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ALSO BY MARIE LU

LEGEND

PRODIGY

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONSPublished by the Penguin Group

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataLu, Marie, 1984–

Champion : a Legend novel / Marie Lu.pages cm

Summary: “June and Day have sacrificed so much for thepeople of the Republic— and each other—and now theircountry is on the brink of a new existence. Just when a

peace treaty is imminent, a plague outbreak causes panic in

the Colonies, and war threatens the Republic’s border cit-ies”—Provided by publisher.

[1. Plague—Fiction. 2. Love—Fiction. 3. Science fiction.] I.Title.

PZ7.L96768Ch 2013 [Fic]—dc23 2013028221

ISBN 978-0-698-13541-3Map illustration by Peter Bollinger.

The publisher does not have any control over and does notassume any responsibilityfor author or third-party websites

or their content.

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For my readers

Contents

Also by Marie LuTitle PageCopyrightDedication

Map

DayJuneDayJuneDayJuneDayJuneDayJuneDayJuneDayJune

DayJuneDayJuneDayJuneDayJuneDayJuneDayJuneDayJuneDayJuneTen Years Later

Acknowledgments

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SAN FRANCISCO,CALIFORNIA

REPUBLIC OF AMERICA

POPULATION: 24,646,320

OUT OF ALL THE DISGUISES I’VEWORN, THIS ONE might be myfavorite.

Dark red hair, different enoughfrom my usual white-blond, cut to justpast my shoulders and pulled back in-to a tail. Green contacts that look nat-ural when layered over my blue eyes.A crumpled, half-tucked collar shirt,its tiny silver buttons shining in thedark, a thin military jacket, blackpants and steel-toed boots, a thickgray scarf wrapped around my neck,chin, and mouth. A dark soldier cap ispulled low over my forehead, and acrimson, painted tattoo stretches allover the left half of my face, changing

me into someone unfamiliar. Asidefrom this, I wear an ever-presentearpiece and mike. The Republic in-sists on it.

In most other cities, I’d probablyget even more stares than I usually dobecause of that giant goddy tattoo—notexactly a subtle marker, I gotta admit.But here in San Francisco, I blendright in with the others. The first thingI noticed when Eden and I moved toFrisco eight months ago was the localtrend: young people painting black orred patterns on their faces, some smalland delicate, like Republic seals ontheir temples or something similar,others huge and sprawling, like giantpatterns of the Republic’s land shape.I chose a pretty generic tattoo tonight,because I’m not loyal enough to theRepublic to stamp that loyalty right on

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my face. Leave that to June. Instead, Ihave stylized flames. Good enough.

My insomnia’s acting up tonight, soinstead of sleeping, I’m walking alonethrough a sector called Marina, whichas far as I can tell is the hillier, Friscoequivalent of LA’s Lake sector. Thenight’s cool and pretty quiet, and alight drizzle is blowing in from thecity’s bay. The streets are narrow,glistening wet, and riddled withpotholes, and the buildings that riseup on both sides—most of them tallenough to vanish into tonight’s low-ly-ing clouds—are eclectic, painted withfading red and gold and black, theirsides fortified with enormous steelbeams to counter the earthquakes thatroll through every couple of months.JumboTrons five or six stories high siton every other block, blaring the usualbarrage of Republic news. The air

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smells salty and bitter, like smoke andindustrial waste mixed with seawater,and somewhere in there, a faint whiffof fried fish. Sometimes, when I turndown a corner, I’ll suddenly end upclose enough to the water’s edge to getmy boots wet. Here the land slopesright into the bay and hundreds ofbuildings poke out half submergedalong the horizon. Whenever I get aview of the bay, I can also see theGolden Gate Ruins, the twisted rem-nants of some old bridge all piled upalong the other side of the shore. Ahandful of people jostle past me nowand then, but for the most part the cityis asleep. Scattered bonfires light al-leyways, gathering spots for the sec-tor’s street folks. It’s not that differentfrom Lake.

Well—I guess there are some differ-ences now. The San Francisco Trial

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Stadium, for one, which sits emptyand unlit off in the distance. Fewerstreet police in the poor sectors. Thecity’s graffiti. You can always get anidea of how the people are feeling bylooking at the recent graffiti. A lot ofthe messages I’ve seen lately actuallysupport the Republic’s new Elector.He is our hope, says one messagescrawled on the side of a building.Another painted on the street reads:The Elector will guide us out of thedarkness. A little too optimistic, if youask me, but I guess they’re good signs.Anden must be doing something right.And yet. Every now and then, I’ll alsosee messages that say, The Elector’s ahoax, or Brainwashed, or The Day weknew is dead.

I don’t know. Sometimes this newtrust between Anden and the peoplefeels like a string . . . and I am that

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string. Besides, maybe the happy graf-fiti’s fake, painted by propaganda of-ficers. Why not?

You never know with the Republic.Eden and I, of course, have a Frisco

apartment in a rich sector called Paci-fica, where we stay with our caretaker,Lucy. The Republic’s gotta take care ofits sixteen-year-old most-wanted-criminal-turned-national-hero,doesn’t it? I remember how much Idistrusted Lucy—a stern, stout, fifty-two-year-old lady dressed in classicRepublic colors—when she firstshowed up at our door in Denver. “TheRepublic has assigned me to assist youboys,” she told me as she bustled in toour apartment. Her eyes had settledimmediately on Eden. “Especially thelittle one.”

Yeah. That didn’t sit well with me.First of all, it’d taken me two months

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before I could even let Eden out of mysight. We ate side by side; we slept sideby side; he was never alone. I’d goneas far as standing outside his bath-room door, as if Republic soldierswould somehow suck him out througha vent, take him back to a lab, andhook him up to a bunch of machines.

“Eden doesn’t need you,” I’dsnapped at Lucy. “He’s got me. I takecare of him.”

But my health started fluctuatingafter those first couple of months.Some days I felt fine; other days, I’d bestuck in bed with a crippling head-ache. On those bad days, Lucy wouldtake over—and after a few shoutingmatches, she and I settled into agrudging routine. She does makepretty awesome meat pies. And whenwe moved here to Frisco, she came

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with us. She guides Eden. She man-ages my medications.

When I’m finally tired of walking, Inotice that I’ve wandered right out ofMarina and into a wealthier neighbor-ing district. I stop in front of a clubwith THE OBSIDIAN LOUNGE scored into ametal slab over its door. I slide againstthe wall into a sitting position, myarms resting on my knees, and feel themusic’s vibrations. My metal leg is ice-cold through the fabric of my trousers.On the wall across from me, graffitiscrawled in red reads, Day = Traitor. Isigh, take a silver tin from my pocket,and pull out a long cigarette. I run afinger across the SAN FRANCISCO CENTRAL

HOSPITAL text imprinted down itslength. Prescription cigarettes. Doc-tor’s orders, yeah? I put it to my lipswith trembling fingers and light it up.Close eyes. Take a puff. Gradually I

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lose myself in the clouds of bluesmoke, waiting for the sweet, hallu-cinogenic effects to wash over me.

Doesn’t take long tonight. Soon theconstant, dull headache disappears,and the world around me takes on ablurry sheen that I know isn’t onlyfrom the rain. A girl’s sitting next tome. It’s Tess.

She gives me the grin I was so fa-miliar with back on the streets ofLake. “Any news from the Jum-boTrons?” she asks me, pointing to-ward a screen across the road.

I exhale blue smoke and lazilyshake my head. “Nope. I mean, I’veseen a couple of Patriot-related head-lines, but it’s like you guys vanishedoff the map. Where are you? Whereare you going?”

“Do you miss me?” Tess asks in-stead of answering.

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I stare at the shimmery image ofher. She’s how I remember from thestreets—her reddish-brown hair tiedinto a messy braid, her eyes large andluminous, kind and gentle. Little babyTess. What were my last words toher . . . back when we had botched thePatriots’ assassination attempt onAnden? Please, Tess—I can’t leave youhere. But that’s exactly what I did.

I turn away, taking another drag onmy cigarette. Do I miss her? “Everyday,” I reply.

“You’ve been trying to find me,”Tess says, scooting closer. I swear Ican almost feel her shoulder againstmine. “I’ve seen you, scouring theJumboTrons and airwaves for news,eavesdropping on the streets. But thePatriots are in hiding right now.”

Of course they’re in hiding. Whywould they attack, now that Anden’s in

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power and a peace treaty between theRepublic and the Colonies is a donedeal? What could their new cause pos-sibly be? I have no idea. Maybe theydon’t have one. Maybe they don’t evenexist anymore. “I wish you wouldcome back,” I murmur to Tess. “It’d benice to see you again.”

“What about June?”As she asks this, her image van-

ishes. She’s replaced by June, with herlong ponytail and her dark eyes thatshine with hints of gold, serious andanalyzing, always analyzing. I lean myhead against my knee and close myeyes. Even the illusion of June isenough to send a stabbing painthrough my chest. Hell. I miss her somuch.

I remember how I’d said good-byeto her back in Denver, before Edenand I moved to Frisco. “I’m sure we’ll

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be back,” I’d told her over my mike,trying to fill the awkward silencebetween us. “After Eden’s treatment isdone.” This was a lie, of course. Wewere going to Frisco for my treatment,not Eden’s. But June didn’t know this,so she just said, “Come back soon.”

That was almost eight months ago. Ihaven’t heard from her since. I don’tknow if it’s because each of us is toohesitant to bother the other, too afraidthat the other doesn’t want to talk, ormaybe both of us are just too damnproud to be the one desperate enoughto reach out. Maybe she’s just not in-terested enough. But you know how itgoes. A week passes without contact,and then a month, and soon too muchtime has passed and calling her wouldjust feel random and weird. So I don’t.Besides, what would I say? Don’tworry, doctors are fighting to save my

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life. Don’t worry, they’re trying toshrink the problem area in my brainwith a giant pile of medication beforeattempting an operation. Don’t worry,Antarctica might grant me access totreatment in their superior hospitals.Don’t worry, I’ll be just fine.

What’s the point of keeping intouch with the girl you’re crazy about,when you’re dying?

The reminder sends a throbbingpain through the back of my head. “It’sbetter this way,” I tell myself for thehundredth time. And it is. By not see-ing her for so long, the memory of howwe’d originally met has grown dim-mer, and I find myself thinking abouther connection to my family’s deathsless often.

Unlike Tess’s, for some reasonJune’s image never says a word. I tryto ignore the shimmery mirage, but

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she refuses to go away. So damnstubborn.

Finally, I stand, stub my cigaretteinto the pavement, and step throughthe door of the Obsidian Lounge.Maybe the music and lights will shakeher from my system.

For an instant, I can’t see a thing.The club is pitch-black, and thesound’s deafening. I’m stopped imme-diately by an enormous pair of sol-diers. One of them puts a firm hand onmy shoulder. “Name and branch?” heasks.

I have no interest in making myreal identity known. “CorporalSchuster. Air force,” I reply, blurtingout a random name and the firstbranch that comes to mind. I alwaysthink of the air force first, mostly be-cause of Kaede. “I’m stationed at Nav-al Base Two.”

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The guard nods. “Air force kidsover in the back left, near the bath-rooms. And if I hear you picking anyfights with the army booths, you’re outand your commander hears about it inthe morning. Got it?”

I nod, and the soldiers let me pass.I walk down a dark hall and through asecond door, then melt into thecrowds and flashing lights inside.

The dance floor is jammed withpeople in loose shirts and rolled-upsleeves, dresses paired with rumpleduniforms. I find the air force booths inthe back of the room. Good, there areseveral empty ones. I slide into abooth, prop up my boots against thecushioned seats, and lean my headback. At least June’s image has disap-peared. The loud music sends all mythoughts scattering.

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I’ve only been in the booth for a fewminutes when a girl cuts her waythrough the crowded dance floor andstumbles toward me. She looksflushed, her eyes bright and teasing;and when I glance behind her, I noticea cluster of laughing girls watching us.I force a smile. Usually, I like the at-tention in clubs, but sometimes, I justwant to close my eyes and let the chaostake me away.

She leans over and presses her lipsagainst my ear. “Excuse me,” sheshouts over the noise. “My girlfriendswant to know if you’re Day.”

I’ve been recognized already? Ishrink instinctively away and shakemy head so the others can see. “Yougot the wrong guy,” I reply with a wrygrin. “But thanks for the compliment.”

The girl’s face is almost entirelycovered in shadows, but even so, I can

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tell she’s blushing furiously. Herfriends burst out laughing. None ofthem look like they believe my denial.“Want to dance?” the girl asks. Sheglances over her shoulder toward theflashing blue and gold lights, thenback at me. This must be somethingher friends dared her to do too.

As I’m trying to think up some sortof polite refusal, I take in the girl’s ap-pearance. The club’s too dark for meto get a good look at her, and all I seeare glimpses of neon highlights on herskin and long ponytail, her glossy lipscurved into a smile, her body lean andsmooth in a short dress and militaryboots. My refusal fades on my tongue.Something about her reminds me ofJune. In the eight months since Junefirst became a Princeps-Elect, Ihaven’t felt excited about manygirls—but now, with this shadowy

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doppelgänger beckoning me onto thedance floor, I let myself feel hopefulagain.

“Yeah, why not?” I say.The girl breaks into a wide smile.

When I get up from the booth and takeher hand, her friends all let out a gaspof surprise, followed by a loud cheer.The girl leads me through them, andbefore I know it, we’ve pushed our wayinto the crowds and carved out a tinyspace right in the middle of the action.

I press myself against her, she runsa hand along the back of my neck, andwe let the pounding beat carry usaway. She’s cute, I admit to myself,blinded in this sea of lights and limbs.The song changes, then changes again.I have no idea how long we’re lost likethis, but when she leans forward andbrushes her lips over my own, I closemy eyes and let her. I even feel a

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shiver run down my spine. She kissesme twice, her mouth soft and liquid,her tongue tasting of vodka and fruit. Iflatten one hand against the small ofthe girl’s back and pull her closer, un-til her body’s solidly against mine. Herkisses grow more urgent. She is June,I tell myself, choosing to indulge in thefantasy. With my eyes closed, my mindstill hazy from my cigarette’s hallu-cinogens, I can believe it for a mo-ment—I can picture her kissing mehere, taking every last breath from mylungs. The girl probably senses thechange in my movements, my suddenhunger and desire, because she grinsagainst my lips. She is June. It isJune’s dark hair that brushes againstmy face, June’s long lashes that touchmy cheeks, June’s arm wrappedaround my neck, June’s body slidingagainst mine. A soft moan escapes me.

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“Come on,” she whispers. Mischieflaces her words. “Let’s go get someair.”

How long has it been? I don’t wantto leave, because it means I’ll have toopen my eyes and June will be gone,replaced with this girl that I don’tknow. But she pulls on my hand andI’m forced to look around. June isnowhere to be seen, of course. Theclub’s lights flash and I’m momentar-ily blinded. She guides me through thethrongs of dancers, down the club’sdark hallway, and out an unmarkedback door. We step into a quiet backalley. A few weak spotlights shinedown along the path, giving everythingan eerie, greenish glow.

She pushes me against the wall anddrowns me in another kiss. Her skin ismoist, and I feel her goose bumps risebeneath my touch. I kiss her back, and

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a small laugh of surprise escapes herwhen I flip us around and pin heragainst the wall.

She’s June, I tell myself on repeat.My lips work greedily along her neck,tasting smoke and perfume.

Faint static sizzles in my earpiece,the sound of rain and frying eggs. I tryto ignore the incoming call, even as aman’s voice fills my ears. Talk about abuzzkill. “Mr. Wing,” he says.

I don’t answer it. Go away. I’mbusy.

A few seconds later, the voice startsup again. “Mr. Wing, this is CaptainDavid Guzman of Denver City PatrolFourteen. I know you’re there.”

Oh, this guy. This poor captain’s al-ways the one tasked with trying to gethold of me.

I sigh and break away from the girl.“Sorry,” I say breathlessly. I give her

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an apologetic frown and gesture at myear. “Give me a minute?”

She smiles and smoothes down herdress. “I’ll be inside,” she replies.“Look for me.” Then she steps throughthe door and back into the club.

I turn my mike on and start slowlypacing up and down the alley. “Whatdo you want?” I say in an annoyedwhisper.

The captain sighs over the earpieceand launches into his message. “Mr.Wing, your presence is requested inDenver tomorrow night, on Independ-ence Day, at the Capitol Tower’s ball-room. As always, you are free to turndown the request—as you usually do,”he mutters under his breath.“However, this banquet is an excep-tional meeting of great importance.Should you choose to attend, we’ll

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have a private jet waiting for you inthe morning.”

An exceptional meeting of greatimportance? Ever heard so manyfancy words in one sentence? I roll myeyes. Every month or so, I get an invit-ation to some goddy capital event, likea ball for all the high-ranking war gen-erals or the celebration they heldwhen Anden finally ended the Trials.But the only reason they want me to goto these things is so they can show meoff and remind the people, “Look, justin case you forgot, Day is on our side!”Don’t push your luck, Anden.

“Mr. Wing,” the captain says when Istay silent, as if he’s resorting to somefinal argument, “the glorious Electorpersonally requests your presence. Sodoes the Princeps-Elect.”

The Princeps-Elect.

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My boots crunch to a halt in themiddle of the alley. I forget to breathe.

Don’t get too excited—after all,there are three Princeps-Elects, andhe might be referring to any one ofthem. A few seconds pass before I fi-nally ask, “Which Princeps-Elect?”

“The one who actually matters toyou.”

My cheeks warm at the taunt in hisvoice. “June?”

“Yes, Ms. June Iparis,” the captainreplies. He sounds relieved to finallyhave my attention. “She wanted tomake it a personal request this time.She would very much like to see you atthe Capitol Tower’s banquet.”

My head aches, and I fight to steadymy breathing. All thoughts of the girlin the club go out the window. Junehas not personally asked for me ineight months—this is the first time

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that she’s requested I attend a publicfunction. “What’s this for?” I ask.“Just an Independence Day party?Why so important?”

The captain hesitates. “It’s a matterof national security.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”My initial excitement slowlywanes—maybe he’s just bluffing.“Look, Captain, I’ve got some unfin-ished business to take care of. Try con-vincing me again in the morning.”

The captain curses under hisbreath. “Fine, Mr. Wing. Have it yourway.” He mumbles something I can’tquite make out, then goes offline. Ifrown in exasperation as my initial ex-citement fades away into a sinking dis-appointment. Maybe I should headhome now. It’s time for me to go backand check up on Eden, anyway. What ajoke. Chances are he’s probably lying

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about June’s request in the first place,because if she’d really wanted me to goback to the capital that badly, she—

“Day?”A new voice comes over my

earpiece. I freeze.Have the hallucinogens from the

meds worn off yet? Did I just imagineher voice? Even though I haven’t heardit in almost a year, I would recognize itanywhere, and the sound alone isenough to conjure the image of Junestanding before me, as if I’d run acrossher by chance in this alley. Please,don’t let it be her. Please, let it be her.

Did her voice always have this ef-fect on me?

I have no idea how long I wasfrozen like this, but it must’ve been awhile, because she repeats, “Day, it’sme. June. Are you there?” A shiverruns through me.

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This is real. It’s really her.Her tone is different from what I

remember. Hesitant and formal, likeshe’s speaking to a stranger. I finallymanage to compose myself and clickmy mike back on. “I’m here,” I reply.My own tone is different too—just ashesitant, just as formal. I hope shedoesn’t hear the slight tremor in it.

There’s a short pause on the otherside before June continues. “Hi.” Thena long silence, followed by, “How areyou?”

Suddenly I feel a storm of wordsbuilding up inside me, threatening topour out. I want to blurt outeverything: I’ve thought about youevery day since that final farewellbetween us, I’m sorry for not contact-ing you, I wish you had contacted me. Imiss you. I miss you.

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I don’t say any of this. Instead, theonly thing I manage is, “Fine. What’sup?”

She pauses. “Oh. That’s good. I apo-logize for the late call, as I’m sureyou’re trying to sleep. But the Senateand the Elector have asked me to sendthis request to you personally. Iwouldn’t do it unless I felt it was trulyimportant. Denver is throwing a ballfor Independence Day, and during theevent, we’ll be having an emergencymeeting. We need you in attendance.”

“Why?” Guess I’ve resorted to one-word replies. For some reason, it’s allI can think of with June’s voice on theline.

She exhales, sending a faint burstof static through the earpiece, andthen says, “You’ve heard about thepeace treaty being drafted between theRepublic and the Colonies, right?”

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“Yeah, of course.” Everyone in thecountry knows about that: our pre-cious little Anden’s greatest ambition,to end the war that’s been going on forwho knows how long. And so far,things seem to be going in the rightdirection, well enough that thewarfront has been at a quiet stalematefor the past four months. Who knew aday like that could come, just like howwe’d never expected to see the Trialstadiums sitting unused across thecountry. “Seems like the Elector’s ontrack to becoming the Republic’s hero,yeah?”

“Don’t speak too soon.” June’swords darken, and I feel like I can seeher expression through the earpiece.“Yesterday we received an angrytransmission from the Colonies.There’s a plague spreading throughtheir warfront cities, and they believe

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it was caused by some of the biologicalweapons we’d sent across their bor-ders. They’ve even traced the serialnumbers on the shells of the weaponsthey believe started this plague.”

Her words are turning muffledthrough the shock in my mind, the fogthat’s bringing back memories of Edenand his black, bleeding eyes, of thatboy on the train who was being used asa part of the warfare. “Does that meanthe peace treaty is off?” I ask.

“Yes.” June’s voice falls. “The Co-lonies say the plague is an official actof war against them.”

“And what does this have to do withme?”

Another long, ominous pause. Itfills me with dread so icy cold that Ifeel like my fingers are turning numb.The plague. It’s happening. It’s allcome full circle.

