She lifts the flap of her metallic rucksack and pulls out a pen, handing me the antique writing instrument without question.

While Pawel passes around a water bottle, I walk downstream and take a private seat on the pebbled riverbank. A picturesque view of the Cascade Mountains fights for my attention, but I don’t have time for picturesque. I reach into my pocket and pull out my map again.

I flip it over to the side that displays the entire United States. While most of the South is colored royal purple, the color adopted by Roth and his high-ranking elite, the Common is on a campaign to color the most powerful states in the North bright yellow.

Using Emery’s pen, I write out the names of all the senators the Common has targeted for our missions.

Senator Riggs of New York

Senator López of North California

Senator Tate of Colorado

Senator Dalton of Michigan

Senator Gordon of Washington State

My forefinger moves down the list, stopping when I reach the final name. I circle it, focusing on that name alone. Senator Gordon.

The stream babbles soothingly all around me, and I close my eyes, allowing the “blue state of mind”—real this time—to lull me into a sense of calm.

I will turn you yellow, Eli Gordon. And I will make you help me shut down Albatross.

Each name the Common crosses off its recruitment list gives us a stronger chance to beat Roth at his own game: winning control of the country.

And I will make certain to play my parts. Both in the larger endgame, and the smaller one I’m secretly playing by myself.

I have two pieces in play, razor sharp and ruthless as my grief.

CAUTION: LANDMINES AHEAD. DANGER OF DEATH.

The massive warning signs are posted every twenty yards in front of a deep antivehicle trench. Behind these two staunch secondary defenses, the border wall stretches out improbably high and imposing. This section of the wall must be fifty feet high, with a mess of barbed wire defending its top.

And I see no holes this time.

What I also don’t see are drones, motion sensors, Guards, or cameras. Rayla always maintained that the Canadian border is over five thousand miles long and that every fortress has its weak points. How a field littered with hundreds of landmines is one of those weak points, I’m not sure. Maybe the signs are just an empty threat, like the first time I crossed the wall.

“Look,” Barend says. I follow where he points and see multiple blasted holes in the earth. The blown-up carcass of some unfortunate animal lies strewn not far from where we stand. How did the animal even get past the trench?

The warning signs are real this time—it’s not just propaganda, then. Plan B might be too dangerous after all.

Just as I’m about to tell Emery this, Pawel says, “I’ll go first.” He jumps into the trench as if he’s simply diving into a pool on a hot summer’s day to test the water’s temperature.

“No way,” I say automatically. “You’re going to get yourself killed.” I drop down into the ditch after him, without knowing how the hell I’m going to get back up again. “If we’re going to do this, I’ll go first.”

I refuse to have Pawel be blown up in front of me. Too many people have already died on Mira’s and my account—I can’t have another. But there will be others—the war has just gotten started.

In response, Pawel unclasps his bag and pulls out a handheld instrument that looks just like a miniature metal detector.

Ground-penetrating radar. Of course. The sensors will be able to detect if an explosive is near, like bomb-sniffing dogs.

He lifts the device into the air, proud of his Offering Room find. “I’m not just a digital tracker, you know.”

I give Pawel a second look. There’s more to this guy than I originally thought.

A loud thud announces Barend’s arrival in the trench. He crouches down, threads his hands together, and says to Pawel, “I’ll hoist you up to the other side of the ditch.”

“Much obliged,” Pawel says, inserting his right foot into Barend’s handmade catapult. As he’s lifted up to ground level, Emery slides down.

“What happens when we get past the minefield?” I ask. “There doesn’t seem to be a way through.” We might be able to get ourselves across this field without dying, but there’s still the seemingly impenetrable wall.

Emery gives a knowing half smile, loading her foot next into Barend’s locked hands.

“Just follow me.”

We walk in a tight, narrow line through the forty-yard-long minefield. Pawel’s up front with his radar instrument, then Emery and me, with Barend guarding the rear. No one talks—we’re all too busy holding our breath.

The worn path Pawel chose seems to be a sound one; not only are we still alive, others appear to have taken this same route safely to the wall. We use the extremely thin trail—so narrow it’s clear the border crossers were wary enough to walk heel to toe—they created as our guide.

I’m careful to look straight ahead, not wishing to see any more carcasses, especially any that aren’t wild animals.

Pawel stops the line when we reach the gleaming steel wall. He cranes his neck, damp with sweat. “It’s so much smaller than I remember,” he says, mild disappointment in his voice. “Then again, I was a child when I crossed over with Ellie. I don’t remember much.”

Is he looking at the same wall I am? It’s twice as tall as the one I crossed with Mira.

“So what now?” Barend asks impatiently from the back. “We survived a field riddled with explosives only to have no actual way through the wall itself?”

“May I?” Emery motions for Pawel to let her pass.

Without any hesitation, Emery walks straight into the wall and passes through it, like magic.

Genius. The wall looks completely solid from where I stand, but it’s just a holographic projection. The International Boundary Wall is much too long and expensive to safeguard without fault. In the most remote stretches, the Border Services Agency must use landmines to deter illegal crossings, thinking no one would actually ever risk getting close enough to the wall to find out that it isn’t real.

I follow Emery through the imaginary wall, and the first thing I see when I step foot back on American soil is a shiny black Washington State Guard SUV.

It speeds directly for us, and I freeze. A wave of hot panic threatens to take over.

This is part of the plan, remember? I chide myself. Buck up. Breathe. No time for a panic attack.

I feel someone brush against my shoulder.

“Well, that certainly was cool,” Pawel says, his words slightly muffled by a mask. I look over to find my own face staring back at me. Up ahead, Emery turns, and for a dizzying moment, I think Mira is back with me again. My heart twists.

I take courage from my sister. Mira’s still with me, no matter the distance between us.

Succeed in your mission, and in two weeks you’ll reunite with her in Dallas.

Divide, and conquer Roth. My new battle cry.

I throw on the Goodwin mask that Pawel hands me—to hide the fact that I’m a real Goodwin—just as the SUV skids to a stop in front of us. Two Guards, a woman and a man, emerge from the car, every bit as intimidating as I remember them to be. It almost feels nostalgic.

Then the Guards’ harsh faces break into smiles. The woman throws Barend—the only one of our group showing his real face—an extra uniform.