I feel electric. I feel ready. Real action is about to be taken, and we’re not asking permission.

Stunned silence; then everyone objects at once.

“We must stick together—”

“You only just reunited—”

“Much too risky. We’ve got to keep you both safe—”

Mira and I side-glance each other, resolute. “There are two of us for a reason,” Mira says to our tableful of objectors.

“So that we can do two things at once,” I conclude reasonably. It’s been our method our entire lives. The advantage of having twins as the mascot of the rebellion: two stones, twice as many birds.

“But the US senators are simply ceremonial, relics of a dead American society,” Skye declares, throwing holes into my master plan. Her hands rest empty on the smooth yellow table, but I can still see my father’s bloody microchip inside her callused palm. “They hold no actual power. The central government is weak; we should be going after the governors.”

“You mean assassinating them?” I ask, thinking of her crusade against the Family Planning Division that nearly killed my father. I was trying to kill his office, Skye had promised. Not the man.

Even in my vengeance this is not a road I wish to go down. Roth’s propaganda is not true; the Common is not running around blindly killing the ruling class. It matters how we get our power. The way we rise will follow our cause—we won’t be able to wipe off the blood if we compromise the message.

What about Roth? I’ve been thinking of his death from the moment I learned he killed my father. Does his killing somehow count as different from other murders because it’s personal to me?

“No,” Skye says, pulling me out of my complicated musings. “I’m suggesting we flip the governors. Forget the senators.”

Skye stares at me from across the table, her two French braids framing her intense expression. I can’t help but be drawn to her: her blunt attitude, her confidence, her dedication to the rebellion even when it was fragmented and obscure. Though she’s only in her twenties, Skye’s already viewed as a Common Elder, and she earned it by fighting as a lone wolf, not by simply being born a twin.

There’s logic to her thinking. Governors have siphoned off most of the power from the federal government, claiming it for themselves. Along with the Senate, every year the Office of the President becomes more and more useless. That enduring American figurehead clings desperately to tradition and diplomacy for survival.

But Roth aims to change that. Before entering the War Room, Pawel told me about the Texas governor’s recent presidential announcement. It’s something I knew was coming—his original intention was to declare his run at the Rule of One Anniversary Gala before we crashed the party—but hearing that it’s actually happening turns my blood cold. Even a state as big as Texas can’t contain Roth’s vast ambition.

“Governors are out for themselves, always. The public knows that. Citizens trust senators more than governors to represent their best interests,” I say. “So if we can get the senators to openly support the Common, the people will see it as them standing up to the governors for the first time.”

“It will galvanize the citizens,” Mira says in support beside me.

“I agree with Ava. It should be the senators,” Emery declares. She raises her hand thoughtfully to her pointed chin. “If we were able to throw the weight of dominant states like Washington, Michigan, Colorado, New York, or even North California onto the Common’s side, their combined strength added to ours could be enough to tip the scale in our favor.”

In the past, every state had two elected senators in Congress, but thirty years ago, it was cut down to one. The Senate rarely ever meets, and when they do, it’s done virtually—the high cost of travel to New Washington simply isn’t in any state’s budget.

Now, the fifty-one remaining senators are nothing more than symbolic overseers of state-run aid programs and charities, spending the bulk of their time cutting ribbons and solemnly surveying the damage from their states’ latest superstorms, offering little more than sympathy and prayers. Never action. But we can change that.

Big, small, resource dry, or rich, every state used to have an equal voice on the national stage. Divided we fell, and we can only stand up again if we do it together.

“The Common must empower the Senate, allowing our country to govern as one, like before,” I insist, even more steadfast in my conviction after Emery’s surprise backing. “America needs to reset our country’s original foundation. It’s cracked. That’s why governors like Roth were able to grab hold of so much power.” I pause, taking a few breaths before my final proclamation. “The Common must unite the states again.”

“It’s too soon,” the Elder with the bristly beard argues. His furrowed brow deepens with caution. “Yes, the Common’s long-range goal is to reunite the country, but the time is not right to—”

“The time is now,” Mira says, cutting him off. “The rebellion has been waiting in the shadows for almost sixty years. There will never be a better time to strike than right now.”

Most of the inner circle nod their heads in approval. We’re winning them over.

The last holdouts are Barend and the bearded Elder.

Pawel thrusts his hand into the air, then speaks without waiting to be called on. “If we were successful in gathering states to our side, we could take on Roth and Texas,” he says, excitement in his voice. “Just in time to sabotage his bid for the presidency.”

“Yes, but how?” Barend argues, rising from his chair. “The opposition will fight against any campaign that tries to turn its own people against them. Is everyone forgetting each state has its own army called the State Guard, with governors at the head?”

“We keep things underground, appealing to senators in secret, face-to-face,” I contend. I had plenty of time to think this through. “As the people continue to join our cause, we will amass our own army against the Guard.”

“And what about Alexander?” Kano asks, turning to Mira, doubtful. “If Governor Roth truly banished his only son, he’d be squirreled away some place so dark we’d never be able to find him.”

“That’s what the Intelligence Room is for, isn’t it?” Mira says to the group. “Members like Pawel are our searchlights.”

Everyone’s heads turn to Pawel. “I can certainly give it my best shot,” he stammers, not used to having the light directed at him.

Mira and I nod, satisfied, knowing Pawel’s best shot means it’s good as done. Tracking is his greatest skill and the reason he has a seat at the leadership table.

“It’s settled, then,” Mira declares, her vigor returned. Both our IV bags are empty; simultaneously we withdraw the catheters from our venipuncture sites and apply pressure before fixing a clean gauze dressing onto our arms.

We rise from the table.

“You both share the number-one spot on America’s Wanted List—it’s even more dangerous for you now than before,” Emery says, her curls bouncing as she shakes her head. She’s torn. She doesn’t want to lose us again. “And this time you won’t have Rayla’s coordinates or your father’s map to guide you. I can’t permit you to do this alone.”