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“I’ll tell you when you get here,”June finally says. “Best not to talkabout it over earpieces.”

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I DESPISE MY FIRST CONVERSATION WITH DAY

AFTER eight months of no communication. Ihate it. When did I become so manipulative?Why must I always use his weaknessesagainst him?

Last night at 2306 hours, Anden came tomy apartment complex and knocked on mydoor. Alone. I don’t even think guards werestationed in the hallway for his protection. Itwas my first warning that whatever heneeded to tell me had to be important—andsecret.

“I have to ask a favor of you,” he said as Ilet him in. Anden has almost perfected theart of being a young Elector (calm, cool, col-lected, a proud chin under stress, an evenvoice when angered), but this time I could

see the deep worry in his eyes. Even my dog,Ollie, could tell that Anden was troubled, andtried reassuring him by pushing his wet noseagainst Anden’s hand.

I nudged Ollie away before turning backto Anden. “What is it?” I asked.

Anden ran a hand through his dark curls.“I don’t mean to disturb you so late at night,”he said, leaning his head down toward minein quiet concern. “But I’m afraid this is not aconversation that can wait.” He stood closeenough so that if I wanted to, I could tilt myface up and accidentally brush my lipsagainst his. My heartbeat quickened at thethought.

Anden seemed to sense the tension in mypose, because he took an apologetic stepaway and gave me more room to breathe. Ifelt a strange mixture of relief and disap-pointment. “The peace treaty is over,” hewhispered. “The Colonies are preparing todeclare war against us once again.”

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“What?” I whispered back. “Why? What’shappened?”

“Word from my generals is that a coupleof weeks ago, a deadly virus started sweepingthrough the Colonies’ warfront like wildfire.”When he saw my eyes widen in understand-ing, he nodded. He looked so weary,burdened with the weight of an entire na-tion’s safety. “Apparently I was too late inwithdrawing our biological weapons fromthe warfront.”

Eden. The experimental viruses thatAnden’s father had used in attempts to causea plague in the Colonies. For months, I’dtried to push that to the back of mymind—after all, Eden was safe now, underthe care of Day and, last I heard, slowly ad-justing to semblances of a normal life. Forthe last few months, the warfront had stoodsilent while Anden attempted to hash out apeace treaty with the Colonies. I’d thoughtthat we would be lucky, that nothing would

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come out of that biological warfare. Wishfulthinking.

“Do the Senators know?” I asked after awhile. “Or the other Princeps-Elects? Whyare you telling me this? I’m hardly yourclosest advisor.”

Anden sighed and squeezed the bridge ofhis nose. “Forgive me. I wish I didn’t have toinvolve you in this. The Colonies believe thatwe have the cure to this virus in our laborat-ories and are simply withholding it. They de-mand we share it, or else they put all of theirstrength behind a full-scale invasion of theRepublic. And this time, it won’t be a returnto our old war. The Colonies have secured anally. They struck a trade deal withAfrica—the Colonies get military help, and inreturn, Africa gets half our land.”

A feeling of foreboding crept over me.Even without him saying it, I could tellwhere this was going. “We don’t have a cure,do we?”

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“No. But we do know which former pa-tients have the potential to help us find thatcure.”

I started shaking my head. When Andenreached out to touch my elbow, I jerkedaway. “Absolutely not,” I said. “You can’t askthis of me. I won’t do it.”

Anden looked pained. “I have called for aprivate banquet tomorrow night to gather allof our Senators. We have no choice if wewant to put a stop to this and find a way tosecure peace with the Colonies.” His tonegrew firmer. “You know this as well as I do. Iwant him to attend this banquet and hear usout. We need his permission if we’re going toget to Eden.”

He’s serious, I realized in shock. “You’llnever get him to do it. You realize that, don’tyou? The country’s support for you is stillsoft, and Day’s alliance with you is hesitantat best. What do you think he’ll say to this?What if you anger him enough for him to call

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the people to action, to tell them to rebelagainst you? Or worse—what if he asks themto support the Colonies?”

“I know. I’ve thought through all of this.”Anden rubbed his temples in exhaustion. “Ifthere was a better option, I’d take it.”

“So you want me to make him agree tothis,” I added. My irritation was too strong tobother hiding. “I won’t do it. Get the otherSenators to convince Day, or try convincinghim yourself. Or find a way to apologize tothe Colonies’ Chancellor—ask him to negoti-ate new terms.”

“You are Day’s weakness, June. He’lllisten to you.” Anden winced even as he saidthis, as if he didn’t want to admit it. “I knowhow this makes me sound. I don’t want to becruel—I don’t want Day to see us as the en-emy. But I will do what it takes to protect theRepublic’s people. Otherwise, the Colonieswill attack, and if that happens, you know it’slikely the virus will spread here as well.”

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It was worse than that, even thoughAnden didn’t say it aloud. If the Colonies at-tack us with Africa at their side, then ourmilitary might not be strong enough to holdthem back. This time, they might win. He’lllisten to you. I closed my eyes and bowed myhead. I didn’t want to admit it, but I knewthat Anden was right.

So I did as he requested. I called Day andasked him to return to the capital. Just thethought of seeing him again leaves my heartpounding, aching from his absence in my lifeover these past months. I haven’t seen orspoken to him for so long . . . and this is go-ing to be how we reunite? What will he thinkof me now?

What will he think of the Republic whenhe finds out what they want with his littlebrother?

1201 HOURS.

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DENVER COUNTY COURT OF FEDERAL

CRIME.72°F INDOORS.SIX HOURS UNTIL I SEE DAY AT THE EVENING

BALL.289 DAYS AND 12 HOURS SINCE METIAS’S

DEATH.

Thomas and Commander Jameson are ontrial today.

I’m so tired of trials. In the past fourmonths, a dozen former Senators have beentried and convicted of participating in theplan to assassinate Anden, the plan that Dayand I had barely managed to stop. ThoseSenators have all been executed. Razor hasalready been executed. Sometimes I feel likesomeone new is convicted each week.

But today’s trial is different. I know ex-actly who is being sentenced today, and why.

I sit in a balcony overlooking thecourtroom’s round stage, my hands restless

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in their white silk gloves, my body constantlyshifting in my vest and black ruffled coat, myboots quietly tapping against the balcony pil-lars. My chair is made out of synthetic oakand cushioned with soft, scarlet velvet, butsomehow I just can’t make myself comfort-able. To keep myself calm and occupied, I’mcarefully entwining four straightened paperclips in my lap to form a small ring. Twoguards stand behind me. Three circular rowsof the country’s twenty-six Senators sur-round the stage, uniform in their matchingscarlet-and-black suits, their silver epaul-ettes reflecting the chamber’s light, theirvoices echoing along the arched ceilings.They sound largely indifferent, as if they’remeeting about trade routes instead ofpeople’s fates. Many are new faces that havereplaced the traitor Senators, who Anden hasalready cleaned out. I’m the one who sticksout with my black-and-gold outfit (even theseventy-six soldiers standing guard here are

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clad in scarlet; two for each Senator, two forme, two for each of the other Princeps-Elects, four for Anden, and fourteen at thechamber’s front and back entrances, whichmeans the defendants—Thomas and Com-mander Jameson—are considered fairly highrisk and could possibly make a suddenmove).

I’m no Senator, clearly. I am a Princeps-Elect and need to be distinguished as such.

Two others in the chamber wear the sameblack-and-gold uniform that I do. My eyeswander over to them now, where they sit onother balconies. After Anden tapped me totrain for the Princeps position, Congressurged him to select several others. After all,you cannot have only one person preparingto become the leader of the Senate, especiallywhen that person is a sixteen-year-old girlwithout a shred of political experience. SoAnden agreed. He picked out two morePrinceps-Elects, both of them already

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Senators. One is named Mariana Dupree. Mygaze settles on her, her nose turned up andher eyes heavy with sternness. Thirty-sevenyears old, Senator for ten years. She hatedme the instant she laid eyes on me. I lookaway from her and toward the balcony wherethe second Princeps-Elect sits. Serge Carmi-chael, a jumpy thirty-two-year-old Senatorand great political mind, who wasted no timeshowing me that he doesn’t appreciate myyouth and inexperience.

Serge and Mariana. My two rivals for thePrinceps title. I feel exhausted just thinkingabout it.

On a balcony several dozen yards away,sitting flanked by his guards, Anden seemscalm, reviewing something with one of thesoldiers. He’s wearing a handsome gray mil-itary coat with bright silver buttons, silverepaulettes, and silver sleeve insignias. He oc-casionally glances down toward the prison-ers standing in the chamber’s circle. I watch

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him for a moment, admiring his appearanceof calm.

Thomas and Commander Jameson aregoing to receive their sentences for crimesagainst the nation.

Thomas looks tidier than usual—if that’spossible. His hair is slicked back, and I cantell that he must’ve emptied an entire can ofshoe polish onto each of his boots. He standsat attention in the center of the chamber andstares straight ahead with an intensity thatwould make any Republic commanderproud. I wonder what’s going through hismind. Is he picturing that night in the hos-pital alley, when he murdered my brother? Ishe thinking of the many conversations hehad with Metias, the moments when he hadtaken down his guard? Or the fateful nightwhen he had chosen to betray Metias insteadof help him?

Commander Jameson, on the other hand,looks slightly disheveled. Her cold,

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emotionless eyes are fixed on me. She hasbeen watching me unflinchingly for the pasttwelve minutes. I stare back for a moment,trying to see some hint of a soul in her eyes,but nothing exists there except for an icyhatred, an absolute lack of conscience.

I look away, take deep, slow breaths, andtry to focus on something else. My thoughtsreturn to Day.

It’s been 241 days since he visited myapartment and bid me good-bye. SometimesI wish Day could hold me in his arms againand kiss me the way he did on that last night,so close that we could barely breathe, his lipssoft against mine. But then I take back thatwish. The thought is useless. It reminds meof loss, just like how sitting here and lookingdown on the people who killed my family re-minds me of all the things I used to have; itreminds me too of my guilt, of all the thingsDay used to have that I took from him.

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Besides, Day will probably never want tokiss me again. Not after he finds out why I’veasked him to return to Denver.

Anden’s looking in my direction now.When I catch his gaze, he nods once, excuseshimself from his balcony, and a minute laterhe steps into my balcony. I rise and, alongwith my guards, snap to a salute. Andenwaves a hand impatiently. “Sit, please,” hesays. When I’ve relaxed back into my chair,he bends down to my eye level and adds,“How are you holding up, June?”

I fight the blush as it spreads across mycheeks. After eight months without Day inmy life, I find myself smiling at Anden, en-joying the attention, occasionally even hop-ing for it. “Doing fine, thanks. I’ve been look-ing forward to this day.”

“Of course.” Anden nods. “Don’tworry—it won’t be long before both of themare out of your life forever.” He gives myshoulder a reassuring squeeze. Then he

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leaves as swiftly as he arrived, vanishing withthe faint clink of medals and epaulettes, thenreappearing moments later in his ownbalcony.

I lift my head in a vain attempt atbravery, knowing that CommanderJameson’s icy eyes must still be upon me. Aseach of the Senators rises to cast aloud hisvote on her verdict, I hold my breath andcarefully push away each memory I have ofher eyes staring me down, folding them intoa neat compartment at the back of my mind.The voting seems to take forever, eventhough the Senators are all quick to say whatthey think will please the Elector. No one hasthe courage to risk crossing Anden afterwatching so many others convicted and ex-ecuted. By the time my turn comes, mythroat is parched. I swallow a few times, thenspeak up.

“Guilty,” I say, my voice clear and calm.

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Serge and Mariana cast their votes afterme. We run through another round of votingfor Thomas, and then we’re done. Threeminutes later, a man (bald, with a round,wrinkled face and scarlet floor-length robeshe’s clutching with his left hand) hurries intoAnden’s balcony and gives him a rushedbow. Anden leans toward the man and whis-pers in his ear. I watch their interaction inquiet curiosity, wondering whether I can pre-dict the final verdict by their gestures. After ashort deliberation, Anden and the messengerboth nod. Then the messenger raises hisvoice to the entire assembly.

“We are now ready to announce the ver-dicts for Captain Thomas Alexander Bryantand Commander Natasha Jameson of LosAngeles City Patrol Eight. All rise for theglorious Elector!”

The Senators and I stand with a uniformclatter, while Commander Jameson simplyturns to face Anden with a look of utter

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disdain. Thomas snaps to a sharp salute inAnden’s direction. He holds the position asAnden stands up, straightens, and puts hishands behind his back. There’s a moment ofsilence as we wait for his final verdict, theone vote that really matters. I fight back arising urge to cough. My eyes dart instinct-ively to the other Princeps-Elects, somethingI now do all the time; Mariana has a satisfiedfrown on her face, while Serge just looksbored. One of my fists clenches tightlyaround the paper clip ring I’m working on. Ialready know it will leave deep grooves in mypalm.

“The Senators of the Republic have sub-mitted their individual verdicts,” Anden an-nounces to the courtroom, his words bearingall the formality of a traditions-old speech. Imarvel at the way his voice can sound so soft,yet carry so well at the same time. “I havetaken their joint decision into account, andnow I give my own.” Anden pauses to turn

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his eyes down toward where both of them arewaiting. Thomas is still in full salute, stillstaring intently at the empty air in front ofhim. “Captain Thomas Alexander Bryant ofLos Angeles City Patrol Eight,” he says, “theRepublic of America finds you guilty . . .”

The room stays silent. I fight to keep mybreathing even. Think about something.Anything. What about all the political booksI’ve been reading this week? I try to recitesome of the facts I’ve learned, but suddenly Ican’t remember any of it. Mostuncharacteristic.

“. . . of the death of Captain Metias Iparison the night of November thirtieth—of thedeath of civilian Grace Wing without thewarrants necessary for execution—of thesingle-handed execution of twelve protestersin Batalla Square on the afternoon of—”

His voice comes in and out of the blur ofnoise in my head. I lean a hand against mychair’s armrest, let out a slow breath, and try

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to prevent myself from swaying. Guilty. Tho-mas has been found guilty of killing both mybrother and Day’s mother. My hands shake.

“—and thereby sentenced to death by fir-ing squad two days from today, at seventeenhundred hours. Commander NatashaJameson of Los Angeles City Patrol Eight,the Republic of America finds you guilty . . .”

Anden’s voice fades away into a dull, un-recognizable hum. Everything around meseems so slow, as if I’m living too quickly forit all and leaving the world behind.

A year ago I’d been standing outsideBatalla Hall on a different sort of court stage,looking on with a huge crowd as a judge gaveDay the exact same sentence. Now Day isalive, and a Republic celebrity. I open myeyes again. Commander Jameson’s lips areset in a tight line as Anden reads out herdeath penalty. Thomas looks expressionless.Is he expressionless? I’m too far away to tell,but his eyebrows seem furrowed into a

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strange sort of tragedy. I should feel goodabout this, I remind myself. Both Day and Ishould be rejoicing. Thomas killed Metias.He shot Day’s mother in cold blood, withouta second’s hesitation.

But now the courtroom falls away and allI can see are memories of Thomas as a teen-ager, back when he and Metias and I used toeat pork edame inside a warm first-floorstreet stand, with the rain pouring down allaround us. I remember Thomas showing offhis first assigned gun to me. I even remem-ber the time Metias brought me to his after-noon drills. I was twelve and had just begunmy courses at Drake for a week—how inno-cent everything seemed back then. Metiaspicked me up after my classes that afternoon,right on time, and we headed over to theTanagashi sector, where he was running hispatrol through drills. I can still feel thewarmth of the sun beating down on my hair,still see the swoosh of Metias’s black half

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cape, the gleam of his silver epaulettes, andstill hear the sharp clicks of his shining bootson the cement. While I settled down on acorner bench and turned my comp on to(pretend to) do some advance reading, Me-tias lined up his soldiers for inspection. Hepaused before each soldier to point out flawsin their uniforms.

“Cadet Rin,” he barked at one of the new-er soldiers. The soldier jumped at the steel inmy brother’s voice, then hung her head inshame as Metias tapped the lone medalpinned on the cadet’s coat. “If I wore mymedal like this, Commander Jameson wouldstrip me of my title. Do you want to be re-moved from this patrol, soldier?”

“N-no, sir,” the cadet stammered.Metias kept his gloved hands tucked be-

hind his back and moved on. He criticizedthree more soldiers before he reached Tho-mas, who stood at attention near the end ofthe line. Metias looked over his uniform with

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a stern, careful eye. Of course, Thomas’s out-fit was absolutely spotless—not a singlethread out of place, every medal and epaul-ette groove polished to a bright shine, bootsso flawless that I could probably see my re-flection in them. A long pause. I put mycomp down and leaned forward to watchmore closely. Finally, my brother nodded.“Well done, soldier,” he said to Thomas.“Keep up the good work, and I’ll see thatCommander Jameson promotes you beforethe end of this year.”

Thomas’s expression never changed, butI saw him lift his chin with pride. “Thankyou, sir,” he replied. Metias’s eyes lingeredon him for a second, and then he moved on.

When he finally finished inspectingeveryone, my brother turned to face his en-tire patrol. “A disappointing inspection, sol-diers,” he called out to them. “You’re undermy watch now, and that means you’re underCommander Jameson’s watch. She expects a

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higher caliber from this lot, so you’d do wellto try harder. Understood?”

Sharp salutes answered him. “Yes, sir!”Metias’s eyes returned to Thomas. I saw

respect on my brother’s face, even admira-tion. “If each of you paid attention to detailthe way Cadet Bryant does, we’d be thegreatest patrol in the country. Let him serveas an example to you all.” He joined them ina final salute. “Long live the Republic!” Thecadets echoed him in unison.

The memory slowly fades from mythoughts, and Metias’s clear voice turns intoa ghost’s whisper, leaving me weak and ex-hausted in my sadness.

Metias had always talked about Thomas’sfixation on being the perfect soldier. I re-member the blind devotion Thomas gave toCommander Jameson, the same blind devo-tion he now gives to his new Elector. Then Isee Thomas and me sitting across from eachother in an interrogation room—I remember

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the anguish in his eyes. How he’d told methat he wanted to protect me. Whathappened to that shy, awkward boy from LosAngeles’s poor sectors, the boy who used totrain with Metias every afternoon? So-mething blurs my vision and I quickly wipe ahand across my eyes.

I could be compassionate. I could askAnden to spare his life and let him live outhis years in prison, and give him a chance toredeem himself. But instead I just standthere with my closed lips and unwaveringposture, my heart hard as stone. Metiaswould be more merciful in my position.

But I was never as good a person as mybrother.

“This concludes the trial for Captain Tho-mas Alexander Bryant and CommanderNatasha Jameson,” Anden finishes. He holdsa hand out in Thomas’s direction and nodsonce. “Captain, do you have any words forthe Senate?”

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Thomas doesn’t flinch in the slightest,doesn’t show a single hint of fear or remorseor anger on his face. I watch him closely.After a heartbeat, he turns his eyes up towhere Anden stands, then bows low. “Myglorious Elector,” he replies in a clear, un-wavering voice. “I have disgraced the Repub-lic by acting in a way that has both dis-pleased and disappointed you. I humbly ac-cept my verdict.” He rises from his bow, thenreturns to his salute. “Long live theRepublic.”

He glances up at me when the Senatorsall voice their agreement with Anden’s finalverdict. For an instant, our eyes meet. Then Ilook down. After a while, I look back up andhe’s staring straight ahead again.

Anden turns his attention to CommanderJameson. “Commander,” he says, extendinghis gloved hand in her direction. His chinlifts in a regal gesture. “Do you have anywords for the Senate?”

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She doesn’t flinch from looking at theyoung Elector. Her eyes are cold, dark slates.After a pause, she finally nods. “Yes, Elect-or,” she says, her tone harsh and mocking, astark contrast to Thomas’s. The Senators andsoldiers shift uneasily, but Anden raises ahand for silence. “I do have some words foryou. I was not the first to hope for yourdeath, and I won’t be the last. You are theElector, but you are still just a boy. You don’tknow who you are.” She narrows her eyes . . .and smiles. “But I know. I have seen farmore than you have—I’ve drained the bloodfrom prisoners twice your age, I’ve killedmen with twice your strength, I’ve left pris-oners shaking in their broken bodies whoprobably have twice your courage. You thinkyou’re this country’s savior, don’t you? But Iknow better. You’re just your father’s boy,and like father, like son. He failed, and sowill you.” Her smile widens, but it nevertouches her eyes. “This country will go down

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in flames with you at the helm, and my ghostwill be laughing at you all the way from hell.”

Anden’s expression never changes. Hiseyes stay clear and unafraid, and in this mo-ment, I am drawn to him like a bird to anopen sky. He meets her stare coolly. “Thisconcludes today’s trial,” he replies, his voiceechoing throughout the chamber. “Com-mander, I suggest you save your threats forthe firing squad.” Then he folds his handsbehind his back and nods at his soldiers.“Remove them from my sight.”

I don’t know how Anden can show solittle fear in front of Commander Jameson. Ienvy it. Because as I watch the soldiers leadher away, all I can feel is a deep, ice-cold pitof terror. Like she’s not done with us yet.Like she’s warning us to watch our backs.

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WE TOUCH DOWN IN DENVER ONTHE MORNING OF THE EMERGENCYbanquet. Even the words themselvesmake me want to laugh: emergencybanquet? To me, a banquet still meansa feast, and I don’t see how any emer-gency should be cause for a goddymountain of food, even if it is forIndependence Day. Is that how theseSenators deal with crises—by stuffingtheir fat faces?

After Eden and I settle into a tem-porary government apartment andEden dozes off, exhausted from ourearly morning flight, I reluctantlyleave him with Lucy in order to meet

the assistant assigned to prep me fortonight’s event.

