Mira’s not here, but Senator Gordon is.

He sits across the room with Emery, their heads bent close together, strategizing in hushed voices how best to capitalize on his public induction to the Common’s side. Now that Roth is invading individual states, it’s paramount that our side flips as many senators as we can before Roth takes hold of the entire country.

Having Washington State’s influential senator join with us is a huge get for the Common. Mira and I are the face of the rebellion to America’s citizens, but Gordon will be the face of the government. I hope he’s ready.

I completed half of my mission—Senator Gordon of Washington State is crossed off my list. Even if my team is angry with how I accomplished it, my spur-of-the-moment move got us what we came here for. Now I want the other objective I came here for: information.

But now is not the time. Our safe house is a tiny wine cellar stuffed with people and unspoken tension. There’s no space for a private conversation. I need to wait for the right moment—I’ll only have one shot.

To pass the time, I spread my map out across the cold floor. Placing my finger on the spot where I am now in eastern Washington, I trace the route to Dallas.

I close my eyes and visualize myself inside the senator’s airplane, cutting across the distance at six hundred miles per hour. By then, all the teams have made it to the Last Stage safe house, and when I open the big yellow door, Mira and Rayla are there to greet me.

We’re still here. Stuck in a cellar, completely useless to the Common. The senator’s plane should’ve arrived by now—something must have gone wrong.

Senator Gordon feels it too. He’s been pacing in small, anxious circles for the last hour. Branded traitors by association, his wife and teenage daughter are in danger from the Texas Guard and need the Common’s protection. His agent had orders to retrieve the senator’s family and bring them here.

They haven’t arrived yet either.

I know he blames me. Brow furrowed, the underarms of his tuxedo shirt stained with sweat, he glares at me every so often. It was I who forced his hand; I put his family in harm’s way.

And I’d do it again if I had to. Every family must make sacrifices for the cause. Mine has made plenty.

Screw it.

I’ve waited long enough—there is no right moment.

Senator Gordon sits on the only real chair in the cellar—the rest are metal fold outs—surrounded by cases of wine. His head leans back against the 3D-papered wall that mimics exposed red brick. He’s asleep.

I rise from my corner and make my move. Scanning the room, I find everyone sleeping, except Barend. On guard, as always. Secrets don’t last forever—I know that just as well as anyone—but I’d like to keep this one close as long as possible. For my father’s sake.

Tread carefully.

The senator’s face twists with fear, eyes moving rapidly underneath their lids. He’s afraid, even in his sleep. Dreaming of what’s to come. It seems almost like a mercy to wake him.

I sit on a wine case to his right, facing him. Calmly, I whisper near his ear, “Senator.” To his credit, he wakes at once, self-possessed and ready for action. Clearly habits from his past life as a doctor.

He turns to face me. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. I get right down to business.

“You knew my father, Darren Goodwin,” I say softly. I flick my eyes over to Barend, who pretends he’s not listening, but I know he is. Or at least he’s trying. It’s part of his job description.

The senator narrows his eyes. “I wouldn’t say I knew him, no,” he answers. Not a great start.

I try again, keeping my voice to a whisper. “You were the Director of the Family Planning Division for your state at the same time as my father. Did you ever consult with one another about your . . . duties?” I ask. He looks at me puzzled, as if to say, Is this really the time to be talking about such matters?

Just ask him what you came here for.

“Project Albatross,” I say, looking him square in the eye. “What do you know about the secret gene therapy?”

The senator’s confusion melts into disappointment. “Darren went through with the trial, then,” he says. “You wouldn’t be asking otherwise.”

It’s true. Roth really is researching how to stop Multiple pregnancies.

“I know my father reached the human trial phase—was it successful?” I ask. “Has the gene therapy been put into practice?” I don’t want to hear the answer—I don’t want my father to break what’s left of my heart—but I came all this way. I have to know.

The senator places his hand over mine. There’s pity in his eyes. “If the ‘twin gene’ therapy has already begun, it would be very difficult to stop, I’m afraid.”

His words hit me like a whip of fire, and I pull back fast, sending a case of wine crashing to the floor. The noise pulls everyone in the room to their feet, and they stare at Senator Gordon and me in alarm.

You’re wrong! I want to shout at him, but at that moment, the door bangs open at the top of the stairs.

“Daddy!”

A girl, maybe thirteen, barrels down the steps and into the senator’s arms. She has an academy uniform on, like she was pulled out of school. A plain navy blazer and slacks, no color-coded sashes displaying rank, like at Strake. She holds on to her father tight.

I have to look away.

The senator’s agent and a tall, thin woman who must be Gordon’s wife rush through the door. She locks the dead bolt behind her before hastening to join her family at the base of the stairs.

Emery emerges at my side. “Any news?” she asks the agent.

The agent—he looks like he hasn’t stopped moving since we left him at the charity dinner—addresses the senator, his voice quick and severe.

“Sir, the senators from Michigan, North California, and Oregon have followed your lead and have publicly backed the Common.”

“And New York?” Emery presses.

“Reports say Senator Riggs and the Common’s representative Skye Lin have been killed by Governor Cole’s Guard. The governor just delivered a speech rallying her citizens against the traitors.”

Shock breaks out across the cellar. I swallow my scream. We all knew the risks.

“The Texas Guard has now invaded more than just the northern border states,” the agent says, extending the bad news. “North California and Colorado have been confirmed.” Rayla.

“Is the transport plane still coming?” I ask, my throat sore from holding back my emotion.

The agent shakes his head. “The Guards loyal to Senator Gordon are working on it.”

The uncertainty of our situation compounded with the happy family reunion right in front of my face is too much.

I have to get out of here. Now.

I change back into my Blackout Wear in the cramped bathroom, then sit down on the lid of the toilet to think.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve sought out bathrooms in times of crisis. At school, the stalls were a place I could find privacy, a momentary escape. At home, I used to skip out on my daily showers to lie on the bathroom floor with my eyes closed and listen to the water stream down onto the glossy porcelain tile, the room filling with steam. I realize now how incredibly privileged I was to be able to waste water like that, even if it was recycled.