Sure enough, the Triumph motorcycle we named Lucía sits right in front of the safe house entrance doors. How is that possible? A familiar jovial chuckle causes my heart to leap.

“Didn’t I always say you two were somethin’ special?”

I spin around in disbelief, but there he is, the west Texas cowboy, here in Dallas. He hasn’t lost that twinkle in his eye.

“Thank you for coming, Kipling,” I say. We clasp shoulders just as Emery emerges from her own car, enveloped in her long yellow coat once more. “We must gather and count our numbers inside,” Emery announces. She’s focused and composed, ready for continued action. We’re gathering so we can strike again.

Emery takes her place by Rayla, her old mentor, and together we all walk through the Last Stage doors.

We head straight through the wings and onto the stage, where a small crowd is busy organizing supplies. I look out onto the massive auditorium—only a quarter of the seats are full. More will come. We’re the first wave to arrive.

The Last Stage. What a clever choice for our Dallas haven: an old three-tiered performance auditorium that was once named the Majestic Theater. The Guard will never look here. Government defunding and the VR experience have long made theater halls forgotten relics.

Incoming Common members start to fill the threadbare seats. Many are injured, more are standing guard at every entrance, holding weapons and shouting.

There’s no sign of my team. Pawel and Barend must still be out in the fight.

“Alexander!” a desperate cry reaches us from somewhere in the audience. “My son!”

I freeze, recognizing the voice.

Impossible.

MIRA

The governor’s wife staggers up the stage toward us.

“De ninguna pinche manera,” Theo exclaims on my left. No fucking way.

“Since when do Roths speak Spanish?” Ava retorts on my right. She eyes Theo from head to sneakered toe. I know exactly what she’s thinking about him, because I thought the same things too.

“Theo’s not like the others,” I say, watching as Mrs. Roth throws her arms around a rigid Alexander. “Neither of them is.”

Both Ava and Rayla scoff. I don’t think Theo heard.

I want them to like him. Or at least to understand him. I have no idea why.

“Rayla, please explain how Mrs. Roth is in a Common safe house?” Ava asks, her fingers clenched, ready to throw a punch. I grab the ends of her jacket, holding her back.

“Haven—” Rayla falters, then clears her throat. “The First Lady was found outside the mansion and brought here.”

“Why are you here!” Mrs. Roth screams shrilly at her son.

I barely recognize the First Lady. Her petite frame and self-worshipping pride are buried under oversized civilian clothes that I can smell from where I stand. No diamonds or gold glitter from her neck or fingers. Her feet are bare, as is her usually made-up face.

All ladylike dignity completely extinguished, Mrs. Roth stares up at her son, her sanity dancing on a knife’s blade. “Say something, Alexander!” she shrieks. “You left me with no goodbye. Now after eighteen years you return, and you still have nothing to say?!”

Alexander glances around the auditorium, realizing he’s gained an audience. He flings Mrs. Roth’s arms off his chest and turns toward the wings of the stage.

“Why did you return?” Mrs. Roth blathers. “Where have you been? Why are you in your old uniform? Say something!”

Alexander rounds on her, shouting so loudly the cheap seats on the third balcony must be able to hear. “How could you let him kill my son! You were supposed to protect Halton! That was the deal, Mother.” The word sounds like a curse.

Mrs. Roth falters, raising her hands to her face as if he had actually struck her.

Ava and I, along with every member in this building, wait for Mrs. Roth to repeat the stale lie that the Traitorous Twins murdered Halton, that the Common killed their heir.

The First Lady’s sanity must have taken a plunge, because the bare truth escapes her crooked lips.

“How could I have known?! How could I have known your father would spill his own blood?”

Beside me Rayla spits on the floor. Owen follows, then Theo.

Alexander rips off his military jacket and launches it at his mother. The force nearly knocks her over. “Whatever selfish reasons you had for leaving the Governor’s Mansion . . . it turned out to be a smart move on your part. I told Dallas our little family secret. Looks like you’ll be needing a new home.”

“How about Guardian Tower!” someone shouts from the back rows.

“I second that,” Ava says, casting a baleful glare at Theo.

Mrs. Roth gazes out at the audience, fear paralyzing her body like she just got hit with a stun gun.

Common members, Dallas citizens—all intermix here as one. A buzz of unified anger permeates the theater as they press closer to the stage, closer to their First Lady than they’ve ever been. Hatred burns across their faces.

“I left!” she wails to her former citizens. “I left. What more do you want of me?”

Emery appears behind Rayla, a hand on her mentor’s shoulder. My grandmother winces; she tries to hide her pain, but Emery and I both see it. So do Ava and Owen. We all respect her too much to say anything in this moment—Rayla would never want to show frailty in front of the enemy.

“We need Mrs. Roth for our future plans,” Emery whispers. “Should we put an end to this miserable scene?”

Mrs. Roth’s crazed eyes sweep the stage and land on Theo.

“Oh boy, here we go,” Owen whispers.

“Theo?” Mrs. Roth wails, scrambling away from Alexander. She makes it all but five feet before Alexander catches her by her baggy linen coat.

“Theo?” Mrs. Roth says again, this time her voice as flat as her deflated hair; hair that was once as big and rich as the state of Texas. She attempts to regain her poise, extending her hand to her grandson, her last hope. “I’m your grandmother. I always prayed I’d get to meet you one day.”

“Screw this,” Ava seethes. “We didn’t come here for a goddamn Roth reunion.”

“You’re nobody to me,” Theo says loudly, leaving his grandmother’s hand dangling awkwardly in the air. His cheeks are flushed, and his hulking figure shakes like it’s taking everything he has to keep his emotions in control. Just two days ago he was Theo Wright, a Canadian. Now he’s facing his foreign family that he never knew he had. “I came to Dallas to help right my family’s wrongs,” he proclaims. “Nunca tuve una abuela.”

“What does that mean! What are you saying?” Mrs. Roth balks.

Did she really never learn Spanish?

“He says you’re not his grandmother.” I step forward. “He’ll never claim you as his.” Mrs. Roth’s eyes bulge like this is the first time she’s noticed my presence. Her oily head whips from me to Theo.

The governor and First Lady always wanted a Roth-Goodwin union. Ava and Halton, the perfect pair.

With me by Theo’s side, we’re the Glut version.

It’s clear she doesn’t like it.

“He is mine!” Mrs. Roth screams, unhinged, lunging for Theo’s arm. “You’re my grandson!”