“If anyone tries to see him,” I whis-per to Lucy as Eden sleeps, “for anyreason, please call me. If anyonewants—”

Lucy, used to my paranoia, hushesme with a wave of her hand. “Let meput your mind at ease, Mr. Wing,” shereplies. She pats my cheek. “No onewill see Eden while you’re gone. Ipromise. I’ll call you in an instant ifanything happens.”

I nod. My eyes linger on Eden as ifhe’ll disappear if I blink. “Thanks.”

To attend an event this fancy, Ineed to dress the part—and to dressthe part, the Republic assigns a Senat-or’s daughter to take me through thedowntown district, where the city’smain shopping areas are clustered.She meets me right where the train

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stops in the center of the district.There’s no mistaking who she is—she’sdecked out in a stylish uniform fromhead to toe, her light brown eyes setagainst dark brown skin and thickblack curls of hair tied up into a knot-ted braid. When she recognizes me,she flashes me a smile. I catch herlooking me over, as if already cri-tiquing my outfit. “You must be Day,”she says, taking my hand. “My name isFaline Fedelma, and the Elector hasassigned me to be your guide.” Shepauses to raise an eyebrow at myclothes. “We have some work to do.”

I look down at my outfit. Trouserstucked into scuffed-up boots, arumpled collar shirt, and an old scarf.Would’ve been considered luxuriouson the streets. “Glad you approve,” Ireply. But Faline just laughs and loopsan arm through mine.

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As she leads me to a governmentclothing street that specializes in even-ing wear, I take in the crowds ofpeople rushing around us. Well-dressed, upper-class folks. A trio ofstudents pass, giggling aboutsomething or other, dressed inpristine military uniforms and pol-ished boots. As we round a corner andstep inside a shop, I realize that sol-diers are standing guard up and downthe street. A lot of soldiers.

“Are there usually this many guardsdowntown?” I ask Faline.

She just shrugs and holds up anoutfit against me, but I can see the un-ease in her eyes. “No,” she replies,“not really. But I’m sure it’s nothingfor you to worry about.”

I let it drop, but a pulse of anxietyrushes through my mind. Denver’sbeefing up its defenses. June hasn’t

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explained why she needed me to at-tend this banquet so badly, badlyenough to contact me herself after somany months of no word. What thehell would she need from me? Whatdoes the Republic want this time?

If the Republic really is going backto war, then maybe I should find a wayto get Eden out of the country. Wehave the power to leave now, after all.Don’t know what’s keeping me here.

Hours later, after the sun has setand fireworks for the Elector’s birth-day have already started going off inrandom parts of the city, a jeep takesme from our apartment toward Col-burn Hall. I peer impatiently out thewindow. People travel up and downthe sidewalks in dense clusters. To-night each of them is dressed in veryspecific clothing—mostly red, withhints of gold makeup and Republic

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seals stamped prominently here andthere, on the back of white gloves oron the sleeves of military coats. I won-der how many of these folks agreewith the Anden is our savior graffitiand how many side with the Anden isa hoax message. Troops march up anddown the streets. All the JumboTronshave images of enormous Republicseals on display, followed by live foot-age streaming from the festivities hap-pening inside Colburn Hall. ToAnden’s credit, there’s been a steadydecline in Republic propaganda latelyon the JumboTrons. Still no newsabout the outside world, though.Guess you can’t have everything.

By the time we reach the cobbledsteps of Colburn Hall, the streets are amess of celebrations, throngs ofpeople, and unsmiling guards. The on-lookers let out a huge cheer when they

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see me step out of the jeep, a roar thatshakes my bones and sends a spasm ofpain through the back of my head. Iwave hesitantly back.

Faline’s waiting for me at the bot-tom of the steps that lead up to Col-burn Hall. This time she’s clad in agold dress, and gold dust shimmers onher eyelids. We exchange bows beforeI follow behind her, looking on as shemotions for others to clear a path.“You clean up nicely,” she says.“Someone’s going to be very pleased tosee you.”

“I don’t think the Elector will be asexcited as you think.”

She smiles at me over her shoulder.“I wasn’t talking about the Elector.”

My heart jumps at that.We make our way through the

shouting mob. I crane my neck andstare at the elaborate beauty of

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Colburn Hall. Everything glitters. To-night the pillars are each adorned withtall scarlet banners displaying the Re-public seal, and hanging right in themiddle of the pillars and above thehall’s entrance is the largest portraitI’ve ever seen. Anden’s giant face.Faline guides me down the corridor,where Senators are carrying on ran-dom conversations and other eliteguests talk and laugh with one anotherlike everything in the country is goinggreat. But behind their cheerful masksare signs of nervousness, flickeringeyes, and furrowed brows. They’vegotta sense the unusual number of sol-diers here too. I try to mimic the prop-er, precise way they have of walkingand talking, but stop when Faline no-tices me doing it.

We wander the lush, open setting ofColburn Hall for several minutes, lost

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in the sea of politicians. The tassels ofmy epaulettes clink together. I’m look-ing for her, even though I don’t knowwhat I’ll say when—if—I find her. Howwill I even catch a glimpse of her in themiddle of all this goddy luxury?Wherever we turn, I see another flurryof colorful gowns and polished suits,fountains and pianos, waiters carryingskinny glasses of champagne, fancypeople wearing their fake smiles. I feela sudden sense of claustrophobia.

Where am I? What am I doinghere?

As if on cue, the instant I ask myselfthese questions is the instant I finallysee her. Somehow, in the midst ofthese aristocrats who blend into oneblurry portrait, my eyes catch her sil-houette and pause. June. The noisearound me fades into a dull hum, quietand uninteresting, and all of my

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attention turns helplessly to the girl Ithought I’d be able to face.

She’s dressed in a floor-lengthgown of deep scarlet, and her thick,shining hair is piled high on her headin dark waves, pinned into place withred, gem-studded combs that catch thelight. She’s the most beautiful girl I’veever seen, easily the most breathtak-ing girl in the room. She’s grown tallerin the eight months since I’ve seen her,and the way she holds herself—poisedand graceful, with her slender, swan-like neck and her deep, dark eyes—isthe image of perfection.

Almost perfection. At closer look, Inotice something that makes mefrown. There’s an air of restraintabout her, something uncertain andunconfident. Not like the June I know.As if powerless against the sight, I findmyself guiding both Faline and me

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toward her. I only stop when thepeople around her move apart, reveal-ing the man standing at her side.

It’s Anden. Of course, I shouldn’t besurprised. Off to the side, several well-dressed girls are trying in vain to catchhis attention, but he seems focusedonly on June. I watch as he leans in towhisper something in her ear, thencontinues his relaxed conversationwith her and several others.

When I turn silently away, Falinefrowns at my sudden shift. “Are youokay?” she asks.

I attempt a reassuring smile. “Oh,absolutely. Don’t worry.” I feel so outof place among these aristocrats, withtheir bank accounts and posh man-ners. No matter how much money theRepublic throws at me, I will foreverbe the boy from the streets.

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And I’d forgotten that a boy fromthe streets is no match for the futurePrinceps.

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1935 HOURS.

COLBURN HALL, MAIN BALLROOM.

68°F.

I THINK I SEE DAY IN THE CROWD. A FLASH OF

WHITE-GOLD HAIR, of bright blue eyes. My at-tention suddenly breaks from my conversa-tion with Anden and the other Princeps-Elects, and I crane my neck, hoping to get abetter look—but he’s gone again, if he wasever there. Disappointed, I return my gaze tothe others and give them my well-rehearsedsmile. Will Day show up tonight? SurelyAnden’s men would have alerted us if Dayhad refused to get on the private jet sent forhim this morning. But he’d sounded so dis-tant and awkward over the mike that night,perhaps he just decided it wasn’t worth

coming out here after all. Maybe he hatesme, now that we’ve had enough time apartfor him to think clearly about our friendship.I scan the crowd again when the otherPrinceps-Elects are laughing at Anden’sjokes.

A feeling in my stomach tells me Day willbe here. But I am hardly a person who relieson gut instinct. I absently touch the jewels inmy hair, making sure they’re all still in theright places. They’re not the most comfort-able things I’ve ever worn, but the hairdress-er had gasped at how the rubies stood outagainst my dark locks, and that reaction wasenough for me to think they’re worth thetrouble. I’m not sure why I bothered to lookso nice for tonight. It is Independence Day, Isuppose, and the occasion is a large one.

“Miss Iparis is as precocious as we all as-sumed she would be,” Anden’s saying to theSenators now, turning his smile on me. Hisapparent happiness is all for show, of course.

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I’ve shadowed Anden for long enough now toknow when he is tense, and tonight thenervousness reflects off every gesture hemakes. I’m nervous too. A month from now,the Republic might have Colonies flags flyingover her cities. “Her tutors say they’ve neverseen a student progress so rapidly throughher political texts.”

“Thank you, Elector,” I reply automatic-ally to his compliment. The Senators bothchuckle, but underneath their jolly expres-sions lies the lingering resentment they haveagainst me, this child who has been tappedby the Elector to potentially become theirleader one day. Mariana gives me a diplo-matic, albeit stern, nod, but Serge doesn’tlook too pleased with the way Anden singlesme out. I ignore the dark scowl that the Sen-ator casts in my direction. His scowls used tobother me—now I’m just tired of them.

“Ah, well.” Senator Tanaka of Californiatugs on the collar of his military jacket and

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exchanges a look with his wife. “That’s won-derful news, Elector. Of course, I’m sure thetutors also know how much of a Senator’s jobis learned outside of texts and from years ofexperience in the Senate chamber. Like ourdear Senator Carmichael here.” He pauses tonod graciously at Serge, who puffs up.

Anden waves off his concern. “Of course,”he echoes. “All in good time, Senator.”

Beside me, Mariana sighs, leans over, andtilts her chin at Serge. “If you stare at hishead long enough, it might sprout wings andtake flight,” she mutters.

I smile at that.They steer off the topic of me and onto

the topic of how to better sort students intohigh schools now that the Trials are discon-tinued. The political chatter grates on mynerves. I start scanning the crowd again forDay. After more futile searching, I finally puta hand on Anden’s arm and lean over towhisper, “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” He

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nods in return. When I turn away and startblending in with the crowd, I can feel hisstare lingering on me.

I spend several minutes walking the ball-room in vain, greeting various Senators andtheir families as I go. Where is Day? I try tohear snatches of conversations, or noticewhere clusters of people might be gathering.Day is a celebrity. He must be attracting at-tention if he already arrived. I’m about tomake my way across the other half of theballroom when I’m interrupted by the loud-speakers. The pledge. I sigh, then turn backto where Anden has already taken his placeon the front stage, flanked on both sides bysoldiers holding up Republic flags.

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the Re-public of America . . .”

Day. There he is.He’s standing about fifty feet away, his

back partially turned to me so that I can onlysee a tiny sliver of his profile, his hair loose

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and thick and perfectly straight, and on hisarm is a girl in a shining gold dress. When Iobserve him more closely, I notice that hismouth isn’t moving at all. He stays silentthroughout the entire pledge. I turn my at-tention back to the front as applause fills thechamber and Anden begins his preparedspeech. From the corner of my eye, I see Dayturn to look over his shoulder. My handstremble at this momentary glimpse of hisface—have I really forgotten how beautiful heis, how his eyes reflect something wild anduntamed, free even in the midst of all this or-der and elegance?

When the speech ends, I head straight inDay’s direction. He’s dressed in a perfectlytailored black military jacket and suit. Is healso thinner? He looks to have lost a goodten pounds since the last time I saw him.He’s been ill recently. As I get closer, Daycatches sight of me and pauses in his conver-sation with his date. His eyes widen a little. I

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can feel the heat rising on my cheeks, butforce it down. This will be our first face-to-face meeting in months, and I refuse to makea fool of myself.

I stop a few feet away. My eyes wander tohis date, a girl whom I recognize as Faline,the eighteen-year-old daughter of SenatorFedelma.

Faline and I exchange a quick nod. Shegrins. “Hi, June,” she says. “You look gor-geous tonight.”

She makes a genuine smile escape fromme, a relief after all the practiced smiles I’vebeen giving the other Princeps-Elects. “So doyou,” I reply.

Faline doesn’t waste a single awkwardsecond—she catches the slight blush on mycheeks and curtsies to both of us. Then sheheads back into the crowd, leaving Day andme alone in the sea of people.

For a second, we just stare at each other.I break the silence before it stretches on for

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too long. “Hi,” I say. I take in his face, re-freshing my memory with every little detail.“It’s good to see you.”

Day smiles back and bows, but his eyesnever leave me. The way he stares sendsrivers of heat racing through my chest.“Thanks for the invite.” Hearing his voice inperson again . . . I take a deep breath, re-minding myself of why I invited him here.His eyes dance across my face and to mydress—he seems ready to comment on it, butthen decides against it and waves his hand atthe room. “Nice little party you have here.”

“It’s never quite as fun as it looks,” I replyin a hushed voice, so that the others can’thear me. “I think some of these Senatorsmight burst from being forced to talk topeople they don’t like.”

My teasing brings a small smile of reliefto Day’s lips. “Glad I’m not the only unhappyone.”

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Anden has already left the stage, andDay’s comment reminds me that I should beescorting him to the banquet soon. Thethought sobers me. “It’s almost time,” I say,motioning for Day to follow me. “The ban-quet is very private. You, me, the otherPrinceps-Elects, and the Elector.”

“What’s going on?” Day asks as he fallsinto step beside me. His arm brushes onceagainst mine, sending shivers dancing acrossmy skin. I struggle to catch my breath. Fo-cus, June. “You weren’t exactly specific inour last conversation. I hope I’m putting upwith all of these snobby Congress trots for agood reason.”

I can’t help my amusement at the wayDay refers to the Senators. “You’ll find outwhen we get there. And keep your insults toa minimum.” I look away from him and to-ward the small corridor we’re heading for,Jasper Chamber, a discreet hall branchingaway from the main ballroom.

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“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Daymutters close to my ear.

Guilt rises in me. “Probably not.”We settle down in the private banquet

room (a small, rectangular cherrywood tablewith seven seats), and after a while, Sergeand Mariana filter in. They each take a seaton either side of Anden’s reserved chair. Istay next to Day, as Anden had wished. Twoservers go around the table, placing daintyplates of watermelon and pork salad beforeeach seat. Serge and Mariana make politesmall talk, but neither Day nor I says anotherword. Now and then, I manage to steal aglance at him. He’s eyeing the lines of forks,spoons, and knives at his place setting withan uncomfortable frown, trying to figurethem out without asking for help. Oh, Day. Idon’t know why this gives me a painful, flut-tering feeling in my stomach, or why it pullsmy heart to him. I’d forgotten how his longlashes catch the light.

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“What’s this?” he whispers to me, holdingup one of his utensils.

“A butter knife.”Day scowls at it, running a finger along

its blunt, rounded edge. “This,” he mutters,“is not a knife.”

Beside him, Serge notices his hesitationtoo. “I take it you’re not accustomed to forksand knives where you’re from?” he sayscoolly to him.

Day stiffens, but he doesn’t miss a beat.He grabs a larger carving knife, purposelydisturbing his place’s careful setup, and ges-tures casually with it. Both Serge and Mari-ana edge away from the table. “Where I comefrom, we’re more about efficiency,” hereplies. “A knife like this’ll skewer food,smear butter, and slit throats all at the sametime.”

Of course Day’s never slit a throat in hislife—but Serge doesn’t know that. He sniffsin disdain at the reply, but the blood drains

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from his face. I have to pretend to cough sothat I don’t laugh at Day’s mock-serious ex-pression. For those who don’t know himwell, his words actually sound intimidating.

I also notice something I hadn’t earli-er—Day looks pale. Much paler than I re-member. My amusement wavers. Is his re-cent illness something more serious than I’dfirst assumed?

Anden arrives in the room a minute later,causing the usual stir as we all rise for him,and gestures for all of us to take our seats.He’s accompanied by four soldiers, one ofwhom closes the door behind him and finallyseals us in to our private meal.

“Day,” Anden greets. He pauses to nodcourteously in Day’s direction. Day looks un-happy with the attention, but manages to re-turn the gesture. “It’s a pleasure to see youagain, if under unfortunate circumstances.”

“Very unfortunate,” Day says in return. Ishift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to

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imagine a more awkward scenario than thisdinner setup.

Anden lets the stiff reply slide. “Let mecatch you up on the current situation.” Heputs his fork down. “The peace treaty we’vebeen working on with the Colonies is nowshelved. A virus has hit the Colonies’ south-ern warfront cities hard.”

Beside me, Day crosses his arms and re-gards the crowd with a suspicious expressionon his face, but Anden goes on. “They believethis virus was caused by us, and they are de-manding that we send them a cure if we wantto continue peace talks.” Serge clears histhroat and starts to say something, butAnden holds up a hand for silence. He thengoes on to spill all the details—how the Co-lonies first sent a harsh message to the Re-public, demanding info on the virus wreak-ing havoc amongst their troops, hastily with-drawing their affected soldiers, and thenbroadcasting their ultimatum to the warfront

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generals, warning of dire consequences if acure was not delivered immediately.

Day listens to all of it without moving amuscle or uttering a word. One of his handsgrips the edge of the table tightly enough toturn his knuckles white. I wonder whetherhe’s guessed where this is going and what allthis has to do with him, but he just waits un-til Anden has finished.

Serge leans back in his chair and frowns.“If the Colonies want to play games with ourpeace offer,” he scoffs, “then let them. We’vebeen at war long enough—we can handlesome more.”

“No, we can’t,” Mariana interjects. “Doyou honestly think the United Nations willaccept the news that our peace treaty fellapart?”

“Do the Colonies have any evidence thatwe caused it? Or are these emptyaccusations?”

“Exactly. If they think we’re going to—”

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Day suddenly speaks up, his face turnedtoward Anden. “Let’s stop dragging our feet,”he says. “Tell me why I’m here.” He’s notloud, but the ominous tone of his voicehushes the conversation in the room. Andenreturns his look with an equally grave one.He takes a deep breath.

“Day, I believe this is the result of one ofmy father’s bioweapons—and that the viruscame from your brother Eden’s blood.”

Day’s eyes narrow. “And?”Anden seems reluctant to continue.

“There’s more than one reason why I didn’twant all my Senators in here with us.” Heleans forward, lowers his voice, and givesDay a humbled look. “I don’t want to hearanyone else right now. I want to hear you.You are the heart of the people, Day—you al-ways have been. You’ve given everything youhave in order to protect them.” Day stiffensbeside me, but Anden goes on. “I fear for thepeople. I worry about their safety, that we’ll

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be handing them over to the enemy just aswe’re starting to put the pieces together.” Hegrows quieter. “I need to make some difficultdecisions.”

Day raises an eyebrow. “What kind ofdecisions?”

“The Colonies are desperate for a cure.They will destroy us to get it, everything bothyou and I care about. The only chance wehave of finding one is to take Eden intotemporary—”

Day pushes his chair from the table andrises. “No,” he says. His voice is flat and icy,but I remember my old, heated argumentwith Day well enough to recognize the deepfury beneath his calmness. Without anotherword, he turns from the group and walksaway.

Serge starts to get up, no doubt to shoutat Day about his rudeness, but Anden shootshim a warning stare and motions for him to

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sit. Then Anden turns to me with a look thatsays, Talk to him. Please.

I watch Day’s retreating figure. He hasevery right to refuse, every right to hate usfor asking this of him. But I still find myselfrising from my own chair, stepping awayfrom the banquet table, and hurrying in hisdirection.

“Day, wait,” I call out. My words send mea painful reminder of the last time we’d beenin the same room together, when we had saidour good-byes.

We head into the smaller corridor thatleads out to the main ballroom. Day doesn’tturn around, but he seems to slow his stepsdown in an attempt to let me catch up. WhenI finally reach him, I take a deep breath.“Look, I know—”

Day presses a finger to his lips, silencingme, and then grabs my hand. His skin iswarm through the fabric of his glove. Thefeel of his fingers around mine is such a

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shock after all these months that I can’t re-member the rest of my sentence—everythingabout him, his touch, his closeness, feelsright. “Let’s talk in private,” he whispers.

We head inside one of the doors liningthe corridor, then close it behind us and turnthe lock. My eyes do a categorical sweep ofthe room (private dining chamber, no lightson, one round table and twelve chairs allcovered in white cloths, and a single large,arched window at the back wall that lets in astream of moonlight). Day’s hair transformsin here to a silver sheet. He turns his gazeback to me now.

Is it my imagination, or does he look asflustered as I am about our brief handhold? Ifeel the sudden tightness of the dress’s waist,the air hitting my exposed shoulders and col-larbone, the heaviness of the fabric and thejewels in my hair. Day’s eyes linger on theruby necklace sitting at the small of mythroat. His parting gift to me. His cheeks

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turn a little pink in the darkness. “So,” hesays, “is this seriously why I’m here?”

Despite the anger in his voice, his direct-ness is like a cool, sweet breeze after all thesemonths of calculated political talk. I want tobreathe it in. “The Colonies refuse to acceptany other terms,” I reply. “They’re convincedthat we have a cure for the virus, and theonly one who might carry the cure is Eden.The Republic’s already running tests on oth-er former . . . experiments . . . to see whetherthey can find anything.”

Day cringes, then folds his arms in frontof his chest and regards me with a scowl.“Already running tests,” he mutters to him-self, looking off toward the moonlit windows.“Sorry I can’t be more enthusiastic about thisidea,” he adds dryly.

I close my eyes for a moment. “We don’thave much time,” I admit. “Every day wedon’t hand over a cure further angers theColonies.”

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“And what happens if we don’t give themanything?”

“You know what happens. War.”A note of fear appears in Day’s eyes, but

he still shrugs. “The Republic and the Colon-ies have been at war forever. How will this beany different?”

“This time they’ll win,” I whisper. “Theyhave a strong ally. They know we’re vulner-able during our transition to a young newElector. If we can’t hand over this cure, wedon’t stand a chance.” I narrow my eyes.“Don’t you remember what we saw when wewent to the Colonies?”

