Something about the way the trio stands so close together, like they’re protecting one another, it’s obvious they share a battle bond. Now I’m even more intrigued. But before I can inquire further, Alexander butts in, his upper lip curling at the sight of the sisters.

“Why must you two always stick your noses into every situation?” he rebukes them. He shoots a particularly acidic glare at Mira. “I know it must be unimaginable for you, but your presence is not required here. In fact, it’s likely you both will make things worse. That seems to be the trend.”

“Hey, we’re all on the same team,” I interject, holding up my hands for peace.

The Goodwin’s friend steps forward, and I’m caught off guard when she starts releasing a torrent of high-speed Spanish directed at Alexander. Whatever she just said causes him to take a step back and shift his death-dealing look Ava’s way.

“And you claim that I lack vision? You welcome disaster with open arms,” he spits, rolling his IV pole between him and the new girl, blocking her from getting any closer.

Wait. Am I the only one in this room who’s failing to keep up? Then my eyes land on Blaise, and I feel better. His second language is code, like mine.

Blaise spots me spotting him and moves to my side, whispering behind his Prince of Flames bandana. “The badass here is named Lucía Salazar, cousin to Lieutenant Salazar of Monterrey. She says she ran from her family just like Alexander deserted his.”

I don’t know what shocks me more, that Blaise knows Spanish or that this newcomer standing in front of me is a defected member of the infamous Salazar cartel.

If eyes could pop from their sockets, mine would be on the floor right now. Ava and Mira are buddies with a Salazar?

“That’s not even the real kicker,” Blaise says, all foreboding. “Lucía just told Alexander that their two families are in league with each other.”

Hold on. Back up. Ex-governor Roth is somehow connected to the Salazar water lords?!

Alexander shakes his head. “My family is capable of many things . . . but building alliances with a nearly-century-old enemy—”

“Lucía knows where Roth is hiding,” Ava comes in hot, flatlining Alexander’s skepticism. “Your fugitive father is in Mexico.”

“And if he isn’t there already,” Mira elaborates, “he’ll be heading for one of the cartel’s strongholds as we speak.”

Uh, what? This has to be worst-case scenario. Not only is Roth no longer in the United States—I never took Roth for a border hopper—but apparently, he’s being protected by one of the most dangerous and well-fortified organizations in the Americas.

Stay calm.

I turn to Alexander. “And you’re really telling me you were clueless . . . ,” I say. Am I shouting? “. . . that your dad got chummy with the current title holder for most homicides on the planet?!”

The cartel’s capo is known the world over as the Heartless Butcher. And she’s just the tip of her family’s monstrous blade.

Ava puts a finger over her lips. “Not so loud—we don’t know who might be listening.”

“If this is true, it is a revelation to me as well,” Alexander snarls, baring his teeth. Red blotches suddenly flare up all over his neck and cheeks. “I knew nothing about a Roth-Salazar truce—alliance—whatever it is you claim. I told you before, my father despised me. I was not groomed as the Roth heir—I was kept ignorant of the Roth family secrets. That role was left to Halton.”

I’ve heard a lot about Halton since coming to Dallas. Ava shared with me late one night that she often wonders how things might have been different if Alexander hadn’t left his first son behind. That maybe if Halton’s dad had stayed, Halton himself might have been different. He might have felt loved and wanted and been less likely to seek out his granddad’s attention the only way he knew how: by hurting people.

Then, just maybe, Ava and Mira wouldn’t have been caught. Their dad would still be alive. And Rayla would still be here.

I see all of these thoughts flicker across Ava’s face.

But then we wouldn’t be on the verge of changing the world, I want to tell her. And I definitely would never have met you.

“Are you drunk?” Mira asks, accusatory, and for one purgatory-filled second, I think she’s talking to me.

I’ve never been around siblings before, obviously, let alone twins. Mira’s connection with Ava is something so deep, I could never hope to touch it. But I think Mira senses me trying. She’s mine, her eyes sometimes say when they squint in my direction. It’s like Mira can read me quicker than one of her books.

So thank Goodwin that right now her all-knowing eyes are on a glowering Alexander.

“Not presently, no,” Alexander replies with a cool, I-don’t-answer-to-you offhandedness.

“We’re wasting time here,” Mira says to Ava, holding her steady glare on Alexander. “Since they are your family, we came to tell you we found them out of respect.”

“I don’t need or require your respect,” Alexander says. “You have none of mine.”

Again, you’re picking the wrong fight, bud.

Mira takes a step toward him, but Ava snatches the ends of her rucksack, keeping her back. The last thing we need is for this conversation to end in fisticuffs.

“I’m telling you we finally know where Roth is and you’re just going to stand there?!” Mira challenges, struggling to keep her voice down.

Alexander sighs, pinching the bridge of his upturned nose like he’s warding off an oncoming migraine. “And you received this intel how? From the madcap hunch of some outlander?”

“The way I see it, Alexander,” Mira spits, “you’re the outlander in this room.”

“It’s more than a hunch,” Ava insists. “It’s a fact you just don’t want to believe. Lucía overheard the capo and the lieutenant speaking of a family they called the Lone Stars. It doesn’t take a genius to reason out who that is.”

“She thinks the capo has something Roth wants,” Mira says, adding a cherry to our shit sundae. “And now he’s going to collect it.”

Shaking his scruffy head, Alexander looks down at Lucía, Ava, anyone but Mira. “I’ve had fifteen informers with vetted leads promising me they knew where Roth was.” He holds out his empty hands, showing us what that intel got us. Nothing.

“Fifteen missions,” he continues, “fifteen lost search drones. Fifteen failures. Tell me, what makes this one any different?”

“Because we ourselves are going on this mission,” Ava informs the room. “Screw drones. Lucía will lead me and Mira into Mexico, where Roth will die by my own bullet.”

Holy hell, is she serious? A fit of nervous laughter escapes my throat.

“Preposterous,” Alexander scoffs. “Even if this insanity were true, it was one thing for the Common to track me down in Canada, but the idea of crossing the Big Fence into Mexico is absolutely out of the question. What you propose is a suicide mission.”

“You can just stay here and keep doing nothing,” Mira fires off to Alexander, “while I go and save Theo.”

Alexander rips out his IV and slams the pole back against the wall. “That’s what I’ve been doing Theo’s entire life—saving him! Protecting my son!”