“Someone put a lid on the First Lady,” Blaise grumbles in my ear.

Haven hauls Mrs. Roth after her by their zip-tied wrists. “More screaming, more Guards,” Haven warns, clipped and to the point.

This shuts the First Lady up. The second she does I almost hanker for her to howl again. It’s way too quiet in here. Like, we-could-be-in-the-center-of-a-deep-cave quiet. And it’s definitely as dark as one. Visibility is zilch.

The windows are sealed—the walls must be ultra soundproof. Half the capital’s citizens and half the Texas Guard are out there unleashing Armageddon, and all I hear is my heartbeat. And Blaise.

“Two rooms down to the right,” Blaise instructs, as calm as a Zen master. “Then it’s all clear for the tunnel entrance.”

“All clear,” I whisper to Rayla and our Common Guard.

Rayla leads the way.

Another fingerprint lock. Bullshit! We’ll be the last to get to the bunker!

Haven slams Mrs. Roth’s forefinger against the panel. Nothing.

“Working on it!” Blaise says before I even ask what the hell the malfunction is.

Our Common Guard turns on Mrs. Roth. “Get us through this door immediately, or we will throw you to the mob!”

Threatening his First Lady. A scant two hours ago, a comment like that would have landed him years of hard labor. In the present moment, the soldier smirks. Bet that felt good.

“It requires a voice command to unlock,” Mrs. Roth finally fesses up.

“Do it!” Rayla shouts.

Haven presses Mrs. Roth’s narrow lips to the speaker.

“Hail to the chief,” the First Lady spits out like acid.

Rayla scoffs. “That will never happen.”

“He’s going to kill us all,” Mrs. Roth mutters. She looks like a wraith. One foot in her grave next to Halton’s.

Great pep talk.

Rayla shoves open the crazy-heavy door, and one by one we file into the bedroom.

“We’re in,” I whisper into my mouthpiece. “Blaise—man, do you copy? We’re almost to the tunnel opening.”

Radio silence. Dead air.

It’s like we just stepped into a black hole.

“We lost Blaise,” I tell our Guard, who updates Rayla.

We’ll have to be our own eyes, then.

We’re midway to the closet when something moves in the corner. Someone.

In the bed. There’s someone in the bed.

Governor Roth speaks so low it’s subterranean. “Agent Trace, when I give a goddamn order, I expect to be obeyed. Where is my medication, you useless half-wit?”

Our renegade train stops in its tracks.

Can he not see us? And why is he practically whispering?

“The governor is in residence,” I hiss, crossing all fingers, toes, and eyes in hopes that Blaise can hear. “Send. Backup. Now.”

“Medication—really, Howard?” Rayla says all cool and conversational. “What ails you can never be cured.”

Oh, to have night vision and see the dumb shock hit the governor’s face when he hears Rayla Cadwell’s voice in his bedroom.

I point my gun at the unmoving black shadow on the bed.

“You’re surrounded, Roth,” Rayla tells the man. “Put your hands up, and we can end this clean.”

The shadow doesn’t shift or stir. Zero signs of surrender.

“Full lights on!” the Common Guard commands.

The room brightens like it’s high noon. We’re only twenty feet from the governor. The ogre of a man looks like he’s been dunked in a sweat bath. Chunks of his latest meal dangle from his lower lip. His vulture eyes squint like they can’t stand the light.

Governor Roth looks sick. Like he’s on his deathbed.

At a signal from Rayla, our line fans out, fencing in the governor.

Don’t poke the beast. But I can’t help it—the once-in-a-lifetime rush of staring down the most powerful leader in our country is too strong. Just a small poke.

“I bet you never thought low rankers could break into your fortress. Well, ding dong. The Common’s here, and we’ve taken over.”

Showing the first real signs of life, Roth rotates his thick neck, his focus bypassing me to land on his wife cowering at the foot of her old bed. Haven keeps Mrs. Roth’s tiny body standing.

“You let them inside, Victoria?” the governor growls. “You’ve aligned yourself with the matriarch of Gluts?”

There’s sudden movement under the sheets.

“You can die with her too!” Roth yells before firing a pistol.

There are so many screams, but mine’s the loudest. “Rayla!”

But the bullet’s not for Rayla. It’s for his wife.

Mrs. Roth drops to the carpet, taking Haven down with her.

“Haven!” Rayla cries out, seeing the blood splattered on her daughter’s face and chest.

“Not hers!” I shout. “Mrs. Roth’s!”

All in slow motion, I see the governor go for a panic button on the side of the bed frame. “Bullshit!” I shout, dive-bombing toward Roth. Rayla’s flying at him from the opposite side—double-team style.

The second I land on the bed—I swear right on top of a pile of vomit—the golden mattress folds into itself like a trunk, and a lid slides over the top, sealing the panic chamber shut. I howl bloody murder as all three of us drop down into a hidden compartment below the bed frame.

Next thing I know, a light turns on, and a lot of things happen at once: Roth bulldozes his way through an escape hole in a corner of the coffin-like box—does that lead into the tunnels?!—while Rayla reaches for her gun, which has become lodged between a stash of emergency water jugs, and someone lands on top of the abduction-proof bed above us and starts pounding.

“We’re okay, Haven!” I scream, wondering if she can hear me, but I’ve got no time to worry about that, because I’m busy discharging bullets toward Roth’s backside.

Empty clicks. Whoops, I’m out of bullets. And Roth made it out. Not good.

“Rayla, do we follow?” No answer.

I turn my head in the cramped space to find Rayla sort of panting. She must’ve landed wrong—her wounded arm looks bad. Like, she just dislocated her shoulder bad. And her stitches—they’ve busted open again. She groans, getting herself onto her one hand and both knees, ready to crawl out after Roth, injured arm be damned.

Out of nowhere I get a flashback of Mrs. Roth’s dead body crumpling onto the fancy white carpet like a rag doll. I better shut that terrible image out of my mind real quick.

Rayla drags herself out of the small opening, and I follow.

Yep, we’re definitely underground in the tunnels.

Wasting no time, Rayla gets to her feet and charges left down the passage.

“Roth!” she screams. His name bounces off the walls, leaving zero doubt he hears us coming. It sounds like an army is after him.

Maybe the rest of the Common is close.

“Roth!” Rayla screams again, louder. “Do not run away!” I don’t know how she’s running, let alone breathing. Her blood is everywhere. She’s bone white, drowning in sweat. Her slumped body races down the tunnel almost at a diagonal, her good side dragging her wounded side after her.

“Coward!” Rayla shouts, trying to antagonize the governor into stopping and facing us—facing her.