Day pauses for a heartbeat. Even thoughhe doesn’t say it aloud, I can see the conflictwritten clearly on his face. Finally, he sighsand tightens his lips in anger. “You think I’mgoing to let the Republic take Eden again? Ifthe Elector believes that, then I really didmake a mistake throwing my support behind

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him. I didn’t help him out just to watch himtoss Eden back into a lab.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. No use trying to con-vince him of how much Anden also hates thesituation. “He shouldn’t have asked you likethis.”

“He put you up to this, didn’t he? I betyou resisted too, yeah? You know how thissounds.” His tone turns more exasperated.“You knew what my answer would be. Why’dyou still send for me?”

I look into his eyes and say the first thingthat comes to mind. “Because I wanted to seeyou. Isn’t that why you agreed too?”

This makes him pause for a moment.Then he whirls around, rakes both handsthrough his hair, and sighs. “What do youthink, then? Tell me the truth. What wouldyou ask me to do, if you felt absolutely nopressure from anyone else in this country?”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.Steel yourself, June. “I’d . . . ,” I begin, then

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hesitate. What would I say? Logically, I agreewith Anden’s assessment. If the Colonies dowhat they threaten, if they attack us with thefull force of a superpower’s help, then manyinnocent lives will be lost unless we take arisk with one life. There is simply no easierchoice. Besides, we could ensure that Edenwould be treated as well as possible, with thebest doctors and the most physical comfort.Day could be present during all of the poten-tial procedures—he could see exactly whatwas happening. But how do I explain that toa boy who has already lost his entire family,who saw his brother experimented on before,who has been experimented on himself? Thisis the part that Anden doesn’t understand aswell as I do, even though he knows Day’spast on paper—he still doesn’t know Day,hasn’t traveled with him and witnessed thesuffering he’s gone through. The question istoo complicated to be answered with simplelogic.

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Most importantly—Anden’s unable toguarantee his brother’s safety. Everythingwill come with a risk, and I know with deadcertainty that nothing in the world couldpossibly make Day take this risk.

Day must see the frustration dancingacross my face, because he softens and stepscloser. I can practically feel the heat comingoff him, the warmth of his nearness thatturns my breath shallow. “I came here to-night for you,” he says in a low voice.“There’s nothing in the world they could’vesaid to convince me, except that you wantedme here. And I can’t turn down a requestfrom you. They told me you had person-ally . . .” He swallows. There’s a familiar warof emotions in his expression that leaves mewith a sick feeling—emotions that I know aredesire, for what we once had, and anguish,for desiring a girl who destroyed his family.“It’s so good to see you, June.”

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He says it like he’s letting go of a hugeburden that’s been holding him down. I won-der whether he can hear my heart poundingfrantically against my ribs. When I speak,though, I manage to keep my voice steadyand calm. “Are you okay?” I ask. “You lookpale.”

The weight returns to his eyes, and hisbrief moment of intimacy fades as he stepsaway and fiddles with the edge of his gloves.He’s always hated gloves, I remember. “I’vehad a bad flu for the last couple of weeks,” hereplies, flashing me a quick grin. “Gettingbetter now, though.” (Eyes flickering subtlyto the side, scratching the edge of his ear,stiffness of his limbs, timing slightly offbetween his words and his smile.) I tilt myhead at him and frown.

“You’re such a bad liar, Day,” I say. “Youmight as well tell me what’s on your mind.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” he replies auto-matically. This time he points his eyes at the

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floor and puts his hands in his pockets. “If Iseem off, it’s because I’m worried aboutEden. He’s gotten a year of treatment for hiseyes and he still can’t see much. The doctorstell me that he may need some special con-tacts, and even then, he might never get hisfull eyesight back.”

I can tell this isn’t the real reason behindDay’s exhausted appearance, but he knowsthat bringing Eden’s recovery into this con-versation will stop any questions from me.Well, if he really doesn’t want to tell me, thenI won’t pressure him. I clear my throat awk-wardly. “That’s terrible,” I whisper. “I’m sosorry to hear it. Is he doing okay, otherwise?”

Day nods. We fall back into our moonlitsilence. I can’t help recalling the last time wewere alone in a room together, when he tookmy face in his hands, when his tears werefalling against my cheeks. I remember theway he whispered I’m sorry against my lips.Now, as we stand three feet apart and stare

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at each other, I feel the full distance thatcomes with spending so much time apart, amoment filled with the electricity of a firstmeeting and the uncertainty of strangers.

Day leans toward me, as if drawn bysome invisible force. The tragic plea on hisface twists my stomach into painful knots.Please don’t ask this of me, his eyes beg.Please don’t ask me to give up my brother. Iwould do anything else for you. Just notthis. “June, I . . . ,” he whispers. His voicethreatens to break with all the heartache he’skeeping bottled inside.

He never finishes that sentence. Instead,he sighs and bows his head. “I can’t agree toyour Elector’s terms,” he says in a sombertone. “I’m not going to hand my brother tothe Republic as another experiment. Tell himI’ll work with him to find another solution. Iunderstand how serious this all is—I don’twant to see the Republic fall. I’d be glad to

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help and figure something else out. But Edenstays out of this.”

And that’s the end of our conversation.Day nods at me in farewell, lingers for a fewlast seconds, and then steps toward the door.I lean against the wall in sudden exhaustion.Without him nearby, there’s a lack of energy,a dulling of color, gray moonlight where mo-ments earlier there had been silver. I studyhis paleness a final time, analyzing him fromthe corner of my eye. He avoids my gaze. So-mething is wrong, and he refuses to tell mewhat it is.

What am I missing here?He pulls the door open. His expression

hardens right before he steps out of theroom. “And if for some reason the Republictries to take Eden by force, I’ll turn thepeople against Anden so fast that a revolu-tion will be on him before he can blink.”

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SERIOUSLY, I SHOULD BE USED TOMY NIGHTMARES BY NOW.

This time I dream about me andEden at a San Francisco hospital. Adoctor’s fitting Eden with a new pair ofglasses. We end up at a hospital atleast once a week, so that they canmonitor how Eden’s eyes are slowlyadjusting to medication, but this is thefirst time I see the doctor smile en-couragingly at my brother. Must be agood sign, yeah?

Eden turns to me, grins, and puffshis chest out in an exaggerated ges-ture. I have to laugh. “How does itlook?” he asks me, fiddling with hishuge new frames. His eyes still have

that weird, pale purple color, and hecan’t focus on me, but I notice that hecan now make out things like the wallsaround him and the light coming infrom the windows. My heart jumps atthe sight. Progress.

“You look like an eleven-year-oldowl,” I reply, walking over to ruffle hishair. He giggles and bats my handaway.

As we sit together in the office,waiting for paperwork, I watch Edenbusily folding pieces of paper togetherinto some kind of elaborate design. Hehas to hunch close to the papers to seewhat he’s doing, his broken eyes al-most crossed with concentration, hisfingers nimble and deliberate. I swear,this kid’s always making something orother.

“What is it?” I ask him after awhile.

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He’s concentrating too hard to an-swer me right away. Finally, when hetucks one last paper triangle into thedesign, he holds it up and gives methat cheeky grin. “Here,” he says,pointing to what looks like a paper leafsticking out of the ball of paper. “Pullthis.”

I do as he says. To my amazement,the design transforms into an elabor-ate 3-D paper rose. I smile back at himin my dream. “Pretty impressive.”

Eden takes his paper design back.In that instant, an alarm blares

throughout the hospital. Eden dropsthe paper flower and jumps to his feet.His blind eyes are wide open in terror.I glance to the hospital’s windows,where doctors and nurses havegathered. Out along the horizon of SanFrancisco, a row of Colonies airships

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sail closer and closer to us. The city be-low them burns from a dozen fires.

The alarm deafens me. I grabEden’s hand and rush us out of theroom. “We have to get out of here,” Ishout. When he stumbles, unable tosee where we’re going, I hoist himonto my back. People rush all aroundus.

I reach the stairwell—and there, aline of Republic soldiers stops us. Oneof them pulls Eden off my back. Hescreams, kicking out at people he can’tsee. I struggle to free myself from thesoldiers, but their grip is ironclad, andmy limbs feel like they’re sinking intodeep mud. We need him, some unre-cognizable voice whispers into my ear.He can save us all.

I scream out loud, but no one canhear me. Off in the distance, the Co-lonies airships aim at the hospital.

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Glass shatters all around us. I feel theheat of fire. On the floor lies Eden’spaper flower, its edges crisping fromflames. I can no longer see mybrother.

He’s gone. He’s dead.

* * *

A pounding headache pulls me frommy sleep. The soldiers vanish—thealarm silences—the chaos of the hos-pital disappears into the dark blue hueof our bedroom. I try to take a deepbreath and look around for Eden, butthe headache stabs into the back of myskull like an ice pick, and I bolt up-right with a gasp of pain. Now I re-member where I really am. I’m in atemporary apartment back in Denver,the morning after seeing June. On thebedroom dresser sits my usual

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transmission box, the station stilltuned to one of the airwaves I thoughtthe Patriots might’ve been using.

“Daniel?” In the bed next to mine,Eden stirs. Relief hits me, even in themidst of my agony. Just a nightmare.Like always. Just a nightmare. “Areyou okay?” It takes me a second torealize that dawn hasn’t quite ar-rived—the room still looks dark, andall I can see is my brother’s silhouetteagainst the bluish black of the night.

I don’t answer right away. Instead,I swing my legs over the side of the bedto face him and clutch my head in bothhands. Another jolt of pain hits thebase of my brain. “Get my medicine,” Imutter to Eden.

“Should I get Lucy?”“No. Don’t wake her,” I reply.

Lucy’s already had two sleeplessnights because of me. “Medicine.”

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The pain makes me ruder than usu-al, but Eden jumps out of bed before Ican apologize. He immediately startsfumbling for the bottle of green pillsthat always sits on the dresserbetween our beds. He grabs it andholds out the bottle in my generaldirection.

“Thanks.” I take it from him, pourthree pills into my palm with a shakinghand, and try to swallow them.Throat’s too dry. I push myself upfrom the bed and stagger toward thekitchen. Behind me, Eden utters an-other “Are you sure you’re okay?” butthe pain in my head is so strong that Ican hardly hear him. I can hardly evensee.

I reach the kitchen sink and turnthe faucet on, cup some water into myhands, and drink it down with themedicine. Then I slide down to the

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floor in the darkness, resting my backagainst the cold metal of the refriger-ator door.

It’s okay, I console myself. Myheadaches had worsened over the pastyear, but the doctors assured me thatthese attacks should last no longerthan a half hour each time. Of course,they also told me that if any of themfelt unusually severe, I should berushed to the emergency room rightaway. So every time I get one, I won-der if I’m experiencing a typicalday—or the last day of my life.

A few minutes later, Eden stumblesinto the kitchen with his walkingmeter on, the device beeping whenev-er he gets too close to a wall. “Maybewe should ask Lucy to call the doc-tors,” he whispers.

I don’t know why, but the sight ofEden feeling his way through the

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kitchen sends me into a fit of low, un-controllable laughter. “Man, look atus,” I reply. My laughter turns intocoughs. “What a team, yeah?”

Eden finds me by placing a tentat-ive hand on my head. He sits besideme with his legs crossed and gives mea wry grin. “Hey—with your metal legand half a brain, and my four leftoversenses, we almost make a wholeperson.”

I laugh harder, but it makes thepain of my headache that much worse.“When did you turn so sarcastic, littleboy?” I give him an affectionate shove.

We stay hunched in silence for thenext hour as the headache goes on andon. I’m now writhing in pain. Sweatsoaks my white collar shirt and tearsstreak my face. Eden sits next to meand grips my hand in his small ones.“Try not to think about it,” he urges

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under his breath, squinting at me withhis pale purple eyes. He pushes hisblack-rimmed glasses farther up hisnose. Bits and pieces of my nightmarecome back to me, images of his handgetting yanked out of mine. Sounds ofhis screams. I squeeze his hand sotightly that he winces. “Don’t forget tobreathe. The doctor always says takingdeep breaths is supposed to help,right? Breathe in, breathe out.”

I close my eyes and try to follow mylittle brother’s commands, but it’shard to hear him at all through thepounding of my headache. The pain isexcruciating, all-consuming, a white-hot knife stabbing repeatedly into theback of my brain. Breathe in, breatheout. Here’s the pattern—first there’s adull, numbing ache, followed shortlyby the absolute worst pain you canever imagine going into your head, a

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spear shoved through your skull, andthe impact of it is so hard that your en-tire body goes stiff; it lasts for a solidthree seconds, followed by a splitsecond of relief. And then it repeats it-self all over again.

“How long has it been?” I gasp outto Eden. Dim blue light is slowly filter-ing in from the windows.

Eden pulls out a tiny square comand presses its lone knob. “Time?” heasks it. The device immediately re-sponds, “Zero five thirty.” He puts itaway, a concerned frown on his face.“It’s been almost an hour. Has it goneon this long before?”

I’m dying. I really am dying. It’stimes like this when I’m glad that Idon’t see much of June anymore. Thethought of her seeing me sweating anddirty on my kitchen floor, clutchingmy baby brother’s hand for dear life

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like some weepy weakling, while she’sbreathtaking in her scarlet gown andjewel-studded hair . . . You know, forthat matter, in this moment I’m evenrelieved that Mom and John can’t seeme.

When I moan from another excru-ciating stab of pain, Eden pulls out hiscom again and presses the knob.“That’s it. I’m calling the doctors.”When the com beeps, prompting himfor his command, he says, “Day needsan ambulance.” Then, before I canprotest, he raises his voice and callsout for Lucy.

Seconds later, I hear Lucy ap-proach. She doesn’t turn the lighton—she knows that it only makes myheadaches that much worse. Instead, Isee her stout silhouette in the dark-ness and hear her exclaim, “Day! Howlong have you been out here?” She

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rushes over to me and puts one plumphand against my cheek. Then sheglances at Eden and touches his chin.“Did you call for the doctors?”

Eden nods. Lucy inspects my faceagain, then clucks her tongue in wor-ried disapproval and bustles off tograb a cool towel.

The last place I want to be rightnow is lying in a Republic hospit-al—but Eden’s already placed the call,and I’d rather not be dead anyway. Myvision has started to blur, and I realizeit’s because I can’t stop my eyes fromwatering nonstop. I wipe a handacross my face and smile weakly atEden. “Damn, I’m dripping water likea leaky faucet.”

Eden tries to smile back. “Yeah,you’ve had better days,” he replies.

“Hey, kid. Remember that timewhen John asked you to be in charge

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of watering the plants outside ourdoor?”

Eden frowns for a second, diggingthrough his memories, and then a grinlights up his face. “I did a pretty goodjob, didn’t I?”

“You built that little makeshift cata-pult in front of our door.” I close myeyes and indulge in the memory, atemporary distraction from all thepain. “Yeah, I remember that thing.You kept lobbing water balloons atthose poor flowers. Did they even haveany petals left after you were done? Ohman, John was so pissed.” He waseven madder because Eden was onlyfour at the time and, well, how do youpunish your wide-eyed baby brother?

Eden giggles. I wince as anotherwave of agony hits me.

“What was it that Mom used to sayabout us?” he asks. Now I can tell that

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he’s trying to keep my mind on otherthings too.

I manage a smile. “Mom used to saythat having three boys was kind of likehaving a pet tornado that talked back.”The two of us laugh for a moment, atleast before I squint my eyes shutagain.

Lucy comes back with the towel.She places it against my forehead, andI sigh in relief at its cool surface. Shechecks my pulse, then mytemperature.

“Daniel,” Eden pipes up while sheworks. He scoots closer, his eyes stillstaring blankly off at a spot to the rightof my head. “Hang in there, okay?”

Lucy shoots him a critical frown atwhat his tone implies. “Eden,” shescolds. “More optimism in this house,please.”

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A lump rises in my throat, turningmy breath shallower. John’s gone,Mom’s gone, Dad’s gone. I watch Edenwith a heavy ache in my chest. I usedto hope that since he was the youngestof us boys, he might be able to learnfrom John’s and my mistakes and bethe luckiest out of us, maybe make itinto a college or earn a good living as amechanic, that we’d be around toguide him through the difficult timesin life. What would happen to him if Iwere gone too? What happens if he hasto stand alone against the Republic?

“Eden,” I suddenly whisper to him,pulling him close. His eyes widen atmy urgent tone. “Listen close, yeah? Ifthe Republic ever asks you to go withthem, if I’m ever not home or I’m inthe hospital and they come knockingon our door, don’t ever go with them.You understand me? You call me first,

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you scream for Lucy, you . . .” I hesit-ate. “You call for June Iparis.”

“Your Princeps-Elect?”“She’s not my—” I grimace at anoth-

er wave of pain. “Just do it. Call her.Tell her to stop them.”

“I don’t understand—”“Promise me. Don’t go with them,

whatever you do. Okay?” My answer’scut short when a jolt of pain hits mehard enough to send me collapsing tothe ground, curled up into a tight ball.I choke out a shriek—my head feelslike it’s being split in two. I even put atrembling hand to the back of my headas if to make sure my brain’s not leak-ing out onto the floor. Somewhereabove me, Eden is shouting. Lucyplaces another call to the doctor, thistime frantic.

“Just hurry!” she yells. “Hurry!”

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By the time the medics arrive, I’mfading in and out of consciousness.Through a cloud of haze and fog, I feelmyself getting lifted off the kitchenfloor and carried out of the apartmenttower, then into a waiting ambulancethat has been disguised to look like aregular police jeep. Is it snowing? Afew light flakes drift onto my face,shocking me with pinpricks of cold-ness. I call out for Eden andLucy—they respond from somewhere Ican’t see.

Then we’re in the ambulance andpulling away.

All I see for a long time are blobs ofcolor, fuzzy circles moving back andforth across my vision, like I’m peer-ing through thick, bumpy glass. I try torecognize some of them. Are theypeople? I sure as hell hope so—other-wise I really must have died, or maybe

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I’m floating in the ocean and debris isjust drifting all around me. Thatdoesn’t make any sense, though, un-less the doctors just decided to toss meright into the Pacific and forget aboutme. Where’s Eden? They must’vetaken him away. Just like in the night-mare. They’ve dragged him off to thelabs.

I can’t breathe.My hands try to fly up to my throat,

but then someone shouts somethingand I feel weight against my arms, pin-ning me down. Something cold is go-ing down my throat, choking me.

“Calm down! You’re okay. Try toswallow.”

I do as the voice says. Swallowingturns out to be more difficult than Ithought, but I finally manage a gulp,and whatever the cold thing is slides

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right down my throat and into mystomach, chilling me to my core.

“There,” the voice goes on, less agit-ated now. “Should help with any fu-ture headaches, I think.” He doesn’tseem to be talking to me any-more—and a second later, anothervoice chimes in.

“Seems to be working a little,Doctor.”

I must’ve passed out again afterthat, because the next time I wake up,the pattern on the ceiling’s differentand late afternoon light is slanting in-to my room. I blink and look around.The excruciating pain in my head isgone, at least for now. I can also seeclearly enough to know I’m in a hospit-al room, the ever-present portrait ofAnden on one wall and a screenagainst another wall, broadcastingnews. I groan, then close my eyes and

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let out a sigh. Stupid hospitals. So sickof them.

“Patient is awake.” I turn to see amonitor near my bedside that recitesthe phrase. A second later, a real hu-man’s voice pops up over its speakers.“Mister Wing?” it says.

“Yeah?” I mutter back.“Excellent,” the voice replies. “Your

brother will be in shortly to see you.”No sooner than her voice clicks off,

my door bursts open and Eden comesrunning in with two exasperatednurses hot on his tail. “Daniel,” hegasps out, “you’re finally awake! Suretook you long enough.” His lack ofsight catches up with him—hestumbles against the edge of a drawerbefore I can warn him, and the nurseshave to catch him in their arms to keephim from falling to the floor.

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“Easy there, kid,” I call out. Myvoice sounds tired, even though I feelalert and pain-free. “How long was Iout? Where is . . . ?” I pause, confusedfor a moment. That’s weird. What wasour caretaker’s name again? I graspfor it in my thoughts. Lucy. “Where’sLucy?” I finish.

He doesn’t answer right away.When the nurses finally situate Edenbeside me in bed, he crawls closer tome and flings his arms around myneck. To my shock, I realize that he’scrying. “Hey.” I pat his head. “Calmdown—it’s okay. I’m awake.”

“I thought you weren’t going tomake it,” he murmurs. His pale eyessearch for mine. “I thought you weregone.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m right here.” I lethim sob for a little while, his head bur-ied against my chest, his tears blurring

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his glasses and staining my hospitalgown. There’s a coping mechanismI’ve started using recently where I pre-tend to retreat back into the shell ofmy heart and crawl out of my body,like I’m not really here and am insteadobserving the world from another per-son’s perspective. Eden’s not mybrother. He’s not even real. Nothing isreal. Everything is illusion. It helps. Iwait without emotion as Eden gradu-ally composes himself, and then Icarefully let myself back into my body.

Finally, when he’s wiped away thelast of his tears, he sits up and bur-rows in beside me. “Lucy’s filling outpaperwork up front.” His voice stillsounds a little shaky. “You’ve been outfor about ten hours. They said theyhad to rush you out of our buildingthrough the main entrance—there just

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wasn’t any time to try sneaking youout.”

“Did anyone see?”Eden rubs his temples in an at-

tempt to remember. “Maybe. I don’tknow. I can’t remember—I was toodistracted. I spent all morning out inthe waiting room because theywouldn’t let me inside.”

“Do you know . . .” I swallow. “Haveyou heard anything from the doctors?”

Eden sighs in relief. “Not really. Butat least you’re okay now. The doctorssaid you had a bad reaction to themedicine they put you on. They’re tak-ing you off it and trying somethingdifferent.”

