I’ve forgotten all about it until this moment. I’ve carried it with me since the day they told me he died.

Like most citizens, I have no clue what happens to a deceased person’s microchip. But with the pointed tip of the tweezers, I press a button the size of a pinprick, and the tiny capsule thrums with a single, long hum of life.

“Does that mean it works?” Theo asks.

In the palm of my hand, I raise the microchip below the scanner. “There’s little chance his security clearance is still—”

The scanning device emits a loud ping. Approved.

As the door slides open, Theo and I press ourselves against either side of the wall, weapons at the ready. He holds my knife. I grip my new gun. We nod, two second-borns determined to take down the Director together.

We step into a laboratory lit by the strobing yellow flashes of emergency lights. A medical or research lab, ransacked and deserted.

“It looks like they’ve cleaned house already,” Theo whispers.

I don’t like it in here. It feels sterile. It feels heavy.

I want to leave.

Rows of bare steel workbenches fill the space, along with empty, smashed refrigerators. Capsized convection ovens, gutted cabinets, and an upended surgical table also lie scattered about.

Everything incriminating is gone. Including the Director.

There’s not a single clue left to verify what the government did down here. Just a leftover, haunted energy that chills my very core.

Then, “We both want the same thing,” the Director says from somewhere in front of us, concealed behind a mess of open cabinets. Slowly, Theo and I move side by side toward the sound of her voice.

“We both want to save humanity,” she continues, composed and confident like she’s behind a podium. “I, too, strive to safeguard our country and work hard to see its citizens flourish.”

“A modern-day humanitarian,” Theo spits.

Don’t get distracted. Don’t listen.

“Our society was insatiable, our population gluttonous and unstable. The Family Planning Division rescued America from extinction.”

One Child, One Nation.

“It’s not personal, Mira, Theo. It’s for the greater good.”

The Director steps out from behind the unhinged door of a medical cabinet. She holds no weapon; her holster is empty. So are her eyes.

She must have dropped her gun in the chase. “You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed official,” the Director tells me, walking toward us like she’s in control.

“What is this place?” I say, without expecting any answers.

A maniacal smile distorts her mouth, a steel trap where no real truth could ever escape.

“If you won’t answer me, then you’ll answer to the people.” With my left hand I grab the taser gun off Theo’s belt. I aim and shoot without hesitation.

The short woman goes rigid, then falls to the floor, her head slamming against a steel countertop on her way down. I roll her seizing body onto her back with my boot. The high-voltage barbs pierce through her cloth uniform below her shiny row of medals.

I look her right in the eyes as she convulses. I hope it hurts. Even if it’s only a trace, the slightest sting, compared to the amount of hurt she’s afflicted on others.

“The Family Planning Division is dead,” I say. “You were the last Director of Texas.”

Theo unfastens the taser cartridge from the gun and pockets it. He lifts the Director by the underarms and slings her over his shoulder with a grunt. “Let’s get her into the cabinet before she can move again,” he says.

As I help Theo shove her deadweight into the storage space, her lips begin to twitch.

“How can the world survive . . . ,” the Director’s stiff voice manages to rasp out, “if Gluts . . . like the both of you get to live?”

I don’t have an answer. Neither does Theo. He closes the door with a bang and zip-ties the handles shut, locking her and her stinging question inside.

“You won’t win,” the Director keeps talking, her voice now muffled. “The Rule of One and Project Albatross have already spread. It’s global.”

I stop listening. I hear the muted blast of a lone gunshot from somewhere in the tunnels.

“Ava,” I say automatically. Theo looks as concerned as I feel.

The bunker. Roth.

Oh God, I shouldn’t have left her.

AVA

My team made it to the bunker first.

The solid steel and concrete door is sealed shut—the five-spoke gilded handle will not budge an inch—and there’s no one else in sight. “The thermal sensor says there’s only one person inside,” Pawel assures me from topside.

It’s just the governor, Alexander, and me.

I’m about to face Roth with only his son by my side. If it comes down to blood loyalty, I’m outnumbered. No . . . Roth ordered Halton’s death. We’re competing on who gets to have their vengeance first.

But first we have to get the bunker open.

I’ve already shot at the door. I knew it wouldn’t work, but I tried anyway. General Pierce told us the governor’s underground shelter is fire, blast, radiation, and impact resistant, able to withstand a nuclear or chemical attack. There’s no forcing our way through.

“Are you sure you don’t see the combination dial or thumb scan to gain entry?” Pawel asks me again. I scour the door for the fourth time, still finding nothing. Then—

“Yes, I see it!” I say into my mouthpiece.

“Does Alexander’s right thumbprint have a whorl or loop pattern?” Pawel asks, coolheaded and focused.

I grab Alexander’s hand. “Whorl,” I say, immediately seeing his plan. He’s going to create an artificial, digitally produced “master print” that can imitate a range of fingerprints accurately enough to con the sensor into thinking it’s Governor Roth’s.

In our old life, Mira had to put on synthetic strips with my prints every time she left the basement. The only part of me she didn’t have too.

“Done,” Pawel says in my ear, startling me out of my memory. A flash of green light beside the scanner. We’re in.

Alexander looks both impressed and mildly horrified. “I never thought I’d see a hacker break through my father’s security.”

“Roth is in the center of the room, directly facing the door,” Pawel informs me. I relay the intel to Alexander, the former officer in the Texas State Guard. Instantly he springs into action, a soldier once more, turning the spoke handle on the door, barking out orders to me.

“We’ll stack on the left side of the door. I’ll take point. You take the number-two position. When I squeeze your leg, we will immediately enter the room, no hesitation. Never lower the barrel of your gun. Only fire if fired upon first.”

“I know,” I say, bristling at having to take commands from a Roth. But Alexander’s trained for moments like this—I need to check myself. We both have the same objective.

“Lots of luck,” Pawel breathes, his voice now tense, as we line up in position.

Alexander throws the steel door wide open, reaches back to firmly press my leg, and then we both burst into the bunker, guns raised. “On the ground now!” Alexander shouts.