It might take way longer than previously anticipated for this kid to return to a sound mind.
I take a seat on the floor, posting up next to the Whiz Kid, and mull over Ava’s last words.
See you soon.
That means she’ll wait, right?
I cross my arms, nodding stupidly in answer to my own question. She’ll wait.
Then why can’t I shake the nagging feeling that see you soon is just an easier way of saying goodbye?
AVA
Mira and I sit at Emery’s desk inside Roth’s commandeered office at the mansion, a ringing tablet held up in front of us on a sleek, heavy stand.
All calls—even old-fashioned video correspondence like this—require encrypted communications to ensure that neither party’s identity or location can be traced. Ghost calls, Owen labels them. I have no clue how to set one up, but luckily, we didn’t need Owen himself to follow us back to the Common’s headquarters to facilitate ours. He and the Cybersecurity Team already outfitted Emery’s new base for purposes just like this.
My thumb traces the half circles my nails cut into my palms to blot out the feeling of Owen’s skin against mine. He’s not here to have my back, fine. I don’t need him when I have Mira. And now, Lucía again.
I still can’t believe she’s here. Her sudden arrival in Dallas was one of the best surprises of my life.
My eyes shift to our trusted friend leaning against a table at the opposite end of the industrial-style room. All of Roth’s tables—including his vintage wooden desk with large steel I-beam legs—remain in the office simply by virtue of being too heavy to carry away. Lucía gives me an encouraging nod and I take a deep, calming breath, drawing courage from her fortitude.
With Lucía back on our team, I feel all my lost hope jolt back into my bones. Hope that Roth can and will be rooted out and defeated at long last.
When the ringing stops, Mira nudges my knee under the table, directing my attention back to the tablet. Mira and I square our shoulders just as Emery’s face fills the screen. She looks notably grimmer than she did three hours ago when I last saw her boarding the helicopter for New Mexico. Negotiations at the Tres Amigas station must not be going well.
Obviously, or the lights would be back on.
“I have only a handful of minutes—what do you need?” Emery says.
“We’ve found Roth,” I say, not wasting any precious time. “He’s hiding somewhere in Mexico with the Salazar cartel, and Mira and I want your blessing to go and get him.” I leave the details—the implied requests for funding, transportation, gear, and weaponry—unsaid.
Emery’s thick brows rise dubiously. Mira follows up my extraordinary statement with context—a quick, careful explanation of Lucía, the source of our intel, and why we believe her claim is valid.
But the Common’s leader shakes her head.
“I cannot give my consent to such a speculative mission based on one woman’s unverified intelligence,” Emery says.
For the third time tonight, Emery rejects my wishes.
My stomach drops along with my shoulders. I was confident Emery would say yes. That she would trust me like she did when she offered herself to my mission team to flip Senator Gordon to our side.
Has she lost all her faith in me?
“While I understand and admire your resolve to find Roth at all costs, it is my job to urge caution,” Emery says. “The Common must not have tunnel vision for finding one man, a threat that at present has been neutralized. We must broaden our scope and look to the country’s future.”
“But Roth is not neutralized,” Mira counters, heated. “Roth didn’t run to Mexico just to hide—he’s there for a reason—making plans right now to come back at us twice as strong.”
“At the moment, that is just conjecture,” Emery says, holding up her hand, calling for more caution. “There is no evidence yet for what you are claiming.”
The Whiz Kid can give us our smoking gun. Owen’s words snap back into my mind. I’m just asking you to wait.
But the time for waiting is over.
“We’re not asking to go in with the Common army, guns blazing,” I say, purposely not mentioning the possibility of Roth’s servers. If Owen truly believes the IT boy is the goose that will lay the golden egg, it’s on him to appeal his case to Emery himself. I won’t let him slow down our mission in the meantime.
I spread my hands flat on the table.
Remain levelheaded. Rational.
“This would be another covert mission, a small group like last time—” I press.
“Is the station director ready to continue our talk?” Emery says, head turned away from her camera’s lens, her attention divided among multiple important conversations at once.
Mira and I lock side-eyed glances. We’re losing her.
“Yes, I will be right there,” Emery says to someone off-screen before returning to address my appeal. She adjusts the thin silk scarf draped around her neck that conceals an old, poorly healed battle scar. Makeup now covers the holes left over from multiple eyebrow piercings, acquired in her younger days of rebellion.
Does Emery think a figurehead has to appear polished, perfect, in order to lead?
Screw that. It’s not real. If Emery was here, sitting in front of me and not on a screen, I’m not sure I could stop myself from mussing up her camera-ready hair and wrenching off that useless scarf.
“Small, covert missions still require funding at the Common’s expense,” Emery says firmly. “Our adversaries and responsibilities at home are considerable and require our full focus and resources.”
“We understand the Common’s cause has expanded beyond Roth,” Mira says, impatient. “But nothing is more important for the country’s safety than preventing Roth from gaining back his power—”
An Elder appears in the frame and murmurs a message into Emery’s ear. She shakes her head and rises to her feet, buttoning her tailored suit jacket.
“We cannot afford rash decisions right now,” Emery says, giving Mira and me a stern look, then a direct order. “Remain in Dallas. We will discuss the matter further upon my return.”
I throw my hands into my lap, balling them into fists. After everything we’ve been through together, I can’t stand how distant and cold Emery’s treating me now.
Rayla’s murder shook Emery to her core. Instead of the loss bringing us closer together, she’s put emotional distance between us, larger than a sinkhole.
It feels like a hard slap in the face. Like I lost more than just Rayla and Pawel that night in the tunnels.
“Emery, please—” I implore, but the screen cuts to black.
Mira and I turn to one another and have a whole conversation in just one look.
We don’t have Emery’s support. We don’t have access to the Common’s funding or military resources. Fine.
We will find another way.
“Interstate 35 will take us from Dallas all the way to Laredo,” I say, dragging my finger from the starred capital on the map down to the border town.
Just touching a paper map again quickens my heartbeat. For weeks every part of me has been screaming, Take action! My nightly searches—in vain—for clues of Project Albatross and burning down Roth’s quarters did nothing to alleviate my eternal desire for revenge. But poring over this map of south Texas and Mexico, strategizing routes and making plans, galvanizes me.