I smash my fist against the tempered glass, oblivious to the pain. Again and again Ava punches the wall between us, trying to get to me, her wild strikes like the fervid beat of a war drum.

Then suddenly everything stops. All movement and sound ceases with the click of a gun.

“Everyone, listen and do as I say,” the Mountie holding the weapon announces. “And the secretary will live.”

I watch dazed as he pushes the gun between Madam Secretary’s shoulder blades, shooting a warning glare at his fellow Mountie, who looks as if he’s psyching himself up to charge. “Bad idea,” the renegade Mountie advises. “Better move to the corner and put your hands on the wall.”

Is this man with the Common? Is he here to assassinate or save us?

My eyes rake over his strong-boned features, his jet-black hair knotted at the crown of his head, his easy posture. I don’t recognize him. He was never at the Paramount hotels.

“Moore, what is this?” the secretary demands.

President Moore remains seated, his arms raised helplessly. I look on in satisfaction as every inch of his body shakes with either anger or fear. He’s probably never felt so powerless. How does it feel?

“Open the doors and release the twins,” the man orders.

It takes a long five seconds for the president to respond, his voice gruff and seething. “Open rooms A and B.”

The door slides open behind me, and before I can move, Ava’s in my room, her arms around me. She holds my face in her palms, checking to make sure it’s really me, then rests her forehead to mine. “Did they hurt you?”

“Ava, can you run?” I ask, surprised how calm I feel. There’s little time to escape. We need to move. We have to make it out.

“If you interfere with this operation in any way,” our rescuer shouts at President Moore, knowing everyone inside the facility is listening, “the Secretary of State will die, and Canada will have a real shit storm to clean up.”

He pulls his hostage with him and makes his exit. Ava locks her hand with mine, and we sprint into the deserted hall, unsure where to turn. “To me!” we hear the Mountie yell before we see him. “Follow me!”

The Secretary of State appears first, her valuable, brawny frame the perfect shield for a rescue mission. The Mountie pokes his head out from behind her puffy bun, his high cheekbones flushed with exhilaration.

“Cover my back!” he shouts at Ava and me as they barrel toward us, showing no signs of stopping. Should we trust him? What if he’s just another abductor? Where will he take us?

Ava yanks us forward behind the stocky Mountie and his gun, her grip on my hand inseverable. I dam the panic that threatens to flood my composure and fight to keep pace. I block the man’s left, Ava blocks his right, making him a hard target for a taser or bullet.

Moore wouldn’t shoot. He wouldn’t risk harming an American, sparking international chaos . . .

Cold doubt pushes me faster, the overwhelming need to get out and break free overpowering my burning chest and legs. We race at top speed for the far door labeled “Stairwell.”

Four flights down, another long hallway, and no sign of any other Mounties. The path is clear all the way to the emergency exit doors, just ten yards ahead. The loud click, click, click of the secretary’s boots sound like a ticking bomb. A few more seconds and everything will explode.

But we make it through the double doors, the alarm piercing the still night as we plunge deeper into darkness. I can’t make out where we are, but it feels remote. The silence is total, and the sky is crowded with a thousand stars.

The isolation of this facility must be its top security. There’s nowhere to run.

“Forward!” the man yells, still holding the gun to the secretary’s spine.

A drone’s spotlight trails our mad flight, the narrow beam so intense I have to seal my eyes shut and sprint blind. Ava stumbles. I stumble. My legs will give out at any second; there’s nothing to fuel them but the primal need to survive.

“A forest . . . ,” Ava gasps between ragged breaths, “. . . twenty yards . . .”

The trees’ canopy will make it difficult for the drone to track us, but what about the Mounties? Despite this renegade’s threats, there’s no way President Moore won’t send them after us.

The red-hot light searing the back of my lids fades to black. We must have made it to the forest. The Mountie finally stops, and I open my eyes.

The first thing I see is two strangers moving toward us from behind the trunk of a tree. No, not strangers. It’s like looking into a mirror. They’re wearing Goodwin masks and clothes identical to ours.

I can barely stand upright. I can’t catch my breath.

“What is this?” Ava pants, turning to the Mountie. She teeters beside me, her body folded forward, sweaty fists on shaky knees.

“There’s no time,” Madam Secretary says, her eyes wide, searching the dark. The Mountie lowers the gun, and she turns to him, giving a quick nod. They share a smile. “You did well, Kano,” she tells him.

Shock prevents me from speaking, thinking, reacting. All I can do is take Ava’s hand and squeeze.

As the secretary moves toward us, I wipe the saliva from my face and straighten to my full height.

“I must go back and play my part,” she says, her own chest heaving. “This is where I leave you.”

Ava nods, her eyes burning with the strength her body lacks.

“We will distract the search party, but you must move quickly.” The secretary points to the masked pair, complete with red and blonde wigs. Decoys. “Go knowing that I am with you. You have many on your side.”

She was in on our escape. She’s with us.

“Resist much,” the secretary says.

“Obey little,” Ava and I reply in unison.

We’re still in the game. We’re not alone after all, not forgotten like Moore had said. My deep-seated fury returns and burns through me, making me feel strong and boundless, like an unrealized wildfire waiting for the right burst of wind.

“This way,” Kano says, motioning toward a dirt road and the silhouette of a getaway vehicle. He tears off his Mountie uniform, and I catch sight of the elaborate rebellion tattoo that dominates his forearm. A massive koi fish fighting against violent waters. The symbol shines even in the darkness.

“The Common is waiting for you.”

PART II

THE MISSIONS

ZEE

Central Texas

10:35 p.m.

It’s time for Lights Out on a normal night.

But tonight I’m a civilian, not an Inmate. A Common member if I want to be. I could sleep if I want. Eat if I want. Leave if I want.

Right now I choose to eat.

They took us to a building in a city they said was the old capital of Texas. Austin. The Mess Hall here is big and crowded.

Everybody sits together at round tables. I can’t pick out the former prisoners.

We burned the red uniforms that labeled us “INMATES.” We look like the others now.

“Hot stew!” a boy shouts.

I’ve never had a hot meal. My mouth waters. I step into the line forming at the back of the room.

A handful of men by the open windows stare and point at me. I’m the oldest Inmate from the Camps. I stand out.