The way Eden says this makes myheart beat faster. He doesn’t fullygrasp the reality of the situation—hestill thinks that the only reason I’d col-lapsed like that wasn’t because I’m

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getting worse, but because I just had abad reaction. A sick, sinking feelinghits my stomach. Of course he’d be op-timistic about it all; of course hethinks this is just a temporary setback.I’d been on that damn medication forthe last two months after the first tworounds also stopped working, andwith all the extra headaches and night-mares and nausea, I’d hoped that thepills had at least done some good, thatthey were successfully shrinking theproblem spot in my hippocam-pus—their fancy word for the bottomof my brain. Apparently not. What ifnothing works?

I take a deep breath and put on asmile for my brother. “Well, at leastthey know now. Maybe they’ll trysomething better this time.”

Eden smiles along, sweet and naïve.“Yeah.”

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Several minutes later, my doctorcomes in and Eden moves back outsideto the waiting room. As the doctortalks in a low voice to me about “ournext options,” what treatments they’lltry to experiment with next, he alsoquietly tells me how small of a chancethey have. Like I feared, my reactionwasn’t just some temporary medicineissue. “The medication is slowlyshrinking the affected area,” the doc-tor says, but his expression stays grim.“Still, the area continues to fester, andyour body has begun to reject the oldmedication, forcing us to search fornew ones. We are quite simply racingagainst the clock, Day, trying to shrinkit enough and pull it out before it cando its worst.” I listen to it all with astraight face; his voice sounds like it’sunderwater, unimportant and out offocus.

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Finally, I stop him and say, “Look,just tell me straight up. How muchlonger do I have? If nothing worksout?”

The doctor purses his lips, hesit-ates, and then shakes his head with asigh. “Probably a month,” he admits.“Maybe two. We’re doing the best wecan.”

A month or two. Well, they’ve beenwrong in the past—a month or twoprobably means more like four orfive. Still. I look toward the door,where Eden’s probably pressedagainst the wood and trying in vain tohear what we’re saying. Then I turnback to the doctor and swallow thelump in my throat. “Two months,” Iecho. “Is there any chance?”

“We might try some riskier treat-ments, although those have side ef-fects that may be fatal if you react

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badly to them. A surgery before you’reready will likely kill you.” The doctorcrosses his arms. His glasses catch thecold fluorescent light and shine in away that blocks out his eyes entirely.He looks like a machine. “I would sug-gest, Day, that you begin getting yourpriorities in order.”

“My priorities in order?”“Prepare your brother for the

news,” he replies. “And settle any un-finished business.”

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AT 0810 HOURS ON THE MORNING AFTER THE

EMERGENCY banquet, Anden calls me. “It’sCaptain Bryant,” he says. “He has put in hislast request, and his last request is to seeyou.”

I sit at the edge of my bed, blinking awaya night of fitful sleep, trying to work up theenergy to understand what Anden is tellingme.

“Tomorrow we transfer him to a prisonon the other side of Denver to prepare for hisfinal day. He’s asked if he can see you beforethen.”

“What does he want?”“Whatever he has to say, he wants it

heard by your ears alone,” Anden replies.“Remember, June—you have the option to

refuse him. We don’t have to grant this lastrequest.”

Tomorrow, Thomas will be dead. I won-der whether Anden feels any guilt over sen-tencing a soldier to die. The thought of facingThomas alone in a jail cell sends a wave ofpanic through me, but I steel myself. MaybeThomas has something to say about mybrother. Do I want to hear it?

“I’ll see him,” I finally reply. “And hope-fully this is the last time.”

Anden must hear something in my voice,because his words soften. “Of course. I’ll ar-range for your escort.”

0930 HOURS.

DENVER STATE PENITENTIARY.

The hall where Thomas and CommanderJameson are being held is lit with cold, fluor-escent light, and the sound of my boots

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echoes against the high ceiling. Several sol-diers flank me, but aside from us, the hallfeels empty and ominous. Portraits of Andenhang at sporadic intervals along the walls.My eyes stay focused on each of the cells wepass, studying them, details running throughmy mind in an effort to keep myself calm andfocused. (32 × 32 feet in size, smooth steelwalls, bulletproof glass, cams mounted out-side of the cells instead of inside. Most ofthem are empty, and the ones that are filledhold three of the Senators who had plottedagainst Anden. This floor is reserved for pris-oners associated specifically with Anden’s at-tempted assassination.)

“If you experience any trouble at all,” oneof the soldiers says to me, tapping his cap ina polite bow, “just call us in. We’ll have thattraitor down on the ground before he canmake a move.”

“Thank you,” I reply, my eyes still fixedon the cells as we draw closer. I know I won’t

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need to do what he just said, because I knowThomas won’t ever disobey the Elector andtry to hurt me. Thomas is many things, buthe isn’t rebellious.

We reach the end of the hall where twoadjacent cells sit, each one guarded by twosoldiers.

Someone stirs in the cell closest to me. Iturn toward the movement. I don’t even havetime to study the cell’s interior before a wo-man raps her fingers against the steel bars. Ijump, then swallow the cry that rises up inmy throat as I stare into the face of Com-mander Jameson.

As she fixes her eyes on mine, she givesme a smile that makes me break out in a coldsweat. I remember this smile—she’d smiledlike this on the night Metias died, when sheapproved me to become a junior agent in herpatrol. There is no emotion there, nothingcompassionate or even angry. Few thingsfrighten me—but facing the cold, merciless

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expression of my brother’s true killer is oneof them.

“Well,” she says in a low voice. “If it isn’tIparis, come here to see us.” Her eyes flickerto me; the soldiers gather closer to me in aprotective gesture. Don’t be afraid. Istraighten as well as I can, then clench myjaw and force myself to face her withoutflinching.

“You’re wasting my time, Commander,” Isay. “I’m not here for you. And the next timeI see you will be the day you stand before thefiring squad.”

She just smiles at me. “So brave, now thatyou have your handsome young Elector tohide behind. Isn’t that so?” When I narrowmy eyes, she laughs. “Commander DeSotowould’ve been a better Elector than that boycould ever be. When the Colonies invade,they’ll burn this country to the ground. Thepeople will regret ever putting their supportbehind a little boy.” She presses against the

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bars, as if trying to edge as close to me aspossible. I swallow hard, but even throughmy fear, my anger boils under the surface. Idon’t look away. It’s strange, but I think I seea sheen of gloss across her eyes, somethingthat looks disconcerting above her unstablesmile. “You were one of my favorites. Do youknow why I was so interested in having youon my patrol? It’s because I saw myself re-flected in you. We’re the same, you and I. Iwould’ve been Princeps, too, you know. I de-served it.”

Goose bumps rise on my arms. A memoryflashes through my mind of the night Metiasdied, when Commander Jameson escortedme to where his body lay. “Too bad thatdidn’t work out, isn’t it?” I snap. This time Ican’t keep the venom out of my words. Ihope they execute you as unceremoniouslyas they did Razor.

Commander Jameson only laughs at me.Her eyes dilate. “Better be careful, Iparis,”

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she whispers. “You might turn out just likeme.”

The words chill me to the bone, and I fi-nally have to turn away and break my stareaway from hers. The soldiers guarding hercell don’t look at me; they just keep staringforward. I continue walking. Behind me, Ican still hear her soft, low chuckle. My heartpounds against my ribs.

Thomas is being held inside a rectangularcell with thick glass walls, thick enough that Ican’t hear anything of what’s happening in-side. I wait outside, steadying myself aftermy encounter with Commander Jameson.For an instant I wonder whether I shouldhave stayed away and turned down his finalrequest; maybe that would have been for thebest.

Still, if I leave now, I’ll have to face Com-mander Jameson again. I might need a littlemore time to prepare myself for that. So Itake a deep breath and step toward the steel

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bars lining Thomas’s cell door. A guardopens it, lets two additional guards in afterme, and then closes it behind us. Our foot-steps echo in the small, empty chamber.

Thomas gets up with a clank of hischains. He looks more disheveled than I’veever seen him, and I know that if his handswere completely free, he’d go about ironinghis rumpled uniform and combing his unrulyhair right away. But instead, Thomas clickshis heels together. Not until I tell him to re-lax his stance does he look at me.

“It’s good to see you, Princeps-Elect,” hesays. Is there a hint of sadness in his serious,stern face? “Thank you for indulging my finalrequest. It won’t be long now before you’rerid of me entirely.”

I shake my head, angry with myself, irrit-ated that in spite of everything he has done,Thomas’s unshakable loyalty to the Republicstill stirs a drop of sympathy from me. “Sitdown and make yourself comfortable,” I tell

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him. He doesn’t hesitate for a second—in auniform motion, we both kneel down ontothe cold cell floor, him leaning against thecell wall, me folding my legs underneath me.We stay like that for a moment, letting theawkward silence between us linger.

I speak up first. “You don’t need to be soloyal to the Republic anymore,” I reply. “Youcan let go, you know.”

Thomas only shakes his head. “It’s theduty of a Republic soldier to be loyal to theend, and I’m still a soldier. I will be one untilI die.”

I don’t know why the thought of him dy-ing tugs on my heartstrings in so manystrange ways. I’m happy, relieved, angry,sad. “Why did you want to see me?” I finallyask.

“Ms. Iparis, before tomorrow comes . . .”Thomas trails off for a second before con-tinuing. “I want to tell you the full details ofeverything that happened to Metias that

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night at the hospital. I just feel . . . I feel like Iowe it to you. If anyone should know, it’syou.”

My heart begins to pound. Am I ready torelive all of that again—do I need to knowthis? Metias is gone; knowing the details ofwhat happened will not bring him back. But Ifind myself meeting Thomas’s gaze with acalm, level look. He does owe it to me. Moreimportantly, I owe it to my brother. AfterThomas is executed, someone should carryon the memory of my brother’s death, ofwhat really happened.

Slowly, I steady my heartbeat. When Iopen my mouth, my voice cracks a little.“Fine,” I reply.

His voice grows quieter. “I remembereverything about that night. Every lastdetail.”

“Tell me, then.”Like the obedient soldier he is, Thomas

begins his story. “On the night of your

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brother’s death, I took a call from Com-mander Jameson. We were waiting with thejeeps outside the hospital’s entrance. Metiaswas chatting with a nurse in front of themain sliding doors. I stood behind the jeepssome distance away. Then the call came.”

As Thomas speaks, the prison around usmelts away and is replaced by the scene ofthat fateful night, the hospital and the milit-ary jeep and the soldiers, the streets as if Iwere walking right beside Thomas, seeing allthat he saw. Reliving the events.

“I whispered a greeting to CommanderJameson over my earpiece,” Thomas contin-ues. “She didn’t bother greeting me back.

“‘It has to be done tonight,’ she told me.‘If we don’t act now, your captain may planan act of treason against the Republic, oreven against the Elector. I’m giving you adirect order, Lieutenant Bryant. Find a wayto get Captain Iparis to a private spot to-night. I don’t care how you do it.’”

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Thomas looks me in the eye now and re-peats, “An act of treason against the Repub-lic. I tightened my jaw. I’d been dreading thisinevitable call, ever since I’d first learnedabout Metias’s hacking into the deceased ci-vilians’ databases. Keeping secrets fromCommander Jameson was damn near im-possible. My eyes darted to your brother atthe entrance. ‘Yes, Commander,’ Iwhispered.

“‘Good,’ she said. ‘Tell me when you’reready—I’ll send in separate orders to the restof your patrol to be at a different locationduring that time. Make it quick and clean.’

“That’s when my hand began to shake. Itried to argue with the Commander, but hervoice only turned colder. ‘If you don’t do it, Iwill. Believe me, I will be messier aboutit—and no one’s going to be happy that way.Understood?’

“I didn’t answer her right away. Instead Iwatched your brother as he shook hands

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with the nurse. He turned around, searchingfor me, and then spotted me by the jeeps. Hewaved me over, and I nodded, careful to keepmy face blank. ‘Understood, Commander,’ Ifinally answered.

“‘You can do it, Bryant,’ she told me. ‘Andif you’re successful, consider yourself pro-moted to captain.’ The call cut off.

“I joined Metias and another soldier atthe hospital entrance. Metias smiled at me.‘Another long night, eh? I swear, if we’restuck here until dawn again, I’ll whine toCommander Jameson like there’s notomorrow.’

“I forced myself to laugh along. ‘Let’shope for an uneventful night, then.’ The liefelt so smooth.

“‘Yes, let’s hope for that,’ Metias said. ‘Atleast I have you for company.’

“‘Likewise,’ I told him. Metias glancedback at me, his eyes hovering for a beat, thenlooked away again.

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“The first minutes passed without incid-ent. But then, moments later, a ragged slum-sector boy dragged himself up to the en-trance and stopped to talk to a nurse. He wasa mess—mud, dirt, and blood smeared acrosshis cheeks, dirty dark hair pulled away fromhis face, and a nasty limp. ‘Can I be admit-ted, cousin?’ he asked the nurse. ‘Is there stillroom tonight? I can pay.’

“The nurse just continued scribbling onher notepad. ‘What happened?’ she finallyasked.

“‘Was in a fight,’ the boy replied. ‘I think Igot stabbed.’

“The nurse glanced over at your brother,and Metias nodded to two of his soldiers.They walked over to pat down the boy. Aftera while, they pocketed something and wavedthe boy inside. As he staggered past, I leanedcloser to Metias and whispered, ‘Don’t likethe look of that one. He doesn’t walk likesomeone who’s been stabbed, does he?’

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“Your brother and the boy exchanged abrief look. When the boy had disappeared in-side the hospital, he nodded at me. ‘Agreed.Keep an eye on that one. After our rotation’sdone, I’d like to question him a bit.’”

Thomas pauses here, searching my face,perhaps for permission to stop talking, but Idon’t give it.

He takes a deep breath and continues. “Iblushed then at his nearness. Your brotherseemed to sense it too, and an awkward si-lence passed between us. I’d always knownabout his attraction to me, but tonight itseemed particularly naked. Maybe it hadsomething to do with his weary day, youruniversity antics throwing him off, his usualair of command subdued and tired. And un-derneath my calm exterior, my hearthammered against my ribs. Find a way toget Captain Iparis to a private spot tonight.I don’t care how you do it. This vulnerabilitywould be my only chance.”

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Thomas looks briefly down at his hands,but carries on.

“So, sometime later, I tapped Metias onthe shoulder. ‘Captain,’ I murmured. ‘Can Ispeak to you in private for a moment?’

“Metias blinked. He asked me, ‘Is thisurgent?’

“‘No, sir,’ I told him. ‘Not quite. But . . .I’d rather you know.’

“Your brother stared at me, momentarilyconfused, searching for a clue. Then he mo-tioned for a soldier to take his place at theentrance and the two of us headed into aquiet, dark street near the back of thehospital.

“Metias immediately dropped some of hisformal pretense. ‘Something wrong, Tho-mas? You don’t look well.’

“All I could think was treason against theRepublic. He would never do it. Would he?We’d grown up together, trained together,grown close. . . . Then I remembered my

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commander’s orders. I felt the sheathedknife sitting heavily at my waist. ‘I’m fine,’ Itold him.

“But your brother laughed. ‘Come on.You’ve never needed to hide anything fromme before. You know that, right?’

“Just say it, Thomas, I told myself. Iknew I was teetering between the familiarand the point of no return. Force the wordsout. Let him hear it. Finally, I looked up andsaid, ‘What is this between us?’

“Your brother’s smile wavered. He grewvery silent. Then he took a step back. ‘Whatdo you mean?’

“‘You know what I mean,’ I told him.‘This. All these years.’

“Now Metias was studying my face in-tently. Long seconds passed. ‘This,’ he finallyreplied, emphasizing the word, ‘can’t hap-pen. You’re my subordinate.’

“Then I asked, ‘But it means something toyou, sir. Doesn’t it?’

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“Something joyful and tragic dancedacross Metias’s face. He drew closer. I knewthat a wall between us had finally formed acrack. ‘Does it mean something to you?’ heasked me.”

Again, Thomas pauses. Then, in a softervoice, he says, “A blade of guilt twisted pain-fully in my chest, but it was too late to turnback. So I took a step forward, closed myeyes, and—I kissed him.”

Another pause. “Your brother froze, like Ithought he would. There was complete still-ness. We drew apart, the silence heavyaround us, and for a moment I wonderedwhether I’d made a huge mistake, whetherI’d simply misread every signal from the pastfew years. Or perhaps, perhaps he knewwhat I was up to. I felt a strange sense of re-lief at that thought. Maybe it’d be better ifMetias figured out Commander Jameson’splans for him. Maybe there’s a way to getout of this.

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“But then he leaned forward and re-turned the kiss, and the last of that wallcrumbled away.”

“Stop,” I suddenly say. Thomas falls si-lent. He tries to hide his emotions behindsome semblance of nobility, but the shame isplain on his face. I lean back, turn my faceaway from him, and press my hands to mytemples. Grief threatens to overwhelm me.Thomas hadn’t just killed Metias knowingthat my brother loved him.

Thomas had taken that knowledge andused it against him.

I want you to die. I hate you. The tide ofmy anger grows stronger until finally I hearthe whisper of Metias’s voice in my head, thefaint light of reason.

It’s going to be okay, Junebug. Listen tome. Everything is going to be okay.

I wait, my heart beating steadily, until hisgentle words bring me back. My eyes open,

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and I give Thomas a level stare. “Whathappened after that?”

It takes Thomas a long moment before hespeaks again. When he does, his voicetrembles. “There was no way out. Metias hadno idea what was going on. He’d fallen intothe plan with blind faith. My hand crept tothe knife at my waist, but I couldn’t bringmyself to do it. I couldn’t even breathe.”

My eyes fill with tears. I want so desper-ately to hear every detail and at the sametime for Thomas to stop talking, to shut thisnight away and never return again.

“An alarm cut through the air. Wejumped apart. Metias looked flushed andconfused—only a second later did we bothrealize that the alarm came from thehospital.

“The moment broke. Your brothersnapped back into captain mode and ran to-ward the hospital entrance. ‘Get inside,’ heshouted over his earpiece. He didn’t look

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back. ‘I want half of you in there—pinpointthe source. Gather the others at the entranceand wait for my command. Now!’

“I started running after him. My chanceto strike had vanished. I wondered whetherCommander Jameson had somehow beenable to see my failure. The Republic’s eyesare everywhere. They know everything. Ipanicked. I had to find another moment, an-other chance to get your brother alone. If Icouldn’t do it, then Metias’s fate would fallinto much harsher hands.

“By the time I caught up with him at theentrance, his face was dark with anger.‘Break-in,’ he said. ‘It was that boy we saw.I’m sure of it. Bryant, get five and circle east.I’ll go the other way.’ Already your brotherwas on the move, gathering his soldiers.‘He’s going to have to get out of the hospitalsomehow,’ he told us. ‘We’ll be waiting forhim when he tries.’

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“I did as Metias commanded—but the in-stant he was out of earshot, I ordered my sol-diers to head east and then snuck away intothe shadows. I have to follow him. This is mylast chance. If I fail, I’m as good as dead,anyway. Sweat trickled down my back. Imelted into the shadows, reminding myselfof all the lessons Metias had taught me aboutsubtlety and stealth.

“Then from somewhere in the night Iheard glass shatter. I hid behind a wall asyour brother raced past, alone and un-guarded, toward the source of the sound.Then I followed. The night’s darkness swal-lowed me whole. For a moment, I lost Metiasin the back alleys. Where is he? I whirledaround in an alley, trying to figure out whereyour brother had gone.

“Just then, a call came through. Com-mander Jameson barked at me. ‘You’d betterfind a second chance to take him down, Lieu-tenant. Soon.’

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“Finally, minutes later, I found Metias.He was alone, struggling up from the groundwith a knife buried in his shoulder, surroun-ded by blood and broken glass. A few feetfrom him lay a sewer cap. I rushed to hisside. He smiled briefly at me, while clutchingthe knife in his shoulder.

“‘It was Day,’ he gasped. ‘He escapeddown the sewers.’ Then he reached out tome. ‘Here. Help me up.’

“This is your chance, I told myself. This isyour only chance, and if you can’t do it now,it will never happen.”

Thomas’s voice falters as I search for myown. I want to stop him again, but I can’t.I’m numb.

Thomas lifts his head and says, “I wish Icould tell you all the images whirlingthrough my mind—Commander Jameson in-terrogating Metias, torturing information outof him, tearing off his nails, slicing him openuntil he screamed for mercy, killing him

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slowly in the way that she did to all prisonersof war.” As he speaks, the words come faster,tumbling from his mouth in a frantic jumble.“I pictured the Republic’s flag, the Republic’sseal, the oath I’d taken on the day Metias ac-cepted me into a patrol. That I would foreverremain faithful to my Republic and my Elect-or, until my dying day. My eyes darted to theknife buried in Metias’s shoulder. Do it. Do itnow, I told myself. I seized his collar, yankedthe knife from his shoulder, and plunged itdeep into his chest. Right up to the hilt.”

I hear myself gasp. As if I expected a dif-ferent ending. As if once I hear it enoughtimes, the story will change. It never does.

“Metias let out a broken shriek,” Thomaswhispers. “Or perhaps it came from me—Ican’t remember anymore. He collapsed backonto the ground, his hand still clutching mywrist. His eyes were wide with shock.

“‘I’m sorry,’ I choked out.” Thomas looksat me as he continues, his apology meant for

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both me and my brother. “I knelt over histrembling body. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I toldhim. ‘I had no choice. You gave me nochoice!’”

I can barely hear Thomas as he contin-ues. “A spark of understanding appeared inyour brother’s eyes. With it came hurt,something that went beyond his physicalpain, a bleeding moment of realization. Thenrevulsion. Disappointment. ‘Now I knowwhy,’ he whispered. I didn’t have to ask toknow that he was referring to our kiss.

