Haven shakes her head. “Look . . . the gate . . .”

It’s opening.

It’s working.

Skye lets out a brazen laugh. “Finally!”

Before she can take a victorious stride forward, Lucía stops her with a warning.

“Wait. Test it first.”

Skye bends to pick up the nearest rock. She tosses it a few feet in front of our line and I hold my breath as it lands.

No bullets, lasers, or hidden landmines sound off.

Skye doesn’t wait another second before charging into the kill zone.

“Step two,” I whisper, invigorated.

This plan will work.

I steal a glimpse over my shoulder and see the column of trucks has gained significant ground. Almost two minutes away now.

Ava and I strong-arm our captives into the spotlights, Haven and Lucía both feigning admirable attempts to break free.

The effort to make my feet walk and not sprint to the wide-open gate drains the last of my willpower. With every step I think the Guard will enable the automated weapons, but our posse makes it to the opening unscathed.

Right as our boots stomp over the threshold and hit the bridge, every light in the vicinity cuts out.

Step three.

Alexander, the sharpshooter, I think, reluctantly impressed. It’s a rare skill for a soldier, as high-precision targets are left for autonomous weapons. But he found his bulls-eye: the bridge’s standby generator, poking out from the base of the west tower.

“It’s a trick!” a Guard shouts.

In my mind’s eye I see Kano and Barend racing through the darkness for the gate.

“Mow them down!” another Guard screams.

A bullet sings past my ear. Then another.

“East tower!” Lucía cries, ripping off her Goodwin mask, darting toward the limestone structure.

Haven shoves down her own mask, wrenching on her night vision goggles. As we rush after Lucía, she elbows me back, shielding me with her body as she returns fire.

“Aim to wound,” I remind her. “Not kill!”

Haven gives no sign she heard me.

Ava and Skye set off for the west tower where the shouts of a Border Guard echo down from the ten-story staircase. “Stand down immediately!”

I can only see six feet in front of me in this blackout. My own goggles bang against my collarbone as I run, useless around my neck.

Useless like my gun. I can’t shoot blind in the dark.

But it’s either night vision or concealment; I can’t have both.

I almost make the decision to rip off my helmet.

No, I chide myself, keep your head. Keep your face covered. Stick to your part of the plan.

No one can know I was here.

When Haven and I reach the east tower, we find Lucía crouched against the wall beside an open door.

“How many?” Haven asks.

Lucía holds up her trigger finger in answer.

Only one.

That’s all the information Haven needs before she barrels into the tower.

Two shots. Hers or the Guard’s? Six. Ten. Then I lose count.

I rip off my helmet to bolt to her aid, but Lucía grabs my arm. “Wait!” she says, pinning me to the wall.

It’s gone silent.

“Haven?” I yell into the surveillance tower, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

“I’m here!” Haven’s gravelly voice reaches me. “He is dead!”

She appears like a ghost in the doorway. “All clear.”

Lucía nods, sprinting to provide backup for the other groups.

“We agreed not to kill,” I whisper.

She answers simply. “He was a Guard.”

I wonder fleetingly if the rest of the team will stick to the plan.

“All clear!” Ava cries from the west tower.

My muscles unclench and I loosen my white-knuckled clutch on my gun.

“All clear!” Kano and Barend shout simultaneously from the direction of the bridge.

“We passed,” Haven says, waving for me to move with her to the gate.

Her way of saying we lived. We won.

“Ah!” an unmasked Kano exclaims, appearing out of nowhere by my side. “Here’s our step four, pulling right in.”

The front truck’s headlights so overwhelm my eyes, I have to turn away. When I do, I spot three bodies. One slumped over the metal stairwell of the west tower. The other two splayed out on the concrete near the center of the bridge. A Guard, and likely two cartel men.

I should be glad none of the bodies are ours. Still, I look to Ava, who stands on the opposite side of the gate, holstering her pistol.

Was it her bullet or Skye’s?

The plan was to zip-tie the Guards and cartel men, unmask Haven and Lucía, show them the twins were never here. We’re just a band of raiders, after whatever’s in the water tankers. Not Common members seeking to cross the border.

But that plan was just shot to hell.

Ava avoids my gaze, shoving her helmet into her rucksack. “Are we all here?” she shouts as the line of five autonomous tanker trucks rumble past.

The massive cylindrical tanks are a dull coal black, not white, and carry no label like real State Guard water trucks.

But there’s water in there, or at least there was.

Lucía hid inside one of these on her first crossing. She almost drowned, but she made it to the other side.

While the team starts a roll call, I speculate on what could possibly be inside these tankers now. If there’s anything at all.

“Marley!” I say when it’s my turn, making sure to use my code name.

The trucks slow to a stop along the bridge and park one after the other like a small-scale railcar. Instantly, the pavement below their tires glows an electric blue.

They’re charging. Just as they should be.

“You did well,” Lucía tells Skye, holding out her hand for her gun.

“Was that a compliment?” Skye replies with exaggerated shock, relinquishing the borrowed pistol. “It has a nice kick to it. Oh, and you’ll definitely need to reload . . .”

“Let’s move!” Alexander yells, marching for the last tanker in the line. He wrenches off his goggles, his narrow black eyes looking past me, over the bridge.

South. Toward his father and son.

“Good shot,” I say, offering the smallest twig of an olive branch. I expect him to plow right by me. Which he does. But he graces me with a response.

“The governor trained me well,” he says tersely over his shoulder, not slowing his pace.

“I bet Roth never expected that training to be used against him,” Kano observes, falling in by my side.

Just like Roth didn’t expect my father to move against him.

When we reach the trucks, Haven runs her calloused fingers along the stainless steel. She waves Ava over, pulling us close. “I know these trucks,” she says. “Camp 11. We filled them with biofuel.”

Ava and I lock eyes. So Roth was illegally engaging in international trade.

“In the final trucks,” she continues, climbing the three-rung ladder affixed to the tanker’s flank, “the Inmates loaded gold.”

She presses open a hatch, plunges in her hand, and brings up a single golden brick.

“There’s movement on the other side of the bridge,” Barend informs us, binoculars pressed against his jutting brow.