open top of the pyramid, my heart’s pounding up a storm that’s not all because of the exercise. Well, if this doesn’t bring back memories of when I’d first started working for the Patriots. I can’t stop studying the metal beams crisscrossing the interior underbelly of the base, all the little interlocking parts that will bind with an airship once it lands. The dark suit I’m wearing feels as light as air. Time to plant some bombs.

“Do you see those beams?” one Republic captain says to Pascao and me, pointing up to the shadows of the ceiling at one, two, three crevices that look particularly difficult to reach. “Max damage to the ship, minimal damage to the base. We’ll have you two hit those three spots at each of the bases. We’d be able to get to them ourselves if we set up our cranes, but we don’t have time for that.” He pauses to give us a forced smile. Most of these goddy soldiers still don’t seem entirely comfortable working alongside us. “Well,” he says after an awkward pause, “does that look doable? Are you guys fast enough?”

I want to snap at the captain that he’s forgotten my reputation, but Pascao stops me by letting out one of his loud, sparkling laughs. “You don’t have enough faith in us, do you?” he says, nudging the captain playfully in the ribs and smirking at the indignant blush that he gets back.

“Good,” the captain replies stiffly before moving on with the other Patriots and his own patrol. “Hurry. We don’t have long.” He leaves us to our work, then starts dictating bomb-planting spots to the others.

Once he’s gone, Pascao drops his giant grin and concentrates on the crevices that the captain had pointed out. “Not easy to reach,” he mutters. “You sure you’re up for this? You strong enough, seeing as how you’re dying and all?”

I cast him a withering glare, then study each of the crevices in turn. I test my knees and elbows, trying to gauge how much strength I have. Pascao’s a bit taller than me—he’ll be able to handle the first two crevices best, but the third crevice is wedged in such a tight position that I know only I can get to it. I can also see right away why the captain pointed that spot out. Even if we didn’t plant six bombs along this side of the base, we’d probably disable any airship with a single bomb on that location. I point to it.

“I’ll take that one,” I say.

“You sure?” Pascao squints at it. “I don’t want to watch you fall to your death on our very first base.”

His words coax a sarcastic smile out of me. “Don’t you have any faith in me at all?”

Pascao smirks. “A little.”

We get to work. I take a flying leap from the stairs’ ledge to the closest crisscrossing beam, and then weave myself seamlessly into the maze of metal. What a feeling of déjà vu. The springs embedded in my suit’s joints take a little getting used to—but after a few jumps I grow into them. I’m fast. Really fast with their help. In the span of ten minutes, I’ve crossed a quarter of the base’s ceiling and am now within striking distance of that crevice. Thin trickles of sweat run down my neck, and my head pulses with familiar pain. Below, soldiers pause to watch us even as all of the base’s electronic tickers continue to run the surrender notice. They have no goddy clue what we’re doing.