“No! I meant it! I wanted to scream. Itwas a good-bye, the only one I could give.But I meant it. I promise.

“Instead I said, ‘Why did you have tocross the Republic? I warned you, over andover again. Cross the Republic too manytimes, and eventually they’ll burn you. Iwarned you! I told you to listen!’

“But your brother shook his head. It’ssomething you’ll never understand, his eyes

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seemed to say. Blood leaked from his mouth,and his grip tightened on my wrist. ‘Don’thurt June,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t know any-thing.’ Then a fierce, terrified light appearedin his eyes. ‘Don’t hurt her. Promise me.’

“So I told him, ‘I’ll protect her. I don’tknow how, but I’ll try. I promise.’

“The light gradually faded from his eyes,and his grip loosened. He stared at me untilhe couldn’t stare anymore, and then I knewthat he was gone. Move. Get out of here, Itold myself. But I stayed crouched over Me-tias’s body, my mind blank. His sudden ab-sence hit me. Metias was gone, Metias wasnever coming back, and it was all my fault.No. Long live the Republic. That’s whatreally mattered, I told myself, yes, yes, thatwas the important thing. This—whatever thiswas between Metias and me—wasn’t real,could never have happened anyway. Notwith Metias as my captain. Not with Metias

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as a criminal working against the country. Itwas for the best. Yes. It was.

“Eventually I heard shouts from ap-proaching troops. I picked myself up. I wipedmy eyes. I had to carry through now. I’ddone it, I’d stayed faithful to the Republic.Some survival instinct kicked in. Everythingseemed muted, like a fog had settled over mylife. Good. I needed the strange calm, the ab-sence of everything, that it brought. I foldedmy grief carefully back into my chest, as ifnothing had happened, and when the firsttroops arrived on the scene, I placed a call toCommander Jameson.

“I didn’t even need to say a word. My si-lence told her everything she needed toknow. ‘Fetch Little Iparis when you get achance,’ she said to me. ‘And well done,Captain.’

“I didn’t reply.”Thomas stays silent; the scene fades. I

find myself back in his prison cell, my cheeks

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streaked with tears, my heart sliced open asif he had stabbed me in the chest as surely ashe’d stabbed my brother.

Thomas stares at the floor between uswith hollow eyes. “I loved him, June,” hesays after a moment. “I really did. EverythingI did as a soldier, all my hard work andtraining, was to impress him.” His guard isfinally down, and I can see the true depth ofhis torture now. His voice hardens, as if he istrying to convince himself of what he’s say-ing. “I answer to the Republic—Metias him-self trained me to be what I am. Even heunderstood.”

I’m surprised by how much my heart isbreaking for him. You could have helped Me-tias escape. You could have done something.Anything. You could have tried. But evennow, Thomas doesn’t budge. He will neverchange, and he will never, ever know whoMetias really was.

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I finally realize the true reason he reques-ted this meeting with me. He wanted to givea real confession. Just like during our con-versation when he first arrested me, he isfishing desperately for my forgiveness, forsomething to justify—in any smallway—what he did. He wants to believe whathe did was warranted. He wants me to sym-pathize. He wants peace before he goes.

But he’s wasted his efforts on me. I can-not give him peace, even on his final day.Some things cannot be forgiven.

“I feel sorry for you,” I say quietly. “Be-cause you’re so weak.”

Thomas tightens his lips. Still searchingfor some bit of validation he says, “I could’vechosen Day’s route. I could have become acriminal. But I didn’t. I did everything right,you know. That was what Metias loved aboutme. He respected me. I followed all the rules,I obeyed all the laws, I worked my way upfrom where I started.” He leans toward me;

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his eyes grow more desperate. “I took anoath, June. I am still bound by that oath. Iwill die with honor for sacrificing everythingI have—everything—for my country. Andyet, Day is the legend, while I am to be ex-ecuted.” His voice finally breaks with all hisanguish and inner torment, the injustice hefeels. “It makes no sense.”

I stand up. Behind me, the guards movetoward the cell door. “You’re wrong,” I saysadly. “It makes perfect sense.”

“Why?”“Because Day chose to walk in the light.”

I turn my back on him for the last time. Thedoor opens; the cell’s bars make way for thehall, a new rotation of prison guards, free-dom. “And so did Metias.”

1532 HOURS.

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That afternoon, I head to DenverUniversity’s track with Ollie in an attempt toclear my thoughts. Outside, the sky looks yel-low and hazy with the light of the afternoonsun. I try to picture the sky covered with theColonies’ airships, ablaze with the fire fromaerial dogfights and explosions. Twelve daysbefore we need to offer something to the Co-lonies. Without Day’s help, how are we evergoing to do that? The thought troubles me,but thankfully it helps keep the memories ofThomas and Commander Jameson out of myhead. I pick up my pace. My running shoespound against the pavement.

When I arrive at the track, I notice guardsstationed at every entrance. At least four sol-diers per gate. Anden must be doing his exer-cise routine somewhere out here too. Thesoldiers recognize me, let me through, andusher me into the stadium, where the trackwraps around a large, open field. Anden’s

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nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’s down inthe stadium’s underground lockers.

I do a quick round of stretches while Olliewaits impatiently, dancing from paw to paw,and then I begin making my way down thetrack. I run faster and faster along the curvedpath until I’m sprinting around the turns, myhair streaming out behind me, Ollie pantingat my side. I imagine Commander Jamesonsprinting after me, gun in hand. Better becareful, Iparis. You might turn out just likeme. When I loop around to the side of thetrack with targets set up, I skid to a halt,whip out the gun at my belt, and shoot ateach of the targets in rapid succession. Fourbull’s-eyes. Without pause, I loop around thetrack again and repeat my routine threetimes. Ten times. Fifteen times. Finally Istop, my heart beating a frantic tune againstmy chest.

I shift to a walk, slowly catching mybreath, my thoughts whirling. If I had never

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met Day, could I have grown up to becomeCommander Jameson? Cold, calculating,merciless? Hadn’t I turned into exactly thatwhen I first figured out who Day was?Hadn’t I led the soldiers—led CommanderJameson herself—to his family’s door,without a second thought for whether or nothis family might be harmed? I reset my gun,then aim at the targets again. My bulletsthud into the centers of the boards.

If Metias were alive, what would he havethought of what I did?

No. I can’t think about my brotherwithout remembering Thomas’s confessionfrom this morning. I fire my last bullet, thensit down in the middle of the track with Ollieand bury my head in my hands. I’m so tired.I don’t know if I can ever outrun how I usedto be. And now I’m doing it all overagain—trying to persuade Day to give up hisbrother again, trying to use him to the Re-public’s advantage.

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Finally I pick myself up, wipe the sweatfrom my brow, and head to the undergroundlockers. Ollie settles down to wait for me un-der the cool overhang near the doors; he lapshungrily at a pouch of water I set before him.I head down the stairs, then turn the corner.The air is humid from the showers, and thelone screen embedded at the end of the hallhas a light film of mist over it. I walk downthe corridor that splits off into the men’s andwomen’s locker rooms. A few voices echofrom farther down the hall.

A second later, I see Anden emerge fromthe locker room with two guards walkingalongside him. I blush in embarrassment atthe sight. Anden looks like he just steppedout of the shower a few minutes ago, shirt-less and still toweling off his damp hair, hislean muscles tense after his workout. He hasa crisp collar shirt swung over one shoulder,the white of the fabric a startling contrastagainst the olive of his skin. One of the

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guards talks to him in hushed tones, andwith a sinking feeling, I wonder whether ithas something to do with the Colonies. Amoment later, Anden glances up and finallynotices me staring at them. The conversationpauses.

“Ms. Iparis,” Anden says, a polite smilecovering up whatever might have been both-ering him. He clears his throat, hands histowel to one of the guards, and pulls one armthrough the sleeve of his collar shirt. “I apo-logize for my half-dressed state.”

I bow my head once, trying hard to lookunfazed as all of their eyes fixate on me. “Noworries, Elector.”

He nods at his guards. “Go ahead. I’llmeet you both at the stairs.”

The guards bow in unison, then leave usalone. Anden waits until they’ve disappearedaround the corner before turning back to me.“I hope your morning went well enough,” he

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says as he starts buttoning up his shirt. Hiseyebrows furrow. “No trouble?”

“No trouble,” I confirm, unwilling todwell on my conversation with Thomas.

“Good.” Anden runs a hand through hisdamp hair. “Then you’ve had a better morn-ing than I. I spent several hours in a privateconference with the President of Ross City,Antarctica—we’ve asked them for militaryhelp, in case of an invasion.” He sighs.“Antarctica sympathizes, but they aren’t easyto please. I don’t know whether we can getaround using Day’s brother, and I don’tknow how to persuade Day to allow it.”

“No one will be able to convince him,” Ireply, crossing my arms. “Not even me. Yousay that I’m his weakness, but his greatestweakness is his family.”

Anden stays quiet for a moment. I studyhis face carefully, wondering what thoughtsare going through his mind. The memorycomes back to me of how merciless he can be

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when he chooses, how he didn’t flinch whensentencing Thomas to death, how he’dthrown Commander Jameson’s insult rightback in her face, how he never hesitated toexecute every single person who tried to des-troy him. Deep underneath the soft voice andkind heart lies something cold. “Don’t forcehim,” I say. Anden looks at me in surprise. “Iknow that’s what you’re thinking.”

Anden finishes buttoning his shirt. “I canonly do what I have to do, June,” he saysgently. It almost sounds sad.

No. I will never let you hurt Day likethat. Not the way I’ve already hurt him.“You’re the Elector. You don’t have to doanything. And if you care about the Republic,you won’t risk angering the one person whothe public believes in.”

Too late, I bite my tongue. The people be-lieve in Day, but they don’t believe in you.Anden winces visibly, and even though hedoesn’t comment on it, I silently curse myself

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for my notorious turns of phrase. “I’m sorry,”I murmur. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

A long pause drags on before Andenspeaks again. “It’s not as easy as it seems.”He shakes his head. A tiny bead of waterdrops from his hair onto his collar. “Youwould do differently? Risk an entire nationinstead of one person? I can’t justify it. TheColonies will strike if we don’t give them anantidote, and this whole mess stemmed fromsomething that I’m responsible for.”

“No, your father was responsible. Thatdoesn’t mean you are.”

“Well, I’m my father’s son,” Andenreplies, his voice suddenly stern. “What dif-ference does it make?”

The words surprise both of us. I tightenmy lips and decide not to comment on it, butmy thoughts churn frantically. It does makea difference. But then I think back on whatAnden had once told me about the Republic’sfounding, how his father and the Electors

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before him had been forced to act in thosedark, early years. Better be careful, Iparis.You might turn out just like me.

Perhaps I’m not the only one who needsto be careful.

Something showing on the screen at theend of the hall distracts me. I look toward it.There’s some news about Day; the footageshows some old video close-up of him andthen a brief shot of the Denver hospital, buteven though most of the video’s cut off, I cancatch glimpses of crowds gathered in front ofthe building. Anden turns to look at thescreen too. Are they protesting? What couldthey be protesting?

Daniel Altan Wing admitted tohospital for standard medical ex-am, to be released tomorrow

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Anden presses a hand to his ear. An in-coming call. He glances briefly at me, thenclicks on his mike and says, “Yes?”

Silence. As the screen’s broadcast contin-ues, Anden’s face turns pale. It reminds mefor an instant of how pale Day had lookedwhile at the banquet, and the two thoughtsconverge into a single, frightening thought. Isuddenly know, beyond the shadow of adoubt, that this is the secret Day’s been keep-ing from me. A horrible feeling builds in mychest.

“Who approved this footage’s release?”Anden says after a moment, his voice now awhisper. I hear anger in it. “There won’t be anext time. Inform me first. Is thatunderstood?”

A lump rises in my throat. When his callfinally ends, he drops his hand and gives mea long, grave look.

“It’s Day,” he says. “He’s at the hospital.”“Why?” I demand.

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“I’m so sorry.” He bows his head in a tra-gic gesture, then leans forward to whisper inmy ear. He tells me. And suddenly I feellight-headed, like the entire world hasfunneled into a blur of motion, like none ofthis is real, like I’m standing right back at theLos Angeles Central Hospital on the night Iknelt before Metias’s cold, lifeless body, star-ing into a face that I no longer recognized.My heartbeat slows to a stop. Everythingstops. This can’t be real.

How can the boy who stirred an entirenation be dying?

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THEY KEEP ME AT THE HOSPITALOVERNIGHT BEFORE THEY releaseme to my apartment. By now, the newsis out—bystanders had seen mewheeled out, had spread the word toother folks, and soon the wildfire wasunstoppable, and the rumor’s beenuttered in every corner of the city. I’veseen the news cycles try to hide ittwice already. I was in the hospital fora standard checkup; I was in the hos-pital to visit my brother. All sorts ofgoddy stories. But no one’s buying it.

I spend all day enjoying the luxuryof a non-hospital bed, watching light,slushy snow falling outside our win-dow, while Eden camps out on the bed

by my feet and plays with a robotics kitwe’d gotten from the Republic as agift. He’s piecing together some sort ofrobot now; he matches up a magneticLight cube—a palm-size box with miniscreens on its sides—with several Arm,Leg, and Wing cubes to create what’sessentially a little flying JumboTronMan. He smiles in delight at it, thenbreaks the cubes apart and rearrangesthem into a pair of walking Legs thatdisplay JumboTron video feedswhenever they step down. I smile too,momentarily content that he’s con-tent. If there’s one good thing aboutthe Republic, it’s that they indulgeEden’s love for building stuff. Everyother week we seem to get some newcontraption that I’ve only ever seenupper-class kids own. I wonder ifJune’s the one who put in this specialrequest for Eden, knowing what she

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does. Or maybe Anden just feels guiltyfor all the stuff his father put usthrough.

I wonder if she’s heard the newsyet. She must have.

“Careful,” I say as Eden climbs uponto my bed and leans over to standhis new creation up at the edge of thewindow. His hands fumble around,feeling for the windowsill and theglass pane. “If you fall and breaksomething, we’ll have to head back tothe hospital, and I am not going to behappy about that.”

“You’re thinking about her again,aren’t you?” Eden fires smoothly back.His blind eyes stay squinted at theblocks standing barely an inch fromhis face. “You always change yourvoice.”

I blink at him in surprise. “What?”

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He looks in my direction and raisesan eyebrow at me, and the expressionlooks comical on his childlike face.“Oh, come on. It’s so obvious. What’sthis June girl to you, anyway? Thewhole country gossips about you two,and when she asked you to come toDenver, you couldn’t pack us up fastenough. You told me to call her in casethe Republic ever comes to take meaway. You’re gonna have to spill soon-er or later, yeah? You’re always talkingabout her.”

“I don’t talk about her all the time.”“Uh-huh, right.”I’m glad Eden can’t see my expres-

sion. I’ve yet to talk with him aboutJune and her connection to the rest ofour family—another good reason tostay away from her. “She’s a friend,” Ifinally reply.

“Do you like her?”

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My eyes go back to studying therainy scene outside our window.“Yeah.”

Eden waits for me to say more, butwhen I remain silent, he shrugs andgoes back to his robot. “Fine,” he mut-ters. “Tell me whenever.”

As if on cue, my earpiece blares outa second of soft static, warning me ofan incoming call. I accept it. A momentlater, June’s whispered voice echoes inmy ear. She doesn’t say anything aboutmy illness—she just suggests, “Can wetalk?”

I knew it’d only be a matter of timebefore I heard from her. I watch Edenplaying for a second longer. “We gottado it somewhere else,” I whisper back.My brother glances at me, momentar-ily curious at my words. I don’t wantto ruin my first day out of the hospital

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by breaking my depressing prognosisto an eleven-year-old.

“How about a walk, then?”I glance out the window. It’s din-

nertime, and the cafés down on thestreet’s ground level are crowded withpatrons, almost all of them huddledunder hats, caps, umbrellas, andhoods, keeping to themselves in thistwilight slush. Might be a good time towalk around without attracting toomuch attention. “How about this.Come on over, and we’ll head out fromhere.”

“Great,” June replies. She hangsup.

Ten minutes later, my doorbellrings and startles Eden to his feet—thenew cube robot he built falls from mybed, three of its limbs snapping off.Eden turns his eyes in my direction.“Who’s there?” he asks.

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“Don’t worry, kid,” I reply, walkingover to the door. “It’s June.”

Eden’s shoulders relax at mywords; a bright grin lights up his face,and he hops off the edge of the bed,leaving his block robot by the window.He feels his way toward the other endof the bed. “Well?” he demands.“Aren’t you gonna let her in?”

It seems like during the time I’dspent living on the streets, I’d beenmissing out on seeing Eden blossom.Quiet kid turned stubborn and head-strong. Can’t imagine how he inher-ited that. I sigh—I hate keeping thingsfrom him, but how do I explain thisone? I’d told him over the past yearwho June is: a Republic girl who de-cided to help us out, a girl who’s nowtraining to be the country’s futurePrinceps. I haven’t figured out yet how

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to tell him the rest—so I just don’t sayanything about it at all.

June doesn’t smile when I open thedoor. She glances at Eden, then backto me. “Is that your brother?” she saysquietly.

I nod. “You haven’t met him yet,have you?” I turn around and call outto him. “Eden. Manners.”

Eden waves from the bed. “Hi,” hecalls out.

I step aside so that June can comein. She makes her way over to whereEden is, sits down next to him with asmile, and takes his small hand inhers. She shakes it twice. “Pleased tomeet you, Eden,” she says, her voicegentle. I lean against the door to watchthe exchange. “How are you doing?”

Eden shrugs. “Pretty good, I guess,”he replies. “Doctors say my eyes havestabilized. I’m taking ten different

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pills every day.” He tilts his head. “ButI think I’ve been getting stronger.” Hepuffs out his chest a little, then strikesa mock pose by flexing his arms. Hiseyes are unfocused and pointingslightly to the left of June’s face. “Howdo I look?”

June laughs. “I have to say, youlook better than most people I see. I’veheard a lot about you.”

“I hear about you a lot too,” Edenreplies in a rush, “mostly from Daniel.He thinks you’re really hot.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” I clear mythroat loud enough for him to hear,then shoot him a cranky look eventhough he’s blind as a rock. “Let’shead out.”

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks aswe head toward the door. “I was sup-posed to be shadowing Anden with theother Princeps-Elects, but he’s been

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called to the Armor barracks for aquick briefing—something about foodpoisoning among the soldiers. So I hada couple of free hours.” A faint blushtouches her cheeks as she says this. “Ithought maybe we could grab a bite.”

I raise an eyebrow. Then I lean intoward her so that my cheek brushesagainst hers—to my excitement, I feelher shiver at my touch. “Why, June,” Itease in a low, soft voice, smilingagainst her ear. “Are you asking meout on a date?”

June’s blush deepens, but itswarmth doesn’t touch her eyes.

My moment of mischief ends. Iclear my throat, then look over myshoulder at Eden. “I’ll bring some foodback for you. Don’t go out on yourown. Do what Lucy tells you to do.”

Eden nods, already engrossed withthe block robot again.

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Minutes later, we head out of theapartment complex and into the thick-ening drizzle. I keep my head downand my face hidden under the shadowof a soldier cap; my neck’s protectedbeneath my thick red scarf, and myhands are shoved deep into the pock-ets of my military coat. It’s strangehow much I’ve gotten used to Republicclothing. June pulls her coat collarhigh, and her breath billows outaround her in clouds of steam. Theslush has picked up some, sendingfresh ice and water into my face andtickling my eyelashes. Bold red ban-ners still hang from the windows ofmost high-rises, and the JumboTronshave a red-and-black symbol in thecorners of their broadcasts in honor ofAnden’s birthday. Others along thestreet rush past in a blur of motion.We walk in comfortable silence,

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savoring the simple nearness of eachother.

It’s kind of weird, actually. Today’sone of my better days, and I don’t havea lot of trouble keeping up withJune—today, it doesn’t feel like I onlyhave a couple of months to live. Maybethe new medicines they gave me aregoing to work this time.

We don’t say a word until June fi-nally stops us at a small, steaming caféseveral blocks from my apartment.Right away I can see why she choseit—it’s mostly empty, a tiny little spoton the first floor of a towering high-rise washed wet with slush, and notvery well lit. Even though it’s open tothe air, like many other cafés in thearea, it has a few dark nooks that arenice for us to sit at, and its only lightscome from glowing, cube-shaped lan-terns on each of its tables. A hostess

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ushers us inside, seating us at June’srequest in one of the shadowy corners.Flat plates of scented water sitscattered throughout the café. I shiver,even though our spot is pretty warmfrom our heat lantern.

What are we doing here again? Astrange fog washes over me, thenclears. We’re here for dinner, that’swhat we’re doing. I shake my head. Irecall the brief struggle I’d had a fewdays ago, when I couldn’t rememberLucy’s name. A frightening thoughtemerges.

Maybe this is a new symptom. Ormaybe I’m just being paranoid.

After we place our orders, Junespeaks up. The gold flecks in her eyesshine in the lantern’s orange glow.“Why didn’t you tell me?” shewhispers.

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I hold my hands against the lan-tern, savoring the heat. “What goodwould it have done?”

June furrows her eyebrows, andonly then do I notice that her eyes lookkind of swollen, like she’s been crying.She shakes her head at me. “The ru-mors are all over the place,” she con-tinues in a voice I can barely hear.“Witnesses say they saw you being car-ried out of your apartment on astretcher thirty-four hours ago—one ofthem apparently overheard a medicdiscussing your condition.”

I sigh and put my hands up in de-feat. “You know what, if this is allsomehow causing riots in the streetand more trouble for Anden, then I’msorry. I was told to keep it asecret—and I did, as well as I could.I’m sure our glorious Elector will fig-ure out a way to calm folks down.”

