“I know.” I rub my bleary eyes. “I just … The Level system was destroyed because of me. My own engine powered that machine, and I just let it happen. I have to figure this out.”

Her eyes soften at me. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it, though?” I put my cup down in disgust.

“I never should have taken you to the drone race.”

“What choice did you have?” I say gently. “You were trying to help your father. And instead, I gave Hann the last piece of the puzzle that he needed.”

And now Mr. Yu was gone. I see fresh pain cross Pressa’s face and bury my head in my hands. Numbers and blueprints crowd my exhausted mind.

Finally, Pressa shakes her head. “Hann would’ve gotten it somehow, with or without you. He couldn’t have moved as fast as he did otherwise.” She leans her elbows against the table between us. “How long must it have taken him to set that up? Months? Years?”

I flip incessantly through my useless sketches. “Long enough that no one noticed him building up that kind of infrastructure.” The only consolation I have is that at least he did use a part of something I’d created. It gives me some starting point to try to figure out the rest of his puzzle, at least. But there isn’t much time for that.

As I think about Hann, I feel a strange tug in my chest of something uncertain. The memory of the man’s grave eyes comes back to me, along with the story he’d told me about what had happened to his family.

You remind me of my son.

Those words of his shouldn’t stick with me. For all I know, they could be a lie. But the grief in his eyes as he’d said them …

He’d let my brother go. He’d let me go.

He’d taken down the very system that Daniel had argued against to his superiors, that I’d hated and defied every chance I could get.

It’s his fault that Pressa’s father is dead, I try to remind myself.

But was it Hann who had killed him, or Ross City’s system?

The plane dips slightly, and an announcement from our captain comes on the speakers. I pause to glance out the window and see a familiar outline of land emerging beneath the clouds. The curve of California’s coast.

Suddenly, thoughts of Hann dull as I realize that we are now officially over the waters of the Republic.

On the other side of the plane, Daniel stiffens at the sight and straightens in his seat. For a brief moment, his eyes flicker to mine. I remember the last time we’d visited, how uncomfortable he’d been to return to our homeland.

Now we’re back.

And the Republic is strangely our savior.

* * *

Half an hour later, we’ve emerged from the plane and are headed down the ramparts. I follow quietly behind June and the Elector. Beside me, Pressa clings tightly to my arm as she studies the entrance into Los Angeles’s airport. Everything looks so different here, as if we’d gone back in time to a different era. Towering, brutal columns draped with bold banners of red and black heralding the Elector’s return to his country. Tall, harsh rectangular windows. No augmented overlays or hovering digital images.

Daniel is also unusually silent, his head lowered and his hands shoved into his pockets. Republic soldiers in familiar, formal red-and-black uniforms snap to attention as we pass by. I can see my brother flinch slightly when they move. Even when we’d been here weeks ago for my interview, he was quieter than usual. Every instinct in him must be telling him that these guards are here to kill us, to arrest him, to take away his family.

Suddenly, I feel a rush of guilt at his days spent constantly wandering the Undercity. It’s one thing to hear him tell me how much he wants to leave our past behind. It’s another to see the past haunting every line of his body.

As we’re ushered into the airport, a throng of waiting reporters flock to the railings holding them back. A barrage of cameras clicks into overdrive, and we’re engulfed in a sea of blinding lights and roaring voices.

“Mr. Wing! Mr. Wing! Daniel!”

“Commander Iparis!”

“Elector! Elector, over here!”

I blink, taken aback by the onslaught. Ahead of me, Daniel stiffens even more beside June, keeping his head down as the news crews push forward toward us. I put an arm instinctively around Pressa, who has gone wide-eyed at the mess of a scene.

June looks the calmest of all of us. She lifts her head and snaps her fingers at the other guards walking alongside the Elector, and they tighten their formation protectively. Then she presses herself beside Daniel enough for their shoulders to come together. When an overly eager reporter sticks his camera too close to Daniel’s face, June shoves him unceremoniously back.

“Make way! Keep this area clear!” Her voice is unwavering and efficient. The reporters part obediently, but then keep trailing us in a constant tide.

“Daniel! Eden! Over here!”

I turn at the familiar voice.

There, in the midst of the crowds gathered to see the Elector’s—and Daniel’s—arrival, is Tess, her face as bright as ever and her arm waving high over others’ heads.

She doesn’t try going up to June, who’s technically still in formation and guarding the Elector, but I do see the two exchange a grin and wink. Then Tess darts away from the Elector’s entourage and makes a beeline for us.

I’d first seen her again a month ago, when we’d returned to the Republic for my interview. I hadn’t recognized much in her then of the little girl I remembered—small, uncertain, with hunched shoulders and wide eyes, always wringing her hands. She’d grown tall and straight-backed, her hair cut into a short brown bob, her movements confident and precise to match her surgeon demeanor. But the glint in her eyes, the bright echo in her voice … that stayed. And it’s still here now.

She waits until we’ve emerged and the guards allow her through, then steps toward us and throws her arms around Daniel’s neck.

My brother doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around her and hugs her so tightly that he lifts her slightly off the ground. Cameras around us click wildly. As he puts her back down, he tweaks her nose the same way he used to do to me as a child. She protests, shoving him in the shoulder. Like his second sibling. He just laughs.

It makes me realize how long it’s been since I’ve heard such a lighthearted sound come from him.

“Welcome back,” she exclaims, beaming at him, then looking over to Pressa and me. Her hand comes up to pat my cheek. “You haven’t been sleeping well since the last time I saw you.”

“I’m fine now,” I say, trying not to let my embarrassment show. Nearby, Pressa watches with an uncertain look on her face.

Tess smiles shyly at her before she holds out her hand. Pressa takes it, and Tess shakes it once.

“This is Pressa,” I tell her. “A friend of mine.”

What I want to say is my best friend, my confidante, the girl who makes me bolder than I think I can be. But a friend of mine just comes out. It sounds careless, even cold.

“Nice to meet you,” Tess says to her, and she manages a smile back.

“Likewise,” Pressa answers. But I can see a slight tension in the way she steps away from me.

Several cars are waiting for us at the airport’s loading zone. Pressa and I follow Daniel into a second car. June and Tess climb into the seats in front of us. The doors shut, and the din from outside fades to a hum of noise. Here, Daniel’s shoulders relax and he leans back against the leather headrests. The Republic may not have the high tech of Antarctica—there aren’t auto-cars or rails running everywhere here—but it’s kind of comforting. Our driver, a Republic soldier, gives us all a terse nod before he follows the Elector’s train of cars as they pull onto the road ahead.