Mira. It’s dark and loud, and I don’t know where we’re going, but I’m still holding her hand. I squeeze, and she squeezes back.

Why wouldn’t she let go of that Roth boy’s hand?

Our forward movement abruptly stops, and the sound of an engine thrums close by.

“Everyone, get in!” I hear Emery shout. “Head to the safe house!”

I rip off the bulletproof blanket to reveal a line of cars parked along a nondescript side street. Common members are piling into the getaway cars en masse.

No! We have to go back to the Capitol—Roth is still there. This time, we can’t run away.

Before I can object, my grandmother steps in front of me.

“Rayla!” I cry out. She wraps her arms tight around Mira and me, and all at once I feel like I’m back home. I am. I’m back in Dallas. I made it just in time. Our plane landed twenty miles outside Dallas, where Pawel managed to hijack an autonomous car. After we stole ourselves into the barricaded city, we immediately heard the message to report to Capitol Square.

What I found there was my worst nightmare come to life.

I thought Mira was going to die on the Capitol steps right in front of me, her executioner Alexander Roth. First my father, and now my twin sister, both murdered by a Roth.

She’s alive. She’s safe. We’re together again with Rayla.

My head spins, and my heart aches, and for a moment I can do nothing but cling to Rayla and my sister.

I’m pulled back to reality when I feel something wet against my arm. I let go of Rayla to find blood soaking through her shirtsleeve. She’s hurt.

My warm bubble of safety pops. I suddenly notice all the gunfire and screaming close by.

“Rayla, you’re shot?!” Mira exclaims. We both reach as one for the wound, but Rayla pulls away.

“It’s nothing. It’s an old injury,” Rayla says, supplying more questions than answers. “There’s no time to talk now. We must get back to the safe house.”

I know she’s in pain—her jaw is stiff; she’s clamping down on her molars. But before I can question her any further, a scarlet-red car pulls up dramatically in front of us. Both sides lift open like elegant bird wings, and Owen, the guy who’s been with Rayla this whole time, bursts out of the driver’s seat, looking almost as worried about my grandmother as I am.

It’s clear how loyal he is to Rayla—he races straight for her, attempting to escort her into the passenger’s seat.

She bats him away, instead pushing Mira and me into the back seat of the car. The Roth boy Mira saved gets in after us, but Rayla holds up a hand to Alexander. Wearing his uniform, he’s the spitting image of Governor Roth in his prime. The next in line. “Only five passengers in this car—make for the car up ahead,” she says. “We’ll meet you at the Last Stage.”

Why are we taking the Roths with us? They should be in handcuffs. Anger surges through me, my desire for revenge burning hot.

My hand moves for my gun. Hurting one of his own might make Governor Roth feel my pain.

But then the doors seal shut, and we’re racing through the back streets of Dallas, and I have to use my hands to brace myself. “Buckle up!” Owen shouts from up front. I can’t believe Rayla is letting someone else drive.

Out the car windows it’s all chaos and smoke. Dallas was the most law-and-order city in America—never in my wildest daydreams would I ever have imagined that the heavily regulated streets I walked down for eighteen years would turn into a warzone.

“Mandatory curfew!” a warning blasts out all across the capital. “Return immediately to your residence, or you will be arrested!”

But the people aren’t obeying.

Citizens wearing Goodwin masks flood the streets, headed toward the Governor’s Mansion or the Capitol, tearing down surveillance cameras as they go, weapons in their hands. I’m not the only one seeking revenge.

I glimpse boarded-up windows, those loyal to Roth hiding themselves away. I see flashes of yellow doors whip past, welcoming me home.

Rayla turns her passenger lounge chair to face Mira and me. “I’m very happy to see you both again,” she says, reaching out to grab our hands, but one of Mira’s is already taken. By the Roth boy.

Why is he still holding her hand? I want to tear the two of them apart, break their link. He looks so much like Halton. How can she bear to touch him?

Mira quickly pulls her hand away like she’s been caught stealing water.

“I guess I’ll formally intro myself . . . I’m Owen Hart,” Owen interrupts from the driver’s seat with an expectant glance in the rearview mirror.

Silence hangs in the air like jagged icicles. Halton’s brother looks uneasily at my sister. She doesn’t dare look in his direction. One false move and Theo’s going to get cut. And Mira knows it.

The boy is living proof of Roth’s hypocrisy—but we got from him what we needed, and now he needs to go.

“Oh right, yeah, Ava and Mira Goodwin don’t need introductions,” Owen rambles on. “And Theo just intro’d himself on stage . . .” The guy was mute the first time we saw each other, and now he can’t seem to shut up.

“What is he doing here, Mira?” I demand, pointing at Theo. “Our missions were to bring Roth down, not bring one into the Common family.”

“He’s one of us, Ava,” Mira says, gripping my hand tight. “He’s on our side.”

“How can you be so sure?” Rayla says, echoing my distrust.

“Just listen to me,” Mira pleads. I’ve always known what my sister was thinking, because I was usually thinking it too. Now that we’ve been apart for two days, and she’s been having her own experiences, I have no context for what she’s about to argue next.

“You heard them yourselves back there—I didn’t force Theo and his father to admit what they did,” Mira insists. “They both put their own lives in danger for our cause, many times. We crossed the border in a Guard’s ship,” Mira says, astonishing me. “If it weren’t for them, I would have never completed my mission.”

“Well, do you speak?” Rayla turns her sharp eyes on Theo. “You sure spoke loud enough on the Capitol steps.”

Theo sits up straight in a gesture of respect for our grandmother. “When Mira told me that I share Roth’s blood . . . it was the worst day of my life,” he answers solemnly. “But if my existence helps bring down Governor Roth, I am glad for it.”

And with that, Mira and I are slammed against the car windows as Owen makes a sharp left into a garage. Rayla and Theo were the only ones who had listened to Owen’s seat belt advice.

“Where did all these cars come from?” I ask in awe. There are dozens of them, all makes and models. I turn to Rayla, but it’s Owen who answers.

“It’s the Common Cavalry,” Owen says, clearly proud of the lineup. “We’ve been collecting them.” He expertly weaves the car between the rows of tightly packed vehicles, then parks close to the Last Stage entrance. The doors immediately swing open.

“This car’s his,” Rayla says before sliding out of her seat and into the garage. “He helped program it himself.” Is she bragging about him?

I want to know more of Owen’s story; he’s spent as much time with my grandmother as I have, and it’s obvious they share a friendship, but now’s not the time. Mira just bolted from the car, screaming, “Ava, our bike!”