It makes me angry how safe he feels alone with me. The door’s wide open. No Mounties are here to guard him; he carries no visible weapons for his own protection. He thinks I’m no longer a threat. He believes I’ve already lost. And maybe I have.

“Where’s my sister?” I choke out. My voice has no bite at all. Frustrated, I pause to gather my waning strength before attempting to rise to my feet to face the president. A power play learned from my father: make sure to be on the same level as your adversary, or they will always see you as beneath them.

But President Moore motions for me to remain seated. He sits down on the bed next to me, ignoring my feeble probe for Mira’s location. I turn my fiery gaze to meet his directly—he’s the very picture of infuriating calm.

“What you’re doing is brave,” he says with a hint of condescension. “But it’s not going to work.”

“Are you sure about that?” I counter, breathless but maintaining eye contact. “I’d already be in Dallas by now if the handoff to Roth was going smoothly.”

President Moore and Governor Roth hate each other. While Roth has tremendous power, control, and wealth in Texas, Moore has more of it and on a country-sized scale. And to top it off, he’s beloved by his people—something Roth will never be. I tremble at the ego-filled rivalry that will ignite between our countries if Governor Roth achieves his greatest desire and becomes the president of the United States. It’s only a matter of time before he announces his bid.

“You hope to exploit your starved condition and the publicity it would be sure to provoke to generate public pressure on my government for your release,” President Moore says evenly, “and as a result, free you and your twin to return to your traitorous activities.”

That’s exactly what I’m hoping. If enough supporters of the rebellion cry out against Mira’s and my detainment, there’s a chance President Moore will be forced to answer their call.

“A political protest is commendable. Something the citizens can really rally behind,” he says. “The People’s Champion, just like your father.”

That apathetic click of his tongue again—I want to rip it out—then his smile extinguishes, and all his warmth vanishes.

“But what you need to understand is that no one will get your message, Ms. Goodwin. No one knows what you’re doing. And frankly, no one cares,” the president continues. “Everyone in this facility works for me. Your valiant hunger strike will begin and end inside these walls, without fanfare or a zero-hour rescue mission, because no one here is on your side.”

My empty stomach reels like the floor’s been dropped out from under me.

“You and your twin are a liability to Canada, and I will not risk further damaging my nation’s relationship with the United States by harboring its famous fugitives.”

Mira and I are a liability no matter where we go. We were born liabilities.

“You mean damaging your relationship with Governor Roth,” I say. Even he’s sure Roth’s next in line for America’s highest office.

Moore doesn’t flinch.

“And so, you’ve signed our death warrants . . . ,” I say, almost completely drained. “You’re deporting us back to Texas.”

All in secret. We’ll simply disappear.

“You lead the most powerful country in the world. If you can’t help us, no one can.”

President Moore shakes his head. “Canada, though mighty, is a lifeboat that will sink if we let too many people on board,” he says with certainty. “It is not my responsibility to save the world—we must all save our own.”

“But there are only two of us,” I say. I hate the unmistakable desperation that has taken hold of my voice.

“Yes, with the whole world waiting to storm the boat behind you,” he counters. The president sits relaxed, patiently watching me. What is he looking for? The negotiations are over. He’s won.

But he let Ciro in. He saved his entire family.

I square my shoulders, stretching to my full sitting height. “And the Cross family? How did they gain entry?” They had money enough to buy their own private row on the lifeboat.

A trace of the president’s charming smile reappears. “Everything comes at a cost,” he says. “And yours is information.”

My insides twist in confusion, but I keep my face blank. All my family’s secrets have already been exposed: I have an illegal twin sister, my parents were rebellion members, and my long-lost grandmother is a former Common leader and current enemy of the state. He must want information about the Common’s whereabouts or their future plans.

“I’ve been locked in this cell for days. I know nothing about what the Common is doing.”

“Oh, your doomed rebellion is of little consequence to me. That is Governor Roth’s problem, not mine,” the president dismisses with a wave of his hand. “I’m interested in Project Albatross.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. I wait for him to expand.

“Your father’s ‘twin gene’ mutation trial,” he presses, eagerness clear in his voice. “We know it reached the human testing phase before his . . . untimely death.”

Twin gene? Mutation? Father would never . . .

It’s like one betrayal after the next.

“My government knows Project Albatross is already being used across Texas to prevent fertilized eggs from splitting into two, eradicating the risk of a Multiple pregnancy,” the president claims, almost wide-eyed, like the cure for cancer has finally been discovered.

I can barely process his shocking statement over the heartbeat pounding in my ears. A distressed and agonizing lub-dub! lub-dub! that races as fast as my painful thoughts.

Father shielded me from the worst of what he did while heading the Family Planning Division. Of course Roth must have tasked him with determining why twins even exist at all. It’s a biological mystery. A malformation in conception. And Father must have convinced himself that gene therapy was the humane way to enforce population control . . . by not even allowing Multiples to be born in the first place.

“Even you, an American twin, must sympathize with our planet’s plight. Every year our temperatures grow warmer and our resources diminish. Population control is now an unpleasant necessity,” President Moore presses. “Prosperous nations like my own must face this bold reality. I must think of the future of Canada, which is the future of the world.”

Is Canada about to carry out its own Rule of One? My God.

“Ms. Goodwin, it is your legal duty to tell me what you know of Project Albatross.”

If my father has really found that a “twin gene” exists in a person’s DNA—making it much more likely that a pregnancy will result in Multiples—and then discovered a way to fix nature’s error through gene therapy, Governor Roth is obligated by international law to share the results. A nation can withhold food or other forms of foreign assistance, but it cannot withhold information that could save humanity and the planet as a whole.

Roth must have broken the Treaty of World Prosperity and refused the Canadian president—kept the research hidden, intended only for the advancement of Texas.

“The power to control an excess of life,” he continues, determined. “One state should not hold on to such important knowledge all for itself, keeping the rest of the world in the dark. Every country deserves access to such mercy.”