What’s left of Mira’s and my teams have combined to attack the bunker from the east: Pawel, Theo, and Alexander. Barend and Ciro chose a different team. We needed strong members to lead the north entrance, they said. I keep telling myself they want to be close to each other, just as I want Mira by my side, but we still have an unknown betrayer among us.

We all sit in the back of our escort SUV, waiting for Blaise to hack open the tunnel entrance. Before I left the safe house, I told Blaise about the virtual-reality protest I encountered in Calgary. His eyes lit up when I asked if we could use the VR technology to the Common’s advantage during our siege of Dallas.

I’ve waited my entire career for an opportunity like this, he assured me. Consider it done.

It must be happening right now. The largest protest Dallas has ever seen.

The double doors of the armored vehicle are open, and I stare out at Guardian Tower looming high and bright behind campus. Is that where my father died? Kano is there now. The only Common member from headquarters in Roth’s custody. Or did he get caught on purpose?

Kano could be our betrayer.

Focus on the mission. What’s done is done. I can’t get distracted from the goal of taking down Roth. He’s so close now.

A Common Guard with a yellow slash across his chest approaches. He signals the tunnel has been unlocked.

It’s time to go underground. It wouldn’t be a proper homecoming if we didn’t.

As we file out of the vehicle, I hear Mira murmuring with Theo. He brings out a knife from his pocket, and my stomach twists. Mira gave him her knife? Father’s knife? They’ve grown close; it’s irritatingly clear how protective of him she feels. One look at his face and I know a Scream Gun couldn’t keep him away from her.

Battle bonds, Rayla calls them. Or is it something more?

The Common Guard takes us to the entranceway of the secret passage, which lies beneath the statue of Governor Roth’s grandmother, the founder of Strake.

Alexander points to the lifelike statue. “Your great-great-grandmother, Theo.”

Theo responds with an unimpressed grunt. A Roth not enamored with his own pedigree. Definitely not like Halton. Same father, different environments. The nature versus nurture debate resolved.

Alexander surveys the shoulder-width hatch opening. “I’ll go in first,” he says, holding up his gun. He’s wearing full Texas Guard riot gear, and I have a flashback to the night Roth’s soldiers raided our house in Trinity Heights.

I’ve come to return the favor.

Pawel had offered to stay aboveground and will help us from here, protecting the tunnel entrance and acting as our mission’s eyes. A tablet’s in his hands, the tunnel map displayed on his screen. The communication devices I have on make me feel like an agent, but they’re necessary.

“I’m glad there will be someone topside that I can trust,” I tell him as we get ready to go into the tunnel.

“You can always trust me,” Pawel says. He clasps my shoulder. “I know you don’t believe in luck . . . but good luck down there. I’ll be watching out for you.”

I smile, placing my hand on top of his. “I know you will.” He always does.

Alexander vanishes down the ladder, followed by Theo, then Mira and me.

Immediately it’s clear the thermal-sensor map General Pierce’s drone picked up didn’t show us the whole story. It’s a labyrinth down here—many, many more passageways and potential exit points than we planned for.

There are more people than we anticipated too.

I catch sudden movement twenty yards ahead—and the sound of someone in flight. “It’s the Family Planning Director!” Theo shouts. Without warning, he takes off running.

“Theo, wait!” Alexander calls out to his son.

Separating was not part of the plan.

“Get Roth,” Mira says to me. She quickly turns to Alexander. “I’ll get Theo.” A look passes between them. He trusts her.

Mira takes off after him, leaving me alone with Alexander.

MIRA

“Theo!” I yell, but he can’t hear me. I can barely hear myself over the echoing sounds of six boots hitting the pavement on a dead-sprint foot chase.

“Theo, forget her!” I scream as loud as I can, to no effect. He hits a new speed, hurtling us through the twisting maze of tunnels, away from the bunker.

I try to remember our path so we can find our way back, but I’m terrified I’ll lose sight of the back of his golden-brown head.

I can’t lose him.

Theo’s hell-bent on a savior’s path to right the wrongs of his family. But he doesn’t truly know what evil can do. He’s a product of Canada. A halcyon childhood, safe from Guards, governors, the constant threat of death.

He thinks good automatically wins. It doesn’t. Not here.

If the Director finds him first . . .

I turn left, nearly spraining my ankle again. I ignore the pain and run faster. I’ve almost caught up.

“Theo, stop!”

Theo makes another hard left. His guiding light vanishes. Shoving my sweaty bangs from my eyes, I push my legs past their limit, tearing after him, knowing I’ve lost track of the turns. We’ll never find our way back.

The governor. He’s all that matters.

“We’re wasting time!” I yell, but the threat of losing Theo keeps pulling me forward.

The tunnel walls change as abruptly as my direction. They’re wider, smoother, the floor lined with a polished stone tile embellished with a lone Texas star.

The passageway’s a dead end. Ten yards ahead, Theo pounds on a steel slab that looks to be a door.

“The Director went through here!” Theo shouts at me, slamming his shoulder against the unyielding metal, sweat-slick hands searching for a way in. “But it’s locked!”

“Do you remember the way back?” I say, hands on my knees. More than half my energy is drained. I need to restore it quick. I need it all for Roth.

I suddenly see the huge symbol etched into the door. A shiny albatross, its wide wings in flight. My father’s words thrust to the forefront of my mind: “Instead of the cross, the albatross about my neck was hung.” The poem . . . the one he would read to Ava and me about penance and guilt—

“We can’t just let the Director get away!” Theo says, kicking at the door over and over, like if he only keeps knocking, someone will finally answer it.

Locked between the albatross’s curved, sharp beak, a scanning device flashes red.

“It requires a microchip to gain access,” I say, suddenly consumed with my own need to find a way in.

Desperate, Theo looks at me. “She would have killed you, Mira! We can’t let people like her get away with what they’ve done. I mean . . . she’s separated families!”

Dr. Darren Goodwin, merely a few weeks prior, was also a Family Planning Director.

“My father—” I begin to say, but Theo stops me, abandoning his hammering.

“Mira, I didn’t mean your dad—”

I shake my head, waving away his concerns. “No, I mean my father’s microchip . . .”

Tossing my rucksack to the floor, I dig into an inner pocket, finding a compact bag filled with tools. I pluck out the tweezers, then lift up the grimy, scarred band of my wristwatch. From inside a thin slit above the tarnished buckle, tucked safe inside the vegan leather, I pull out my father’s microchip.