“Not tonight,” he answers, sounding regretful of the fact. “The Monterrey lieutenant is a pawn, and therefore wasted energy.”

When the translator device parrots his snide remark in Spanish, the servant crosses herself, head to chest, shoulder to shoulder.

I’m guessing nobody insults a water lord and lives to keep their vocal cords. But Roth is not a nobody.

Right now, in his imposing uniform, the way his eyes brim with vim and vigor as he stares at his reflection, he looks like the most powerful somebody in the world. Once again.

He’s just posturing, I reassure myself. Putting on an act like I am. The man was usurped. Humiliated and stripped of his title. The Common wrested his state and country from his iron hands, and he ran south to his mortal enemy with his tail between his legs. He’s not governor of Texas anymore.

Then why are my palms sweaty? It’s sixty-four degrees Fahrenheit in this room.

“We leave on the hour for Mexico City,” Roth reveals, breaking eye contact with himself in the glass to stare fixedly at me.

“For a meeting with the capo?” I ask.

Roth nods, seeming proud that I can keep up. I contemplate whether I should let on that I met his secret daughter, but I determine that I should save it.

I bet my own second-born life that his Glut-hating Director doesn’t even know of her existence yet.

And the trade? What does the capo have that you need? I want to press the topic while it’s hot, but it would be an oafish, rookie move. He won’t let slip such bombshells in the presence of foreign servants.

“Don’t just dawdle,” Roth orders me. “Get dressed.”

His servant bows low to him before she turns to usher me toward my own dressing station.

My State Guard uniform waits ready for me, sparkling clean with two new additional medals on the right breast. I step onto the platform, but instead of mirrors surrounding me, I’m met with a wall of screens.

All stream American news. All of it a detrimental blow for my side.

In a dizzying overload of information, I take in what’s been happening outside my bubble of captivity: bomb explosions in Austin, Chicago, New York, and Detroit—all linked to the Common—riots and disorder have shut down major cities across the US, and Texas is battling a simultaneous heat wave and power outage, woefully losing on both fronts. The state’s death toll has already climbed into the thousands.

Mira. Where are you in all of this?

I comb the news scrolls for any sign of the Goodwin sisters. Nothing. Only more alarming headlines that claim Emery Jackson has abandoned the Common and fled the capital of Dallas.

Our leader hasn’t been seen in over twelve hours.

Suddenly on tenterhooks, I jump when Wix’s grating voice commands the volume to turn on, blasting a juiced-up newscaster’s breaking news announcement, loud and clear as cartel crystal.

“Governor Millicent Cole has been shot outside New York City Hall. We’ve just learned the presidential hopeful is now in critical condition, fighting for her life. Reports indicate the still-at-large gunman has direct ties with the Common.”

Hovering beside me, the Director grins like a Cheshire cat, not surprised in the least at a development that should distress both her and Roth.

I don’t believe for a second that the Common is behind the assassination attempt. Governor ordered that hit.

He wanted Cole dead.

But why? What’s his angle? Isn’t the New York governor on his side?

Roth wanted to get her out of the way, I judge.

To make room for himself. For his return.

He wants turmoil to fill the void of his absence.

I can feel Roth studying me. It seems crucial to use this moment to continue the role of bootlicker and smile along with the Director.

He’s waiting for praise, a congratulations on the Common turning out to be everything he warned his citizens against all along.

Criminals on a rampage that will spiral out of control.

I can’t seem to choke out the words I know he wants to hear. I want to scream the truth:

You’re a liar, a hypocrite, and a murderer.

“You were right,” I utter instead. “You predicted chaos.”

Roth nods again, approving. “This is what anarchy looks like, Theo. The people brought this upon themselves.”

His country’s misery incites an exultant energy in Roth.

“Commoners cannot rule,” he asserts before marching out the door.

“Long live the governors,” Director Wix chants, following after him.

And I’m left alone with the now-muted screens filled with panic-inducing headlines, and the servant girl who refuses to meet my eye.

It’s still dark out. The only thing I can see is a row of parked State Guard SUVs. I assume Roth’s leading us to the Beast at the center of the squadron, but he stops our regal party of three a few feet from its closed doors.

One of his soldiers materializes at his side, standing at attention. Roth covertly slips the Guard a piece of paper—blink, and I would’ve missed it, but lately my eyes have been wide open.

A note? Instructions? How in the hell did he find that spare bit of paper? The only thing I know for sure is Roth doesn’t want his translator to pick up his orders.

The soldier salutes, then marches back to the vehicles. We stand and watch while the SUVs file out one by one down the stretch of pavement as long as a runway, and I notice the tiny flags affixed above their headlights have a new addition. Beside the starred Texas flag flies the red scorpion banner of the Salazar cartel.

A symbol that will assure them safe passage through their territory to Mexico City.

The fleet’s departure opens my field of view and reveals our actual means of transportation to the cartel’s main stronghold.

A private jet.

All gold, jumbo-sized, with an elongated red carpet leading up to the airstairs.

Valeria waits for us on the tarmac, clothed in her elegant white suit that I now realize is her own style of uniform, except she’s added a crimson dahlia flower to her long, lustrous hair. Lieutenant Salazar stands at her right side in a loud ensemble that probably matches the cost of my entire wardrobe back home.

“Governor Roth,” Valeria says as we approach, her smile gleaming brighter than her violet gemstone, which she clutches like a talisman. “We are pleased to have you in our territory, but it seems your country misses you.”

Triumphant and grinning in his private rooms, Governor now cools and stiffens into cold formality, offering Valeria a quick and curt nod as a greeting in place of a handshake.

Is no one going to address the elephant on the runway? The obvious truth?

Because their relation is evident, even in the moonlight.

Roth and Valeria have the same upturned nose, the same angular cheeks, the same measured, unnatural quietness about them. Seeing them together raises every hair on my skin.

But if the lieutenant and Director see it, too, they opt for a deadpan mug, giving nothing away.

“I’ve been anticipating this meeting, Governor,” Valeria says. The plane’s engine powers on and she’s compelled to shout. “You’re every bit the man the headlines claimed.” Her pointed, claw-like nails keep tapping at her gemstone, like she’s hoping he’ll notice and say something.

With her ivory pants and blazer, and her jeweled purple embellishment, she looks like a glitzy Strake student. The university the Roth family founded. How did I just put that together?