Roth just made a power move I can’t even begin to counter.

We’re too late. Roth has already taken control of the country before he’s officially been elected president.

My nails dig deep into my palms, a paltry attempt to keep my rage under control. How can I take down a monster whose tendrils just spread to almost half of the northern United States and in doing so has grown his power to a size nearly twice that of Texas?

You cut out its heart in Dallas.

I’m coming for you, Roth, and I want you to know it.

I think of the first word of protest I ever heard back in Dallas after a Guard arrested a woman over a stolen bottle of water. I stayed quiet then, conditioned into silence, but I won’t now.

“Enough!” I shout at the senator. I pull off my silk headscarf and step into plain sight.

Gasps, from the party guests, from Pawel. Senator Gordon suspends his obligatory speech, and every head turns in my direction. Emery steps in front of me, blocking my famous face from view. But the spotlight’s already on me. This is my moment; there’s no more hiding.

“Stop being the mouthpiece of the governor, and start being the voice of the people,” I demand of Senator Gordon.

Exclamations of “It’s her,” “It’s one of the Goodwin twins,” “Arrest her,” spread into a chorus of hysteria. I feel a dozen gun barrels pointed at my chest. Barend has his gun out, too, but he can’t protect me. No one truly can. The murder of my father—my greatest protector—taught me that.

The camera aims its eye directly at my exposed face. Live, for the people to see. For Roth to see.

Emery and Pawel place their hands on my shoulders, to show that they are with me. My vision is focused on the senator, but at the blurry edges I see bodies moving to stand around me. The people are with me too.

Shoot her! Roth must be screaming. But the choice isn’t his to make—right now it’s Senator Gordon’s.

I’ve forced his hand: arrest me, shoot me, or join with us.

The senator stands on the stage, completely still, gripping hold of the podium like a lifeline, indecision clear on his face. His two agents ask him again and again for his orders.

One of the State Guards breaks rank and charges in my direction, her baton out and ready.

“Stand down!” Senator Gordon shouts into the microphone, his choice of rebellion echoing throughout Riverfront Park and beyond.

Those two words trigger a chain reaction: the two agents exchange bullets with the Guard now loyal to Roth, Barend grabs the senator and flees with him off stage, and Emery, Pawel, and I are all but carried into our getaway car by those dinner guests who just became rebellion members.

When I surge into the back seat of the shiny black State Guard SUV, our undercover driver finally understands whom she picked up at the border. “Holy crap, you’re Ava Goodwin,” she says, straightening up her uniform, staring at me wide-eyed from the rearview mirror. I wipe off my red lipstick with the back of my hand.

“Yes, I am,” I say, proud of the fact.

Out of breath, Barend piles into the car along with our target, Senator Gordon, who sits in the front seat. “Drive!” Barend shouts.

As the car barrels into the night, Senator Gordon switches on the emergency lights and siren, warning everyone to move out of our way.

The senator of Washington State has just publicly joined the Common’s side.

He has become one of the many.

MIRA

Whether I close my eyes or open them, it’s completely dark. Pitch-black emptiness that makes me feel disoriented. Bodiless. A severed soul floating adrift in the endless void. The old nightmarish visions of hands gripping and pulling me take hold of my panicked mind. Cold fingers clamp down onto my right wrist, but before I cry out, I remember. It’s Theo.

“Are you all right?” Theo’s whispered voice reaches me in the dark.

I nod, realizing he can’t see me. “Yes,” I breathe.

No, I want to say. But I would never admit it, especially to him.

Ava messed up the plan. She revealed herself, and therefore exposed me. Now every Guard and traitor-hunter citizen will be on the lookout for the second sister. We’re worth twice as much together. The reward for our capture is in the millions and rising by the day.

What was Ava thinking? Did she consider me at all? The odds that my team and I would successfully cross back into America were already monumentally low. Now it feels like a suicide mission.

I want to go back, turn around, and regroup. But it’s too late.

We’re already out at sea.

After Roth’s unprecedented occupation of seven states and counting, we had to move fast. Ciro couldn’t assemble his “abundant connections” in time, so our new plan was hastily made and heavily reliant on Alexander. He has the cargo ship, the contacts, the money, but he has zero of my trust. Why should we follow the designs of the spawn of Governor Roth, a twenty-first-century invader? But the decision was left to a vote, and I was outnumbered three to two.

Theo voted for me. That was unexpected. So was the quiet pull it gave my heart.

Stop it, I scold myself. Since our last meeting on dry land, I’ve made sure to send Theo numerous glares to let him—and me—understand just how I really feel about a Roth boy.

Alexander—of course. But Ciro and Kano voting against me? That stung like a slap in the face. Thinking everyone must do as I wish is governor-like and childish. Still, the sting has spread, burrowing deep into my memory, to be used later.

Someone leaked the Common’s plan . . .

I make myself breathe and pop all ten of my knuckles.

My only assurance that Alexander won’t betray us is my certainty that he would never put his son Theo into harm’s way.

Keep your enemies close. A phrase to survive by. I’ll never let Theo leave my side; if I’m placed in danger, Theo will be in danger. A fact Alexander must understand and loathe. He has no choice but to help see our mission through.

I readjust the pressure-point bands strapped to both my wrists. Three fingers down on my forearm, I locate the P6, the acupressure point, and make certain the bands are positioned just right to avoid seasickness. I feel sick anyway, from the toxic combination of worry and anger, and my inability to do anything about it. I’m trapped in a box, and the best thing I can do is stay quiet.

Of the whole crew, only the captain knows of our presence on the ship, the five of us smuggled below deck, concealed inside containers stuffed with illegal goods. Goods bound for the Black Market in the States.

I can’t hear anything going on outside this coffin of a box. So I figure there’s no way they could pick up a few brief whisperings inside here. I can’t be left alone with my thoughts any longer. They keep drifting to Ava.

For the second time this week, I have no idea where she is. If she is.

She’s so selfish. Don’t go there, I think.

Shifting my head, I feel Theo’s breath on the tip of my nose. His mouth is inches from mine, which he must realize is too small a distance for us both, because his head whips upward to face the ceiling of our hidden compartment.

“Sorry,” Theo murmurs. His left knee knocks against my ankle. He mutters another sorry, then goes still.

Do all Canadians apologize this much?

There’s very little extra space to move around in here. His six-foot frame must be folded up in his desperation not to touch me. He must be miserable. Good.