Her smile disappears. I’m sensing Valeria surrounds herself with yes-men and yes-women, and the word no is as rare as the gemstone at her throat.

“This will be my only warning to you,” Valeria says, rising from her chaise longue. “Never lie to me again.”

She glides toward me, looking me over. “I might be younger than you, but I am your aunt. And therefore, your superior.”

Did I miss something?

Did I land in Oz? Or did I die already, and this is hell’s waiting room? Or maybe I’m trapped in a night terror and I just need to figure out how to wake up. I start slapping my cheeks.

“Wonderful,” Valeria says with a snide petulance. “You’re not a quick one, are you?”

Her bodyguards’ laughter bounces off the hard marble floor.

I must be staring at her dumbstruck, because Valeria rolls her umber eyes.

“The Salazars and the Roths made an alliance,” she informs me, lifting her hand to present herself like a showpiece. She then turns inward, clutching at her purple gem. “I never believed this day would come.”

“I’m not following you . . . ,” I say, my brain boggled by what she might be trying to tell me. “What does all of this mean?”

“It means it’s all happening. Tomorrow, my mother and father are meant to meet for the first time.” Her smile’s back. “The Lone Star is finally here.”

“I don’t understand . . . Governor Roth . . . is your dad?” I say slowly, waiting for reality to catch up. “And who exactly is your mom?”

“Everyone calls her the capo.”

How is this even possible? I’m suddenly sweating bullets.

“You’re blessed, nephew,” Valeria says, reaching over to sweep my long hair from my eyes. “You’ll be here to see it.”

“See what?” I ask, terrified of the answer.

“The day everything changes.”

MIRA

It’s 4:38 a.m.

For the last two and a half hours, I’ve seen no other lights but ours. Only starless, near-complete darkness—town after town, mile after mile. It’s like we’re on an empty highway, driving straight into nothingness. The black abyss.

And Ava’s making excellent time.

“This ride costs more than a low-ranker’s life savings,” Skye Lin says, breaking the silence that’s settled inside the car since we set off from Dallas. “Did one of your admirers just donate their car to you?”

“No,” Ava says back, her hands gripping Duke’s steering wheel tighter. “I stole it.”

“Even better,” Skye answers, a smile in her husky voice.

I can only imagine Owen’s fury when he learns his beloved car has vanished from its usual parking space. He’ll understand, I told Ava as we packed Duke with our supplies and left our home city without a glance in the rearview mirror.

And to be fair, Owen’s possession of the costly Kismet vehicle was the result of his own thievery, so he should understand our measures.

Nothing is given to you in this world. You have to take it.

And the five of us in this vehicle are taking our chances on each other.

From the back seat, Haven starts passing around a bottled water, reminding each of us to hydrate. Crammed between my aunt and Lucía, Skye, who has swapped her prisoner’s uniform for black coveralls, accepts the offer, sipping the warm water and smacking her lips like it’s vintage Napa Valley wine.

“Five years of solitary confinement . . . ,” Skye says, staring at the clear bottle, “when you’re stripped and deprived of everything . . . I found out all you truly crave is clean water.”

“And revenge,” I add, thinking back on my own short stint inside a cell. Put there because of a double-crossing mole on our team. Skye Lin.

We need to raze the past, Ava told me before we broke her out from Guardian Tower. It’s time to rebuild.

Skye leans forward, her tone sincere but clipped, like it’s difficult for her to admit mistakes out loud. “I’m sorry for betraying you and the Common,” Skye says, holding out the bottle of water like an olive branch. “But I’m here on this mission with you, ready to offer up my life to make it right.”

I take the water with a nod, accepting that Skye had her reasons for aligning with Roth. He gave her freedom and promised to give her back what the government took—her right to choose to have a child. A sterilization reversal surgery that could restore her autonomy, her power to control her own future.

But alliances built on hate never last. And theirs was quickly broken, betrayed. Poisoned.

Ricin, according to Skye. Perfect for close-contact targets.

Roth shouldn’t have lasted an hour.

“What does that say?” Lucía asks, pointing toward the large green reflective sign ahead.

LONG LIVE THE GOVERNORS

On the last stretch of my dash to Canada, I would spy “Save the Twins” tagged on buildings along the country roads, three words that would lift my spirit and remind me the people were on our side.

I close my eyes to the Loyalist sign as we speed past, unable to speak the words out loud. “Graffiti a favor del gobernador,” I tell Lucía. Pro-governor graffiti.

“Propaganda,” Skye remarks. “Roth probably ordered the few soldiers he has left to spread these lies. Making it seem like he has numbers.”

I rip my eyes open and blink out the image of the ten captive Common members drowned beneath the Gulf. “All Commoners will be exterminated,” the message above them read.

Roth supporters are out there. Out here. The only question is, where are they hiding?

“Half of Roth’s Guard can’t just disappear,” Ava says, sweeping her eyes across the crumbling, deserted highway, anticipating a soldier popping out from a pothole at any moment. Will she swerve, or slam the accelerator, undeviating, straight as an arrow, ready to take more lives if they stand in our way?

In this world, you have to take.

“Emery told me Texas has the biggest army in the country?” Haven asks, still trying to map out the borders in her mind. Growing up in the Camps, she was told Texas was the nation.

“Yes,” I answer, keeping a fixed stare out my passenger window. All clear. “Even though a third of his State Guard flipped to the Common, he still has a powerful force.”

The soldiers Roth sent north to “protect” the states from the Common never returned south to Texas. Tens of thousands of Guards vanished overnight, just like their leader. Emery operates under the belief that the bulk of Roth’s army united with the other pro-governor states to continue the fight, abandoning their own governor after his downfall in the Battle for Dallas. But Ava and I believe his loyal Guards did return. They’re just waiting on orders to make their next move.

Keeping a vigilant watch out my window, I reach over to the driver’s seat and squirt a few sips of water into my sister’s mouth, then toss the bottle to Lucía.

Another battered street sign approaches on our right. No graffiti this time, but the numbers are scratched and faded, forcing me to squint to make out the distance. “Austin: 30 miles.”

“Half an hour,” I inform the car.

Ava nods, her relief clear as she loosens her white-knuckled grip on the wheel, unclamping the tight muscles of her jaw. Despite this, I feel the car increasing speed as she weaves around the cracks and fissures that pit the neglected highway.