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June bites her lip once. “Theremust be some solution, Day. Haveyour doctors—”

“They’re already trying everything.”I wince as a painful spasm runsthrough the back of my head, as if oncue. “I’ve been through three roundsof experiments. Slow and painful pro-gress so far.” I explain to June whatthe doctors had told me, the unusualinfection in my hippocampus, themedication that’s been weakening me,sucking the strength out of my body.“Believe me, they’re running throughsolutions.”

“How long do you have?” shewhispers.

I stay silent, pretending to be fas-cinated with the lantern. I don’t knowif I have the heart to say it.

June leans closer, until hershoulder bumps softly against mine.

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“How long do you have?” she repeats.“Please. I hope you still care about meenough to tell me.”

I gaze back at her, slowly falling—asI always seem to do—back under herpull. Don’t make me do this, please. Idon’t want to say it out loud to her; itmight mean that it’s actually true. Butshe looks so sad and fearful that I can’tkeep it in. I let out my breath, then runa hand through my hair and lower myhead. “They said a month,” I whisper.“Maybe two. They said I should get mypriorities in order.”

June closes her eyes—I think I seeher sway slightly in her seat. “Twomonths,” she murmurs vacantly. Theagony on her face reminds me exactlywhy I didn’t want to let her know.

After another long silence betweenus, June snaps out of her daze andreaches to pull something out of her

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pocket. She comes back up withsomething small and metallic in herpalm. “I’ve been meaning to give thisto you,” she says.

I stare blankly at it. It’s a paper clipring, thin lines of wire pulled into anelegant series of swirls and closed intoa circle, just like the one I’d once madefor her. My eyes widen and dart up tohers. She doesn’t say anything; in-stead, she looks down and helps mepush it onto my right hand’s ring fin-ger. “I had a little time,” she finallymutters.

I run a hand across the ring in won-der, my heartstrings pulled taut. Adozen emotions rush through me. “I’msorry,” I stammer out after a while,trying to put a more hopeful spin oneverything. That’s all I can say, afterthis gift from her? “They think there’s

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still a chance. They’re trying out somemore treatments soon.”

“You once told me why you chose‘Day’ as your street name,” she saysfirmly. She moves her hand so that it’sover mine, hiding the paper clip ringfrom view. The warmth of her skinagainst mine makes my breath short.“Every morning, everything’s possibleagain. Right?” A river of tingles runsup my spine. I want to take her face inmy hands again, kiss her cheeks andstudy her dark, sad eyes, and tell herI’ll be okay. But that would just be an-other lie. Half of my heart is breakingat the pain on her face; the other half,I realize guiltily, is swelling with hap-piness to know that she still cares.There’s love in her tragic words, in thefolds of that thin metal ring. Isn’tthere?

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Finally, I take a deep breath. “So-metimes, the sun sets earlier. Daysdon’t last forever, you know. But I’llfight as hard as I can. I can promiseyou that.”

June’s eyes soften. “You don’t haveto do this alone.”

“Why should you have to bear it?” Imutter back. “I just . . . thought itwould be easier this way.”

“Easier for whom?” June snaps.“You, me, the public? You wouldrather just pass away silently one day,without ever breathing another wordto me?”

“Yes, I would,” I find myself snap-ping back. “If I’d told you that night,would you have agreed to become aPrinceps-Elect?”

Whatever words sat on the tip ofJune’s tongue go unspoken. Shepauses at that, then swallows. “No,”

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she admits. “I wouldn’t have had theheart to do it. I would’ve waited.”

“Exactly.” I take a deep breath.“You think I wanted to whine to youabout my health in that moment? Tostand in the way of you and the posi-tion of a lifetime?”

“That was my choice to make,”June says through clenched teeth.

“And I wanted you to make itwithout me in the way.”

June shakes her head, and hershoulders slightly droop. “You reallythink I care so little about you?”

Our food arrives then—steamingbowls of soup, plates of dinner rolls,and a neatly wrapped package of foodfor Eden—and I lapse gratefully intosilence. It would’ve been easier forme, I add to myself. I’d rather stepaway than be reminded every daythat I only have a few months left to

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be with you. I’m ashamed to say thisout loud, though. When June looks ex-pectantly at me for an answer, I justshake my head and shrug.

And that’s when we hear it. Analarm wails out across the city.

It’s deafening. We both freeze, thenlook up at the speakers lining all thestreet’s buildings. I’ve never heard asiren like this in my entire life—anendless and earsplitting scream thatdrenches the air, drowning out any-thing in its path. The JumboTronshave gone dark. I shoot June a be-wildered look. What the hell is that?

But June’s no longer looking at me.Her eyes are fixed on the speakersblaring out the alarm across the entirestreet, and her expression is strickenwith horror. Together, we watch as theJumboTrons flare back to life—thistime each screen is bloodred, and each

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has two gold words etched in boldacross its display:

SEEK COVER

“What does it mean?” I shout.June grabs my hand and starts to

run. “It means that an air strike’s com-ing. The Armor is under attack.”

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“EDEN.”

It’s the first word out of Day’s mouth. TheJumboTrons continue broadcasting theirominous scarlet notice as the alarm echoesacross the city, deafening me with itsrhythmic roar and blotting out all othersounds in the city. Along the street, othersare peeking out of windows and pouring outfrom building entrances, as bewildered as weare over the unusual alarm. Soldiers areflooding into formation on the street, shout-ing into their earpieces as they see the ap-proaching enemy. I run right beside him,thoughts and numbers racing through mymind as we go. (Four seconds. Twelveseconds. Fifteen seconds a block, whichmeans seventy-five seconds until we reach

Day’s apartment if we keep up our pace. Isthere a faster route? And Ollie. I need to gethim out of my apartment and to my side.) Astrange focus grips me, just like it had themoment I first freed Day from Batalla Hallall those months ago, like the moment Dayclimbed the Capitol Tower to address thepeople and I led soldiers off his trail. I mayturn into a silent, uncomfortable observer inthe Senate chamber, but out here on thestreets, in the midst of chaos, I can think. Ican act.

I remember reading about and rehearsingfor this particular alarm back in high school,although Los Angeles is so far away from theColonies that even those practice drills wererare. The alarm was to be used only if enemyforces attacked our city, if they were right atthe city’s borders and barging their way in. Idon’t know what the process is like in Den-ver, but I imagine it can’t be that differ-ent—we are to evacuate immediately, then

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seek out the closest assigned undergroundbunker and board subways that will shuttleus to a safer city. After I entered college andofficially became a soldier, the drill changedfor me: Soldiers are to report immediately toa location their commanding officers givethem over their earpieces. We must be readyfor war at a moment’s notice.

But I’ve never heard the alarm used for areal attack on a Republic city, because therehasn’t been one yet. Most attacks werethwarted before they could reach us. Untilnow. And as I run alongside Day, I know ex-actly what must be going through his mind.It triggers a familiar guilt in my stomach.

Day has never heard the alarm before,nor has he ever gone through a drill for it.This is because he’s from a poor sector. I wasnever sure before, and I admit that I neverthought much about it, but seeing Day’s con-fused expression makes it all very clear. Theunderground bunkers are only for the upper

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class, the gem sectors. The poor are left tofend for themselves.

Overhead, an engine screams by. A Re-public jet. Then several more. Shouts rise upand mix with the alarm—I brace myself for acall from Anden at any moment. Then, far offalong the horizon, I see the first orangeglows light up along the Armor. The Repub-lic is launching a counterattack from thewalls. This is really happening. But itshouldn’t be. The Colonies had given us time,however little, to hand over an antidote tothem—and since that ultimatum, only fourdays have passed. My anger flares. Did theywant to catch us off guard in such an extremeway?

I grab Day’s hand and pick up my pace.“Can you call Eden?” I shout.

“Yeah,” Day gasps out. Immediately I cantell that he doesn’t have the stamina he usedto have—his breathing is slightly labored, hissteps slightly slower. A lump lodges in my

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throat. Somehow, this is the first evidence ofhis fading health that hits home, and myheart clenches. Behind us, another explosionreverberates across the night air. I tightenmy hold on his hand.

“Tell Eden to be ready at your complex’sentrance,” I shout. “I know where we cango.”

An urgent voice comes over my earpiece.It’s Anden. “Where are you?” he says. Ishiver as I detect a faint hint of fear in hiswords—another thing I rarely hear. “I’m atthe Capitol Tower. I’ll send a jeep to pick youup.”

“Send a jeep to Day’s apartment. I’ll bethere in a minute. And Ollie—my dog—”

“I’ll have him sent to the bunkers imme-diately,” Anden says. “Be careful.” Then aclick sounds out, and I hear static for asecond before my earpiece goes dark. Besideme, Day repeats my instructions for Edenover his own mike.

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By the time we reach the apartment com-plex, Republic jets are screaming by everyother second, painting dozens of trails intothe evening sky. Crowds of people havealready started gathering outside the com-plex and are being guided in various direc-tions by city patrols. A jolt of fear seizes mewhen I realize that some of the jets on thehorizon are not Republic jets at all—but un-familiar enemy ones. If they’re this close,then they must’ve gotten past our longerrange missiles. Two larger black dots hoverat the end of the sky. Colonies airships.

Day sees Eden before I do. He’s a small,golden-haired figure clutching the railings bythe apartment complex’s entrance door,squinting in vain at the sea of people aroundhim. Their caretaker stands behind him withboth of her hands firmly on his shoulders.“Eden!” Day calls out. The boy jerks his headin our direction. Day hops up the steps and

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scoops him into his arms, then turns back tome. “Where do we go?” he shouts.

“The Elector’s sending a jeep for us,” Ireply in his ear, so that the others don’t hear.Already a few people are casting us glancesof recognition even as they stream past us ina haze of panic. I pull my coat collars as highup as they can go, then bow my head. Comeon, I mutter to myself.

“June,” Day says. I meet his eyes. “What’sgonna happen to the other sectors?”

There’s the question I’ve been dreading.What will happen to the poor sectors? I hes-itate, and in that brief moment of silence,Day realizes the answer. His lips tighten intoa thin line. A deep rage rises in his eyes.

The jeep’s arrival saves me from answer-ing right away. It screeches to a stop severalfeet from where the others have crowdedaround, and inside I see Anden wave once atme from the passenger’s side. “Let’s go,” Iurge Day. We make our way down the steps

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as a soldier opens the door for us. Day helpsEden and their caretaker inside first, andwhen they’re both buckled up, we climb in.The jeep takes off at breakneck pace as moreRepublic jets fly by overhead. Off in the dis-tance, another bright orange cloud mush-rooms up from the Armor. Is it me, or didthat seem like a closer hit than before? (Per-haps closer by a good hundred feet, given thesize of the explosion.)

“Glad to see you all safe,” Anden sayswithout turning around. He utters a quickgreeting at each of us, then mumbles a com-mand to the driver, who makes a sharp turnaround the next block. Eden lets out astartled yelp. The caretaker squeezes hisshoulders and tries to soothe him.

“Why take the slower route?” Anden saysas we veer down a narrow street. The groundshakes from another far-off impact.

“Apologies, Elector,” the driver calls back.“Word’s that several explosions have gone off

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inside the Armor—our fastest route’s notsafe. They bombed a few jeeps on the otherside of Denver.”

“Any injuries?”“Not too many, luckily. Couple jeeps

overturned—several prisoners escaped, andone soldier’s dead.”

“Which prisoners?”“We’re still confirming.”A nasty premonition hits me. When I’d

gone to see Thomas, there had been a rota-tion of guards standing in front of Com-mander Jameson’s cell. When I left, theguards were different.

Anden makes a frustrated sound, thenturns to glance back at us. “We’re headed toan underground hold called Subterrain One.Should you need to enter or leave the hold,my guards will scan your thumbs at its gate-way. You heard our driver—it’s not safe tohead out on your own. Understand?”

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The driver presses a hand to his ear,blanches, and looks at Anden. “Sir, we haveconfirmation on the escaped prisoners.There were three.” He hesitates, then swal-lows. “Captain Thomas Bryant. LieutenantPatrick Murrey. Commander NatashaJameson.”

My world lurches. I knew it. I knew it.Just yesterday I’d seen Commander Jamesonsecurely behind bars, and talked to Thomaswhile he was withering away in prison. Theycouldn’t have gone far, I tell myself.“Anden,” I whisper, forcing my sensesstraight. “Yesterday, when I went to see Tho-mas, there had been a different rotation ofguards. Were those soldiers supposed to bethere?” Day and I exchange a quick look, andfor an instant I feel as if the entire world isplaying us for fools, weaving our lives intoone cruel joke.

“Find the prisoners,” Anden snaps intohis mike. His own face has turned white.

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“Shoot them on sight.” He glances back atme while he continues talking. “And get methe guards that were on duty. Now.”

I cringe as yet another explosion makesthe ground tremble. They couldn’t have gonefar. They’ll be captured and shot by the endof the day. I repeat these words to myselfover and over. No, something else is at workhere. My mind flits through the possibilities:

It’s no coincidence that CommanderJameson managed to escape, that the Colon-ies’ attack happened on the same day shewas being transferred. There must be othertraitors in the Republic’s ranks, soldiers thatAnden hasn’t rooted out yet. CommanderJameson may have been passing informationto the Colonies through them. After all, theColonies somehow knew when our Armorsoldiers would rotate shifts, and particularlythat today we had fewer Armor soldiers sta-tioned than usual due to the food poisoning.They knew to strike at our weakest moment.

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If that’s the case, then the Colonies mayhave been planning an attack for months.Perhaps even before the plague outbreak.

And Thomas. Was he in on the wholething? Unless he was trying to warn me.That’s why he asked for me yesterday. Forhis final request, but also in hopes that Iwould notice something off about the guards.My heartbeat quickens. But why wouldn’t hejust shout a warning?

“What happens next?” I ask numbly.Anden leans his head against the seat.

He’s probably thinking through a similar listof possibilities about the escaped prisoners,but he doesn’t say it aloud. “Our jets are allengaged right outside Denver. The Armorshould hold for a good while, but there’s astrong chance more Colonies forces are ontheir way. We’re going to need help. Othernearby cities have been alerted and are send-ing their troops for reinforcement,but”—Anden pauses to look over his

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shoulder at me—“it might not be enough.While we keep funneling civilians under-ground, June, you and I need to have aprivate talk right away.”

“Where are you evacuating the poor to,Elector?” Day pipes up quietly.

Anden turns in his seat again. He meetsDay’s hostile blue eyes with as level a look ashe can manage. I notice that he avoids look-ing at Eden. “I have troops on their way tothe outer sectors,” he says. “They’ll find shel-ter for the civilians and defend them until Igive a command otherwise.”

“No underground bunkers for them, Iguess,” Day replies coldly.

“I’m sorry.” Anden lets out a long breath.“The bunkers were built a long time ago, be-fore my father even became the Elector.We’re working on adding more.”

Day leans forward and narrows his eyes.His right hand grips Eden’s tightly. “Thensplit the bunkers up between the sectors.

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Half poor, half rich. The upper class shouldrisk their necks out in the open as much asthe lower class.”

“No,” Anden says firmly, even though Ihear regret in his words. He makes the mis-take of arguing this point with Day, and Ican’t stop him. “If we were to do that, the lo-gistics would be a nightmare. The outer sec-tors don’t have the same evacuationroutes—if explosions hit the city, hundreds ofthousands more people would be vulnerablein the open because we wouldn’t be able toorganize everyone in time. We evacuate thegem sectors first. Then we can—”

“Do it!” Day shouts. “I don’t care aboutyour damn logistics!”

Anden’s face hardens. “You will not talkback to me like that,” he snaps. There’s steelin his voice that I recognize from Command-er Jameson’s trial. “I am your Elector.”

“And I put you there,” Day snaps back.“Fine, you wanna talk logically? I’m game. If

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you don’t make a bigger effort to protect thepoor right now, I can practically guaranteethat you’ll have a full-on riot on your hands.Do you really want that while the Coloniesare attacking? Like you said, you’re theElector. But you won’t be if the rest of thecountry’s poor hears about how you’re hand-ling this, and even I might not be able to stopthem from starting a revolution. Theyalready think the Republic’s trying to kill meoff. How long do you think the Republic canhold up against a war from both the outsideand the inside?”

Anden’s facing forward again. “This con-versation’s over.” As always, his voice is dan-gerously quiet, but we can hear every singleword.

Day lets out a curse and slumps back inhis seat. I exchange a glance with him, thenshake my head. Day has a point, of course,and so does Anden. The problem is that wedon’t have time for all this nonsense. After a

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moment of silence, I lean forward in my seat,clear my throat, and try an alternative.

“We should evacuate the poor into thewealthy sectors,” I say. “They’ll still beaboveground, but the wealthy sectors sit inthe heart of Denver, not along the Armorwhere the fighting is happening. It’s a flawedplan, but the poor will also see that we’remaking a concerted effort to protect them.Then, as the people in the bunkers aregradually evacuated to LA via undergroundsubways, we’ll have the time and space tostart filtering everyone else underground aswell.”

Day mutters something under his breath,but at the same time he grunts in reluctantapproval. He shoots me a grateful look.“Sounds like a better plan to me. At least thepeople’ll have something.” A second later, Ifigure out what it was that he’d muttered.You’d make a better Elector than this fool.

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Anden’s quiet for a moment as he con-siders my words. Then he nods in agreementand presses a hand against his ear. “Com-mander Greene,” he says, then launches intoa series of orders.

I meet Day’s eyes. He still looks upset,but at least his eyes aren’t burning in angerlike they were a second ago. He turns his at-tention back on Lucy, who has an armwrapped protectively around Eden. He’scurled up in the corner of the jeep’s seat withhis legs tucked up and his arms wrappedaround them. He squints at the scene blur-ring by, but I’m not sure how much of it hecan actually make out. I reach across Dayand touch Eden’s shoulder. He tenses up im-mediately. “It’s okay, it’s June,” I say. “Anddon’t worry. We’re going to be fine, do youhear?”

“Why did the Colonies break through?”Eden asks, turning his wide, purple-tonedeyes on me and Day.

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I swallow hard. Neither of us answershim. Finally, after he repeats his question,Day hugs him closer and whispers somethingin his ear. Eden settles down against hisbrother’s shoulder. He still looks unhappyand scared, but the terror is at leasttempered, and we manage to finish the restof the ride without saying another word.

It feels like an eternity (in actuality thetrip takes a mere two minutes and twelveseconds), but we finally arrive at a nondes-cript building near the heart of downtownDenver, a thirty-story high-rise covered withcrisscrossing support beams on all four of itssides. Dozens of city patrols are mixed inwith crowds of civilians, organizing them in-to groups at the entrance. Our driver pullsthe jeep up to the side of the building, wherepatrols let us through the door of a makeshiftfence. Through the window, I see soldiersclick their heels together in sharp salutes aswe pass by. One of them is holding Ollie on a

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leash. I slump in relief at the sight of him.When the jeep halts, two of them promptlyopen the doors for us. Anden steps out—im-mediately he’s surrounded by four patrolcaptains, all feverishly updating him on howthe evacuation is going. My dog pulls his sol-dier frantically to my side. I thank the sol-dier, take over the leash, and rub Ollie’shead. He’s panting in distress.

“This way, Ms. Iparis,” the soldier whoopens my door says. Day follows behind mein a tense silence, his hand still clutchedtightly around Eden’s. Lucy comes out last. Ilook over my shoulder to where Anden’s nowdeep in conversation with his captains—hepauses to exchange a quick look with me. Hiseyes dart to Eden. I know that the thought hehas must be the same thought runningthrough Day’s mind: Keep Eden safe. I nod,signaling to him that I understand, and thenwe move past a crowd of waiting evacueesand I lose sight of him.

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Instead of dealing with the lineup of civil-ians at the entrance, soldiers escort usthrough a separate entrance and down awinding set of stairs, until we reach a dimlylit hallway that ends in a set of wide, steeldouble doors. The guards standing at the en-trance shift their stance when they recognizeme.

“This way, Ms. Iparis,” they say. One ofthem stiffens at the sight of Day, but looksquickly away when Day meets his stare. Thedoors swing open for us.

We’re greeted by a blast of warm, humidair and a scene of orderly chaos. The roomwe’ve stepped into seems like an enormouswarehouse (half the size of a Trial stadium,three dozen fluorescents, and six rows ofsteel beams lining the ceiling), with a loneJumboTron on the left wall blasting instruc-tions to the upper-class evacuees who mill allaround us. Amongst them are a handful ofpoor-sector people (fourteen of them, to be

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exact), those who must have been the house-keepers and janitors of some of the gem-sec-tor’s homes. To my disappointment, I seesoldiers separating them out into a differentline. Several upper-class people cast themsympathetic looks, while others glare indisdain.

Day sees them too. “Guess we’re all cre-ated equal,” he mutters. I say nothing.

A few smaller rooms line the right wall.At the far end of the room, the end of aparked subway train rests inside a tunnel,and crowds of both soldiers and civilianshave gathered along both of its platforms.The soldiers are attempting to organize thecrowds of bewildered, frightened people ontothe subway. Where it will take them, I canonly guess.

Beside me, Day watches the scene with si-lent, simmering eyes. His hand staysclamped on Eden’s. I wonder whether he’s

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taking note of the aristocratic clothing thatmost of these evacuees are wearing.

“Apologies for the mess,” a guard says tome as she escorts us toward one of the smal-ler rooms. She taps the edge of her cap po-litely. “We are in the early stages of evacu-ations, and as you can see, the first wave isstill in progress. We can have you, as well asDay and his family, on the first wave as well,if you don’t mind resting for a moment in aprivate suite.”

Mariana and Serge might already bewaiting in rooms of their own. “Thank you,” Ireply. We walk past several doors, their long,rectangular windows revealing empty, blankrooms with portraits of Anden hanging ontheir walls. A couple look as if they have beenreserved for high-ranking officials, whileothers appear to be holding people who musthave caused trouble—detainees with sullenfaces flanked by pairs of soldiers. One room

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that we pass by holds several people sur-rounded by guards.

