Together, the pallbearers place the egg-shaped capsules into holes in the ground, where saplings will then be planted directly above. Father is laid to rest on my mother’s right, Rayla on her left, and Pawel a short distance away. Ellie, his adopted sister, gave her blessing. Her hologram is watching in the funeral congregation somewhere, but I’m not ready to face her. The Common will look after her, I vow to Pawel, wherever he is now.

The Common Guard shields the cemetery in a protective ring. Surveillance drones patrol the perimeter. Both sides have agreed to a temporary cease-fire, allowing twenty-four hours to bury the dead. But we’re still at war. No armistice will allow me to forget that. The cruelest side effects of warfare are lying in the ground beneath my feet.

All the Texas Guard still loyal to Roth are retreating back to Texas at this very moment, abandoning the other states they invaded, assembling and plotting to take back Dallas.

Last night we won the battle to turn Texas yellow. Right now, Dallas is ours. How long will that hold true?

We survived, Father. We survived for you and for Mother. Just like you asked us to. What now?

We will have to figure that out for ourselves.

Mira, Haven, and I cast fistfuls of earth into each burial hole, then turn to face the hundreds of mourners who have gathered throughout the wooded Eden to pay their respects. We stand apart from the others, the Common multitude looking to us, the last of the Goodwins and Cadwells, tears and questions in every anguished eye.

It’s strange having my aunt here with us now. This woman, a complete stranger, is a part of Mira and me. She’s in our DNA.

Haven is our DNA. She shares identical genes with our mother.

Biologically, she’s our mother too.

I’m so desolate inside that thought doesn’t penetrate. Maybe someday that miracle will form a foundation for my heart’s return.

Birdsong cuts through the heavy silence.

Mira and I were songbirds once, in another life.

No grand speeches are given. The dearly departed cannot hear our words. No soft murmurs of condolences are said. The surviving family has no use for sympathy.

Instead, one by one, Common members approach us, offering a nod or a clasp on the shoulder. Then they grab a handful of earth to help us bury our own.

Emery first, free of her signature long coat; then Barend, his arm wrapped around Ciro, whose honey-blonde locks have been shaved. Next Xavier, weeping, holding on to his freed son, Malik; then Kano, his long dark hair loose around his shoulders, and Owen, his eyes swollen with sorrow. He carried Rayla’s body out of the tunnel himself, her ruined face covered in a yellow cloth.

The line of people goes on and on, wending its way deep into the woodland. We will be here all day. Look, Father, Mother, Rayla. The people of Dallas have come. They are recognizing the Common. They support us.

It’s the wildfire Rayla promised could happen. The rebellion has spread farther than even I thought possible.

I squeeze my sister’s hand.

A song bursts out of me, an inadequate tribute, but it’s all I have to give. It was our mother’s favorite.

Mira joins her voice with mine, a two-part harmony, singing to celebrate the valorous lives of Rayla Cadwell, Darren Goodwin, and Pawel Porter.

May they rest in peace. And may we remain unrested.

HAVEN

6:11 p.m.

That’s the time I met Mother. I made it my tattoo. The reason I fight.

The needle hurt. Not as much as my heart does now.

I fall to my knees in front of the small hill of dirt. Reach out and touch the young tree. Mira said Mother will make it grow. Big. Strong. Alive.

Her body failed. I failed her. A governor took her from me again.

“I will fight for you, Mother,” I say. Tears in my eyes. I put down six black-eyed Susans. One for every member of my family.

Even one for Father. Where is he? Who is he? No one has said.

Now is not the time for questions. There are too many. But one question keeps shouting in my head.

Why?

Why did Mother die?

Why did Governor Roth get away?

Why is Cleo still missing?

Why am I still here? Why not Lynn?

I move to the oak tree. Lynn is there. I sit under her shade. She blocks me from the Texas sun.

The Common leader sits there too. Emery smiles at me. “You look so much like your sister.”

All my years, I felt alone. Like a part of me was gone. Missing. I thought it was just being an Inmate. But it was something more. I was a twin. A bond formed in a mother’s womb.

“You knew Lynn?” I ask.

“She was like my own sister. We were friends for twenty years.”

“Was Lynn happy?”

She pauses. “Yes. Until she found out that you existed. That you were taken away after you both were born.”

I look up at Lynn’s branches. At the leaves that make noises in the wind.

“Mother named me Haven,” I say. “She told me it means a safe place. I will be that for Lynn’s daughters.”

Ava. Mira.

Emery nods. She looks sad. “They will need you now. And for what’s to come.”

I need them.

I will be their Haven.

“I want to fight,” I say.

“Then you will fight,” Emery says. “The war begins tomorrow.”

OWEN

There’s an after-service gathering at the Last Stage in Rayla’s honor. The whole theater is full. As it should be.

I think Rayla’s murder converted every person in Dallas into a Common member. The whole capital came out this morning.

Rayla would like that—her body being the vessel that turned Roth’s own people against him. I knew her for way too brief a time, but I know well enough that she would gladly offer herself to save the cause. Again, and again, which she did.

The woman was a tank. I never thought she’d ever actually be stopped. It took a bullet between her eyes to do it.

Right now, the growing Common numbers mean nothing to me.

Rayla Cadwell’s life meant more to the cause than the entire population of Texas joining its ranks.

Without her, how can we win?

Without her, I don’t know what to do.

My whole useless net-junkie life, I never had anything to lose because I never cared about anything enough to really value it. Now I feel like I just lost my family. The most important thing I ever had.

Rayla stole into my boring Cog life and woke me the hell up. She forever changed me. Now she’s just . . . gone.

After the funeral I found Malik—he was freed from Guardian Tower by his dad—and told him I’m ready for my rebellion tattoo. I figured out why I resist.

So that the “good guys” can stop being called criminals.

So that good people like Rayla can live.

We sit together at a table backstage—I wanted some privacy for this moment. The tattooing distracts me from the crazy pain the Guard’s bullets left behind—cracked ribs and bruising all over my back.

Blaise hangs close. At least he tells me he’s Blaise. He ditched his fiery bandana for the funeral and never put it back on again. Blaise is a looker. Who knew? Rayla never will. Rayla must’ve pictured Blaise just as pasty and stereotypically nerdy as I did. It’s a lot of change to take in at once.

“What do you think?” Malik says. He lifts his needle and sits back. I stare down at my deflowered wrist.