He looks shiny and bright, like he hasn’t missed a wink of sleep since his plan backfired and Mira and I were tossed into a prison cell. I bet he’s about to tell us that he’s the one who put the pieces back together from the mess he left behind.

“Myself especially, since I am the one with the in to the US Secretary of State,” Ciro says, running his fingers through his honey-blonde hair, a move that achieves little except to further heighten my annoyance. His tawny skin is perfectly moisturized. His whole body practically shines. Looking perfect doesn’t make you a leader.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve looked into a mirror. I glance at Mira to assess my current appearance. Mira and I are still identical except for her hair, which is now closer to Ciro’s shade than mine. I hope one day she’ll return to her roots. Fiery red.

Our time in the detention center has changed us both: we look dirty, gaunt, and empty—similar to how our father looked in his prison surveillance footage before he blinked out his coded message for us to revive the rebellion.

We did, Father. But it’s taking its toll.

“Madam Secretary—she asks me to call her Danica—always stays at one of my family’s Paramount hotels when she’s in Canada on official business, you see,” Ciro concludes buoyantly. “The safest place for any foreigner.”

Does he expect me to thank him? He can try and lead by speaking the loudest and using the most words, but it’s more than clear it’s because of him that Mira and I now have two pissed-off governments that we’re running from.

Emery, seated to my right and directly across from Ciro, shifts forward in her seat. She looks like she might have been staging her own strike in solidarity: thinned-out face, tired eyes, and wrinkled coat. The rebellion’s leader probably hasn’t rested a single moment since losing us.

“The Secretary of State made her sympathies to the Common known following Darren’s nefarious execution,” Emery says plainly, minimizing Ciro’s role. “And after Rayla’s call to action on national news earlier tonight, Madam Secretary alerted the Common of her plan to aid in Ava and Mira’s escape.”

Mira and I lock eyes. Our grandmother was on national news?

“The right hand to Governor Roth is a powerful ally for the Common’s cause,” Kano speaks up, his dark, deep-set eyes flashing, his low voice urgent. “Think of who else we can turn to our side because of her influence.”

The man’s entry into the inner circle went unchallenged by Emery. Or me. Free of his Mountie disguise, he’s now dressed in tactical gear like Barend, but styled in a more laid-back manner: the first three buttons of his shirt are casually undone, and he wears black stud earrings and a warm smile. He looks to be somewhere in his midtwenties. I don’t remember seeing him at the lodge when we first arrived—and I have a habit of memorizing faces. He must be a recruit from a different base who was called into action. Whatever the case, I’m thankful Kano answered the call.

“We can discuss Madam Secretary’s significance in a subsequent meeting,” Emery says firmly, “but right now we need to strategize which is the optimal safe house to shelter the twins.”

“No, actually that will not be our next move,” Mira announces beside me. “Ava and I are not going to hide behind TV screens, border walls, or safe houses anymore.”

We had decided together, during our own private family meeting, that it was time for us to stop running. That we needed to take control and step into the front lines of the fight.

Mira, just like me, was locked isolated and starving in a cell. Our captors must have forgotten that we spent half our lives confined within an eighteen-by-fifteen basement with nothing but our thoughts to keep us company. It’s like our minds were trained for that moment. Though they took everything from us—the worst was each other—they couldn’t take our thoughts; and thoughts can be more dangerous than anything if the right person is left alone to think. Father taught us that.

And so I made myself dangerous, turning over every possible method and idea, thoroughly searching my mind for a way to bring down our adversary behind his seemingly impenetrable wall.

My mind kept coming back to the people. Together the many are powerful and can tear down walls.

But my heart kept going back to Project Albatross. I withheld the knowledge of the heartbreaking project from Mira, from everyone, to protect our father’s memory. His name shouldn’t be tainted because he was forced to carry out the orders of a monster.

If Canada gains access to Albatross, the “twin gene” therapy could spread and become a global pandemic, wiping out Multiples forever. I have to shut it down.

But I know the Elders won’t let me venture back into the US for that purpose alone. The Common’s cause has grown much larger than the Rule of One, yet the reason the cause was even reborn was because my family wanted Mira to live. This whole movement was started to save my twin sister. She was the spark, but the Common needs more to fan the flames.

It may seem like a secondary mission to others, but I can’t let twins become extinct. I know that if I don’t try to destroy Albatross, I’ll carry that weight around my neck the rest of my life.

I need a big plan. Something that will help dethrone governors like Roth, who’ve appointed themselves kings and queens, but will also save the future of Multiples.

Alone in her cell, Mira had also been thinking. Mira told me her plan, and I told her mine, and while we devised entirely different courses of action, our end goal is the same.

Our next move means we must separate. We immediately agreed on that.

Divide, and conquer Roth.

“The Common needs more than just guns to fight Roth. The Texas Guard is too strong. We need a scandal,” Mira proclaims, her voice at half its usual strength. A venous line is inserted into her left arm, delivering rejuvenating fluids. I have one in my arm, too, the infusion coursing through my veins.

“From what Emery told us, the leaked footage of Roth murdering our father wasn’t enough to sway the people,” Mira says. Doctored. Fake. That’s what Roth’s loyalists are peddling.

“So we need to link Roth to an action so morally and legally wrong that it will cause a public outrage. Something irrefutable,” Mira continues, her voice steady and sure. “And to do that, we need to find Governor Roth’s forgotten son.”

“Alexander Roth,” Emery says, thunderstruck.

“If there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Mira declares. “A father doesn’t cast out his only son unless he was fearful his legacy could be burned. I believe Alexander is alive, and I want to find him, wherever he’s hiding. There is a scandal there, and the Common can use it as our weapon.”

My face flushes, the intensity of this moment pulsating throughout my body. “And I’m going to Washington State. I’m going to flip the senator to the Common’s side,” I say, feeling stronger by the second. “We need to rouse those in power to help us take the rebellion mainstream, on a national scale. I’m going back over the border.”

Two birds, one stone. Washington State—one of the few places that actually planned ahead for the climate crisis—is among the most prosperous states in the country, along with Texas. Prosperity means influence, and its senator, Eli Gordon, also happens to be the former Director of his state’s Family Planning Division. He must know something about Albatross. He was Father’s greatest rival—they were likely competing to discover the gene therapy first.