I turn, giving them their well-earned privacy, and stare at the heavy foreign object in my shaky hands.

We will face Guards this time, actual humans, not just drones. They will be much harder to shoot.

Are you a Common member or just a Kismet puppet like Blaise said?

I’m about to find out.

Trial by gunfire.

MIRA

I’d never been to the Texas State Capitol before tonight. A microchip scan was always required to enter the premises. Any of my days aboveground that aligned with school field trips or invites to official events as Father’s plus-one would always go to Ava.

It’s even taller close up. At eighty stories, it’s too high for me to see its top from where I stand on the wide landing of the grand red-granite staircase. Granite torn from the old Capitol to build the new. Somewhere up there, atop its lofty pinnacle, lording over the city, stands the Goddess of Liberty. The historic statue clutches a gilded Lone Star in one hand, a sword of justice in the other.

Crushing cheers, thousands strong, erupts from the lawn, the streets, skyscraper windows, as the Family Planning Director pushes me into the light.

“Ladies and gentlemen, fellow citizens of Dallas,” Alexander’s placid voice says, amplified by a microphone. He wears a uniform so perfectly tailored it’s like he never took it off. Or maybe Governor Roth had it waiting, knowing he’d come back. A black armband of mourning wraps around his right sleeve for the fallen son he left behind.

For the son that I took from him. From them. The citizens. Or so every single person here believes.

“I didn’t kill Halton!” I scream, but no one hears me above the tumult.

“Please excuse the late hour and the disruption to your busy schedules,” Alexander says. “But I bring a most urgent announcement that can only be shared in person.” He lifts his arm, presenting me formally to the rabid audience, their roar reaching a feverish intensity.

The Director drags me across the slick stone floor and ties me to a pole five yards from Alexander and the podium. She makes a show of waving a purple cloth in front of me before she gags me with it, smiling.

“It will be over soon,” she coos in my ear, stroking my cheek like a reassuring parent. “I look forward to seeing more of you when you’re dead.”

She’s going to dissect and study me. Twin research. An image flashes behind my eyes of me cold and blue on her operating table.

My blood boils, red and alive. I want to wrench my limbs free and curl my hands around her throat, but I save my energy. I won’t let her weaken me. I turn my focus onto the crowd, searching hopelessly for a friendly face.

Ava, are you here?

“Many of you will recognize me,” Alexander continues from center stage. “I have been gone for too long. But now I have returned. I am Alexander Roth, and I have not come empty-handed.”

Drones with facial recognition cameras fly above the audience, hunting for the wanted, for insurgents that don’t belong. Everywhere, Guards scour the mob of people, ripping off hats, umbrellas, sunglasses, anything that could hide a lurking Common member.

Ava, I hope you’re not here. For your sake and for mine. I don’t want her to see this.

“For over a century the citizens of Dallas have entrusted my family, the Roth family, to watch over our shining capital . . .”

Bold white uniforms catch my roving eyes. A pack of Strake University students occupy the first four rows behind the chain of Guards. Their royal-purple sashes sink my heart into my stomach, and bile surges to my throat, burning every part of me in its path. I try to cough up the bitter acid, but the gag makes me choke. A raven-haired girl standing closest to me laughs. Mckinley Ruiz. Halton’s ex. Her wide, gaping mouth a soundless cackle in the uproar.

“But for eighteen years, a shadow hid and lived among you . . .”

Sweat drips from my temples, stinging my eyes, sticking my bangs to my forehead, obstructing my view.

Where’s Theo? Ciro? Kano?

Where’s Ava?

The glass facades of the skyrises light up all over Capitol Square. Ava’s out-of-date wanted photo projects across every blinding screen. I barely recognize her. Us. Long fiery-red hair, the naive eyes of a fragile girl, outfitted in makeup and a Strake uniform.

A new word flashes across our chest: “Found.”

You didn’t find the girl in that photo. That girl is long dead.

The photo dissolves into a live image of me bound to the pole secured to the stone floor. The screens cut to a close-up so that each and every citizen, from the low ranking to the high, in the very back rows to the front, can all see that it’s me.

Boos and cheers mix to a zenith of pandemonium.

I quell my instinct to cower, to throw down my head, to keep my eyes on my feet. Instead I lift my chin so the people can plainly see my face.

I am not ashamed. I am not scared or regretful. I am proud. I am Mira. I’m the Common. Let them see.

There’s movement behind me, at the Capitol’s entrance. Even Alexander pauses his speech and turns to look.

Beneath the center archway, two Texas State Guards burst out of the oak doors, carrying between them a seven-foot bulletproof-glass shield. The soldiers part, and the shield extends, creating a 180-degree angle of secured shelter.

The entire city falls eerily silent, as if the governor has the power to mute us all. The air feels thick. Even the very anticipation of his presence sucks oxygen out of the air, stifles and suppresses energy and hope.

Thousands of eyes lift toward the screens, a trained horde, holding their breath for the first glimpse of their conquering leader, their false savior.

He’s just a mortal man.

But when he steps onto his dais and sits on his throne-like steel chair, my conviction abandons me.

Governor Roth has changed these past few months, as much as I have. He appears twice the size I remember. Larger than life. Deep furrows line his hollowed cheeks like scorched rivulets waiting for tears that will never fall from his two black eyes. His thin lips have all but disappeared, twisted and curled into a permanent, gruesome sneer.

He looks like the wielder of death.

Courage, for till all ceases, neither must you cease.

Snatching back my courage, I look death in the eyes.

“For over three decades . . . ,” Alexander stumbles on. From the top of my vision, I see him on the giant screen displayed on the Capitol building. Fear fractures his stone-faced assertiveness. He’s afraid. He didn’t expect the governor to come. Does he think Roth will turn on him? He’s captured the ultimate prize and has returned home a champion. What has he to fear?

Theo. Where’s Theo?

“. . . you have elected my father, Governor Howard S. Roth, to be the defender and torchbearer of our nation’s beacon.”

Applause explodes across the concrete grounds, bursting my eardrums. I don’t flinch or blink. I don’t take my eyes from the bulging vein on Governor Roth’s forehead.

“Humbly, and in your name, I have brought you your traitor, Governor. I have found our city’s very own unwanted Mira Goodwin.”

“More like I found you!” I cry into my gag.

The governor moves his dark gaze to his son. The deafening zeal of the people shifts and intensifies. They’re growing anxious. They want action. So does Governor Roth. I recognize it in the tightening of his jaw. He wants to taste blood.