Maps have come to symbolize action. That I’m making real moves and advancing toward my goal faster than I ever would by standing still.

“There is a large supply warehouse in Austin,” Haven says, standing close to Mira on the opposite side of the spread-out map. “The Common members know me there. We can gather food. Weapons.”

Haven’s once-colorless voice has taken on a melodic tone the more time that she’s spent with us, her family. It reminds me of my mother’s voice, at least what it sounded like in the hologram recordings I grew up watching, and it brings me comfort every time my aunt speaks.

Although Mira and I are not asking for open volunteers this time—our plans must remain top secret now that Emery officially disapproves of our mission—it was a given that Haven would join us on our latest undertaking. When Mira told Haven we found information on Roth’s hiding place, she immediately started packing her bag, no follow-up questions asked.

“Good, our first and only pit stop will be in Austin,” Mira says in English, then switches to Spanish for Lucía, who’s positioned between us. “The drive from there to Laredo should take no more than four hours.”

Mira hasn’t put her feelings into words with me, but I see the tiny contractions in her skin muscles that are causing goosebumps to ripple across her arms and neck. Beyond her anticipation of getting Roth, Mira must be excited to see Theo again.

While the idea of the two of them touching still makes me see red at the edges of my vision—a leftover hang-up of Theo’s blood ties to Roth—whoever Mira thinks is worth fighting for, I’ll fight for too, every time.

I just hope Theo’s still alive to fight for.

“Las principales fortalezas de Salazar están aquí,” Lucía informs the group. The main Salazar strongholds are here.

She leans over the map, circling five of Mexico’s supercities with her finger, moving from the southern region up to the northeast. “Each is led by a lieutenant.”

Lucía’s fingertip lingers on Monterrey, her hometown.

Every one of the capo’s lieutenants is a Salazar—once born into the family business, there is no leaving it. And from what I’ve learned tonight, Lucía’s branch of the bloodline rules Monterrey.

“How did you break free?” I ask her.

Lucía keeps her narrowed eyes on the map. Her tone dips to a guttural growl. “Mis padres se negaron a cumplir las órdenes de mi primo.” My parents and I refused to do my cousin’s bidding.

I know that look well. It’s the look of unspeakable loss.

“The lieutenant had my father killed,” she says haltingly, as if each word is poking at a festering wound. “Al día siguiente corrí con mi madre y mi hermano y nunca miré hacia atrás.” I ran the next day with my mother and brother and never looked back.

Mira and I both reach out a hand to her. Lucía doesn’t elaborate, and we know from personal experience not to press.

“You will not face returning home alone,” I promise.

“We will take your cousin down, same as Roth,” Mira vows.

Lucía nods, then slides her finger over to a small town outside Monterrey.

“Aquí encontraremos aliados,” she says, voice as sure as the dawn. Here we will find allies.

But first, we have to cross yet another international border that’s rumored to be impassable. How exactly we’re going to do that, we haven’t figured out all the way yet. But three out of four of us have done it before, more than once. Somehow, we will do it again.

“And transportation?” Mira asks, raking a hand through her red roots. “How are we going to steal a military SUV without detection?”

“I will do it,” Haven offers without hesitation.

Our aunt wants to place the burden of consequences on her own shoulders if we’re caught. But there’s no need—I know exactly where we can get our transportation.

“I’ll handle the vehicle,” I say.

“We should leave tonight. Right now,” Lucía says, adamant.

We all nod in agreement. She’s right. We should take advantage of the blackout and leave under the cover of darkness and confusion before anyone can try to stop us.

The future waits for no one, Owen likes to tell me.

I’m living by his code more than he is.

My stomach twists at the thought of leaving Owen behind with no real goodbye. But where I’m going, there’s a high chance I won’t be coming back. Owen shouldn’t have to risk his future just because I am.

But for me, there is no future when Roth’s still in the present. There is no peace when there’s so much rage in me, I can’t even pretend to sleep, much less go on living.

May they rest in peace. And may we remain unrested, I said to myself at Rayla and Pawel’s funeral.

If no one else is willing to go and do what needs to be done, I gladly offer myself.

I look at Mira, Haven, and Lucía in turn, grateful to have them with me for what lies ahead.

“We have to get him this time,” I say, voice thick with conviction.

I don’t know if my shattered heart can take another failure.

Then I’m suddenly struck by a thought so strong it’s like a vision.

“There’s one more person we need to recruit before we leave,” I say, surprising myself as much as everyone else in the room.

Continuing my streak of living off pure reactionary emotion, I follow what my intuition tells me, and head straight for Guardian Tower.

Outside, the luminous glass ball at the top of Guardian Tower—the brightest star in the Dallas skyline—has gone out.

Here inside Level 102 of the Tower, where the high-risk inmate cells are, only the dim emergency lights remain on. It was child’s play for us to talk our way in. Mira’s a masterful liar; her whole existence relied on deception for eighteen years.

We’re here under General Pierce’s authority, Mira lied.

When the elevator—thankfully still running from solar backup power—opened on cell block seven, the first thing I noticed was the deafening racket. The inmates’ desperate pounding on their metal cell doors and reinforced windows. The howls of “Let me out of here!”

The second was the suffocating heat. With no air-conditioning, it’s a death trap up here.

Mira looks at me, conflicted, as we struggle to walk calmly down the long, hectic hallway. “Ava, they will all die of heat stroke,” she says, her doctor’s instincts kicking in.

“The Common Guards are handling it,” I say, nodding toward the back of the cell block where the Guards shout orders to a group of cuffed inmates forming a line.

The Tower’s top levels hold Dallas’s worst criminals until they are relocated to supermax labor camps all across Texas, where they’ll spend the rest of their lives working off their debt to society. The Common has now inherited these prisoners, as well as a fresh crop from Roth’s inner circle. What exactly to do with them hasn’t been figured out yet, but for now, I overhear a Guard say they’ll be brought to the Tower’s rooftop to wait out the power outage.

No one can escape from a balcony 120 stories in the sky.

At the front of the line, I see the hatchet-shaped face of Roth’s former secretary of the treasury, the woman who helped members of high-ranking society grow fat as ticks while the rest of the citizens barely had enough rations to survive.