It is this room that makes me pause. I re-cognize one of the people in there. Is it reallyher? “Wait,” I call out, stepping closer to thewindow. No doubt about it—I see a younggirl with wide eyes and a blunt, messy bob ofa haircut, sitting in a chair beside a gray-eyed boy and three others who look moreragged than I recall. I glance at our soldier.“What are they doing in there?”

Day follows my lead. When he sees what Isee, he sucks in a sharp breath. “Get us inthere,” he whispers to me. His voice takes ona desperate urgency. “Please.”

“These are prisoners, Ms. Iparis,” the sol-dier replies, puzzled by our interest. “I don’trecommend—”

I tighten my lips. “I want to see them,” Iinterrupt.

The soldier hesitates, glances around theroom, and then nods reluctantly. “Of

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course,” she replies. She steps toward thedoor and opens it, then ushers us in. Lucystays right outside with her hand tightlygripping Eden’s. The door closes behind us.

I find myself staring straight at Tess anda handful of Patriots.

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WELL, DAMN. THE LAST TIME I SAWTESS, SHE WAS STANDING in themiddle of the alley near where wewere supposed to assassinate Anden,her fists clenched and her face abroken picture. She looks differentnow. Calmer. Older. She’s also gottena good bit taller, and her once-roundbaby face has leaned out. Weird to see.

She and the others are all shackledto chairs. The sight doesn’t help mymood. I recognize one of her compan-ions immediately—Pascao, the dark-skinned Runner with a head of shortcurls and those ridiculously pale grayeyes. He hasn’t changed much, al-though now that I’m close enough, I

can see traces of a scar across his noseand another one near his right temple.He flashes me a brilliant white grinthat drips sarcasm. “That you, Day?”he says, giving me a flirtatious wink.“Still as gorgeous as you’ve alwaysbeen. Republic uniforms suit you.”

His words sting. I turn my glare onthe soldiers standing guard over them.“Why the hell are they prisoners?”

One of them tilts his nose up at me.Based on all the goddy decorations onhis uniform, he must be the captain ofthis group or something. “They’reformer Patriots,” he says, emphasizinghis last word as if he’s trying to make ajab at me. “We caught them along theedge of the Armor, where they were at-tempting to disable our military equip-ment and aid the Colonies.”

Pascao shifts indignantly in hischair. “Bullshit, you blinder boy,” he

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snaps. “We were camped out along theArmor because we were trying to helpyour sorry soldiers out. Maybe weshouldn’t have bothered.”

Tess watches me with a wary lookthat she’s never used with me before.Her arms look so small and thin withthose giant shackles clamped aroundher wrists. I clench my teeth; my gazefalls to the guns at the soldiers’ belts.No sudden moves, I remind myself.Not around these trigger-happy trots.From the corner of my eye, I noticethat one of the others is bleeding fromthe shoulder. “Let them go,” I tell thesoldier. “They’re not the enemy.”

The soldier glares at me with coldcontempt. “Absolutely not. Our orderswere to detain them until such time—”

Beside me, June lifts her chin.“Orders from whom?”

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The soldier’s bravado wavers alittle. “Ms. Iparis, my orders came dir-ectly from the glorious Elector him-self.” His cheeks flush when he seesJune narrow her eyes, and then hestarts blabbing something about theirtour of duty around the Armor andhow intense the battle’s been. I stepcloser to Tess and stoop down untilwe’re at the same eye level. The guardsshift their guns, but June snaps awarning at them to stop.

“You came back,” I whisper to Tess.Even though Tess still looks wary,

something softens in her eyes. “Yes.”“Why?”Tess hesitates. She looks over at

Pascao, who turns his startling grayeyes fully on me. “We came back,” hereplies, “because Tess heard you call-ing for us.”

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They’d heard me. All those radiotransmissions I’d been sending out formonths and months hadn’t ended uplost somewhere in thedark—somehow, they’d heard me.Tess swallows hard before she worksup enough courage to speak. “Frankiefirst caught you on the airwaves a fewmonths ago,” she says, nodding to-ward a curly-haired girl tied to one ofthe chairs. “She said you were tryingto contact us.” Tess lowers her eyes. “Ididn’t want to answer. But then Iheard about your illness . . . and . . .”

So. The news has definitely gottenaround.

“Hey now,” Pascao interrupts whenhe catches my expression. “We didn’tcome back to the Republic just be-cause we felt sorry for you. We’vebeen listening to the news coming

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from both you and the Colonies.Heard about the threat of war.”

“And you decided to come to ouraid?” June pipes up. Her eyes are sus-picious. “Why so generous all of asudden?”

Pascao’s sarcastic grin fades away.He regards June with a tilt of his head.“You’re June Iparis, aren’t you?”

The captain starts to tell him togreet June in a more formal way, butJune just nods.

“So you’re the one who sabotagedour plans and split up our crew.” Pas-cao shrugs. “No hard feelings—notthat, you know, I was a big fan ofRazor or anything.”

“Why are you back in the country?”June repeats.

“Okay, fine. We got kicked out ofCanada.” Pascao takes a deep breath.“We were hiding out there after

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everything fell apart during the”—hepauses to glance at the soldiers aroundthem—“the, ah, you know. Our play-date with Anden. But then the Cana-dians figured out that we weren’t sup-posed to be in their country, and wehad to flee back south. A lot of usscattered to the winds. I don’t knowwhere half our original group isnow—chances are that some of themare still in Canada. When the newsabout Day broke, little Tess here askedif she could leave us and head back toDenver on her own. I didn’t want herto, well, die—so we came along.” Pas-cao looks down for a moment. Hedoesn’t stop talking, but I can tell thathe’s just babbling at this point, tryingto give us any reason but their mainone. “With the Colonies invading, Ithought that if we tried helping outyour war effort, then maybe we could

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get a pardon and permission to stay inthe country, but I know your Electorprobably isn’t our biggest—”

“What is all this?”All of us turn around at the voice,

right as the soldiers in the room snapinto salutes. I get up from my crouchto see Anden standing in the doorwaywith a group of bodyguards behindhim, his eyes dark and ominous, hisstare fixed first on June and me andthen on the Patriots. Even though ithasn’t been that long since we left himbehind to talk with his generals, hehas a fine layer of dust on theshoulders of his uniform, and his facelooks bleak. The captain who’d beentalking to us earlier now clears histhroat nervously. “My apologies, Elect-or,” he begins, “but we detained thesecriminals near the Armor—”

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At that, June crosses her arms.“Then I’m guessing you weren’t theone who approved this, Elector?” shesays to Anden. There’s an edge to hervoice that tells me she and Andenaren’t on the best of terms right now.

Anden regards the scene. Our argu-ment from the car ride over is prob-ably still stewing in his mind, but hedoesn’t bother looking in my direc-tion. Well, good. Maybe I’ve given himsomething to think about. Finally, henods at the captain. “Who are they?”

“Former Patriots, sir.”“I see. Who ordered this?”The captain turns bright red. “Well,

Elector,” he replies, trying to sound of-ficial, “my commanding officer—”

But Anden has already turned hisattention away from the lying captainand starts to leave the room. “Takethose shackles off them,” he says

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without turning back around. “Keepthem in here for now, and then evacu-ate them with the final group. Watchthem carefully.” He motions for us tofollow him. “Ms. Iparis. Mr. Wing. Ifyou please.”

I look back one more time at Tess,who’s watching the soldiers unclip theshackles from her wrists. Then I headout with June. Eden rushes over tome, nearly colliding with me in hishurry, and I take his hand back inmine.

Anden stops us before a group ofRepublic soldiers. I frown at the sight.Four of the soldiers are kneeling onthe ground with their hands on theirheads. Their eyes stay downcast. Oneweeps silently.

The remaining soldiers in the grouphave their guns pointed at the kneel-ing soldiers. The soldier in charge

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addresses Anden. “These are theguards who were in charge of Com-mander Jameson and Captain Bryant.We found a suspicious communicationbetween one of them and theColonies.”

No wonder he brought us out here,to see the faces of our potential trait-ors. I look back at the capturedguards. The crying one looks up atAnden with pleading eyes. “Please,Elector,” he begs. “I had nothing to dowith their escape. I—I don’t know howit happened. I—” His words cut off as agun barrel cuffs him in the head.

Anden’s face, normally thoughtfuland reserved, has turned ice-cold. Ilook from the kneeling soldiers backto him. He’s silent for a moment. Thenhe nods at his men. “Interrogate them.If they don’t cooperate, shoot them.Spread the word to the rest of the

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troops. Let it be a lesson to any othertraitors within our ranks. Let themknow we will root them out.”

The soldiers with the guns clicktheir heels. “Yes, sir.” They haul theaccused traitors to their feet. A sickfeeling hits my stomach. But Andendoesn’t take back his words—instead,he looks on as the soldiers aredragged, shouting and pleading, out ofthe bunker. June looks stricken. Hereyes follow the prisoners.

Anden turns on us with a grave ex-pression. “The Colonies have help.”

A dull thud echoes from some-where above us, and the ground andceiling tremble in response. Junepeers closer at Anden, as if analyzinghim. “What kind of help?”

“I saw their squadrons in the air,right beyond the Armor. They’re notall Colonies jets. Some of them have

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African stars painted on their sides.My generals tell me that the Coloniesare confident enough to have parkedan airship and a squadron of jets lessthan a half mile from our Armor, set-ting up makeshift airfields as they go.They are ramping up for anotherassault.”

My hand tightens around Eden’s.He squints at the swarms of evacueescrowded near the subway, but heprobably can’t see anything more thana mass of moving blurs. I wish I couldtake that frightened look off his face.“How long is Denver gonna hold?” Iask.

“I don’t know,” Anden repliesgrimly. “The Armor is strong, but wecan’t fight a superpower for long.”

“So what do we do now?” June says.“If we can’t hold them off alone, thenare we just going to lose this war?”

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Anden shakes his head. “We needhelp too. I’m going to get us an audi-ence with the United Nations or withAntarctica, see whether they’re willingto step up to the plate. They might buyus enough time for . . .” He glances atmy brother, quiet and calm beside me.A stab of guilt and rage hits me. I nar-row my eyes at Anden—my handclamps tighter on my brother’s arm.Eden shouldn’t have to be in themiddle of this. I shouldn’t have tochoose between losing my brother andlosing this damn country.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Isay.

As he and June launch into an in-depth conversation about Antarctica, Ilook back at the room where Tess andthe Patriots are being held. Throughthe window, I can see Tess tendingcarefully to the girl with the bleeding

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shoulder while the soldiers look onwith uneasy expressions. Don’t knowwhy all those trained killers should bescared of a little girl armed with ahandful of bandages and rubbing alco-hol. I shiver as I think of the wayAnden ordered those accused soldiersout of the bunker and killed. Pascaolooks frustrated, and for a moment, hemeets my stare through the glass.Even though he doesn’t move hismouth, I can tell what he’s thinking.

He knows that trapping the Patriotsinside a room during the middle of abattle, while civilians and soldiersalike are getting killed aboveground, isa total goddy waste.

“Elector,” I suddenly say, turningback to face Anden and June. Hepauses to stare at me. “Let them out ofthis bunker.” When Anden stays si-lent, compelling me to go on, I add,

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“They can help your effort up there. Ibet they can play the guerrilla gamebetter than any of your soldiers, andsince you won’t be evacuating the poorsectors for a while, you might need allthe help you can get.”

June doesn’t say anything about mylittle jab, but Anden folds his armsacross his chest. “Day, I pardoned thePatriots as part of our originaldeal—but I haven’t forgotten about mydifficult history with them. While Idon’t want to see your friendsshackled like prisoners, I have noreason to believe that they’ll now helpa country that they have terrorized forso long.”

“They’re harmless,” I insist. “Theyhave no reason to fight against theRepublic.”

“Three death-row prisoners just es-caped,” Anden snaps. “The Colonies

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have launched a surprise attack on ourcapital. And now my would-be assas-sins are sitting a dozen yards from me.I’m not in the most forgiving mood.”

“I’m trying to help you,” I fire back.“You just caught your traitors, any-way, didn’t you? Do you really thinkthe Patriots had anything to do withCommander Jameson’s escape? Espe-cially when she threw them to thedogs? Do you think I like the idea thatmy mother’s killers are on the loosenow? Unleash the Patriots, and they’llfight for you.”

Anden narrows his eyes. “Whatmakes you think they’re so loyal to theRepublic?”

“Let me lead them,” I say. Edenjerks his head up at me in surprise.“And you’ll get your loyalty.” Juneshoots me a warning glare—I take adeep breath, swallow my frustration,

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and will myself to calm down. She’sright. No point getting angry at Andenif I need him on my side. “Please,” Iadd in a lower voice. “Let me help. Youhave to trust someone. Don’t just leavepeople out there to die.”

Anden studies my face for a longmoment, and with a chill, I realizehow much he looks like his father. Thesimilarity is only there for an instant,though—and then it vanishes, replacedby Anden’s serious, concerned gaze.As if he suddenly remembers who weare. He sighs deeply and tightens hislips. “Let me know what your plan is,”he finally says. “And we’ll see. In themeantime, I suggest you get yourbrother on a subway.” When he seesmy expression, he adds, “He’ll be safeuntil you join him. You have myword.”

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Then he turns away and motionsfor June to accompany him. I let mybreath out as I watch a soldier leadhim and June toward a cluster of gen-erals. June looks over her shoulder atme as they go. I know she’s thinkingthe same thing I am. She’s worriedabout what this war is doing to Anden.What it’s doing to all of us.

Lucy interrupts my thoughts. “Per-haps we should get your brother onthe evacuation train,” she says. Shegives me a sympathetic look.

“Right.” I look down at Eden andpat his shoulder. I try my best to havefaith in the Elector’s promise. “Let’shead over to the train and get the de-tails on how to get you out of here.”

“What about you?” Eden asks. “Areyou really going to lead some kind ofassault?”

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“I’ll meet up with you in LosAngeles. I swear.”

Eden doesn’t make a sound as wemake our way over to the train plat-form and let the soldiers escort us to-ward the front. His expression hasgrown serious and sullen. When we’refinally in front of the train’s closedglass door, I bend to his eye level.“Look—I’m sorry I’m not going withyou right away. I need to stay here andhelp, yeah? Lucy’s got you. She’ll keepyou safe. I’ll join up with you soon—”

“Yeah, fine,” Eden grumbles.“Oh.” I clear my throat. Eden is

sickly and tech-minded and occasion-ally obnoxious, but he’s rarely angrylike this. Even after his blindness, he’sstayed optimistic. So his bluntnessthrows me off. “Well, that’s good,” Idecide to respond. “I’m glad you’re—”

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“You’re hiding something from me,Daniel,” he interrupts. “I can tell.What is it?”

I pause. “No, I’m not.”“You’re a terrible liar.” Eden pulls

himself out of my grasp and frowns.“Something’s up. I could hear it in theElector’s voice, and then you said thatweird thing to me the other day, abouthow you were afraid the Republic’ssoldiers would come knocking on ourdoor . . . Why would they do that all ofa sudden? I thought everything wasfine now.”

I sigh and bow my head. Eden’seyes soften a little, but his jaw staysfirm. “What is it?” he repeats.

He’s eleven years old. He deservesto know the truth.

“The Republic wants you back forexperimentation,” I reply, keeping myvoice low so that only he can hear me.

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“There’s a virus spreading in the Co-lonies. They think you have the anti-dote in your blood. They want to takeyou to the labs.”

Eden stares in my direction for along, silent moment. Above us, anoth-er dull thud shakes the earth. I wonderhow well the Armor’s holding up. Se-conds drag by. Finally, I put a hand onhis arm. “I won’t let them take youaway,” I say, trying to reassure him.“Okay? You’re going to be fine.Anden—the Elector—knows that hecan’t take you away without risking arevolution among the people. He can’tdo it without my permission.”

“All those people in the Coloniesare going to die, aren’t they?” Edenmutters under his breath. “The oneswith the virus?”

I hesitate. I never asked muchabout exactly what the plague’s

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symptoms were—I stopped listeningthe instant they mentioned my broth-er. “I don’t know,” I confess.

“And then they’re going to spread itto the Republic.” Eden turns his headdown and wrings his hands together.“Maybe they’re spreading it right now.If they take over the capital, the dis-ease will spread. Won’t it?”

“I don’t know,” I repeat.Eden’s eyes search my face. Even

though he’s nearly blind, I can see theunhappiness in them. “You don’t haveto make all my decisions, you know.”

“I didn’t think I was. Don’t youwant to evacuate to LA? It’s saferthere, and I told you—I’ll catch up withyou there. I promise.”

“No, not that. Why’d you decide tokeep this a secret?”

This is why he’s upset? “You’re kid-ding, right?”

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“Why?” Eden presses.“You would’ve agreed?” I move

closer to him, then glance around atthe soldiers and evacuees and lowermy voice. “I know I declared my sup-port for Anden, but that doesn’t meanI’ve forgotten what the Republic did toour family. To you. When I watchedyou get sick, when the plague patrolscame to our door and dragged you outon that gurney, with blood blackeningyour eyes . . .” I pause, close my eyes,and shut the scene out. I’ve played it inmy head a million times; no need torevisit it again. The memory makes thepain flare up at the back of my head.

“Don’t you think I know that?”Eden fires back in a low, defiant voice.“You’re my brother, not our mom.”

I narrow my eyes. “I am now.”“No, you’re not. Mom’s dead.” Eden

takes a deep breath. “I remember

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what the Republic did to us. Of courseI do. But the Colonies are invading. Iwant to help.”

I can’t believe Eden’s telling methis. He doesn’t understand thelengths the Republic will go to—has hereally forgotten their experiments? Ilean forward and put my hand on histiny wrist. “It could kill you. Do yourealize that? And they might not evenfind a cure using your blood.”

Eden pulls away from me again.“It’s my decision to make. Not yours.”

His words echo June’s from earlier.“Fine,” I snap. “Then what’s your de-cision, kid?”

He steels himself. “Maybe I want tohelp.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Youwant to help them out? Are you justdoing that to go against what I’msaying?”

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“I’m serious.”A lump rises in my throat. “Eden,” I

begin, “we’ve lost Mom and John. Dadis gone. You’re all I have left. I can’t af-ford to lose you too. Everything I’vedone so far, I’ve done for you. I’m notletting you risk your life to save theRepublic—or the Colonies.”

The defiance fades from Eden’seyes. He props his arms up on the rail-ing and leans his head against hishands. “If there’s one thing I knowabout you,” he says, “it’s that you’renot selfish.”

I pause. Selfish. I am selfish—Iwant Eden to stay protected, out ofharm’s way, and screw whatever hethinks about that. But at his words, myguilt bubbles up. How many times hadJohn tried to keep me out of trouble?How many times had he warned meagainst messing with the Republic, or

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trying to find a cure for Eden? I hadnever listened, and I don’t regret it.Eden stares at me with sightless eyes,a disability the Republic handed tohim. And now he’s offering himself up,a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter, andI can’t understand why.

No. I do understand. He is me—he’sdoing what I would’ve done.

But the thought of losing him is toomuch to bear. I put my hand on hisshoulder and start steering him in-side. “Get to LA first. We’ll talk aboutthis later. You better think thisthrough, because if you volunteer forthis—”

“I did think it through,” Edenreplies. Then he pulls out of my graspand steps back through the balconydoor. “And besides, if they came forme, do you really think we could stopthem?”

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And then his turn comes. Lucyhelps him step onto the subway, and Ihold his hand for a brief moment be-fore he has to let go. Despite how up-set he seems to be, Eden still clutchesmy hand hard. “Hurry up, okay?” hesays to me. Without warning, hethrows his arms around my neck.Beside him, Lucy gives me one of herreassuring smiles.

“Don’t you worry, Daniel,” she says.“I’ll watch him like a hawk.”

I nod gratefully at her. Then I hugEden tight, squeeze my eyes shut, andtake a deep breath. “See you soon,kid,” I whisper. Then I reluctantly un-tangle his fingers from mine. Eden dis-appears onto the subway. Momentslater, the train pulls away from thestation and takes the first wave ofevacuees toward the Republic’s west

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coast, leaving only Eden’s words be-hind, ringing in my mind.

Maybe I want to help.I sit alone for some time after his

train leaves, lost in thought, goingover those words repeatedly. I’m hisguardian now—I have every right tokeep him from harm, and hell if I’mgoing to see him back in the Republic’slabs after everything I’ve done to keephim from there. I close my eyes andbury my hands in my hair.

After a while, I make my way backto the room where the Patriots are be-ing kept. The door’s open. When I stepinside, Pascao quits stretching out hisarms and Tess looks up from whereshe’s finishing the bandaging of thewounded girl’s shoulder.

“So,” I say to them, my eyes linger-ing on Tess. “You guys came back to

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town to give the Colonies some hell?”Tess drops her gaze.

Pascao shrugs. “Well, it won’t mat-ter if no one lets us back up there.Why? You have something in mind?”

“The Elector’s given his permis-sion,” I reply. “As long as I’m incharge, he thinks we’ll be good enoughnot to turn against the Republic.”What a stupid fear, anyway. They stillhave my brother, don’t they?

A slow smile spreads on Pascao’sface. “Well. That sounds like it couldbe fun. What do you have in mind?”

I put my hands in my pockets andput my arrogant mask back on. “WhatI’ve always been good at.”

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51.5 HOURS SINCE MY FINAL CONVERSATION

WITH THOMAS.

15 HOURS SINCE I LAST SAW DAY.

8 HOURS SINCE THE COLONIES’

BOMBARDMENT OF DENVER’S ARMOR CAME

TO A LULL.

WE’RE ON THE ELECTOR’S PLANE HEADED TO

ROSS City, Antarctica.

I sit across from Anden. Ollie’s lying atmy feet. The other two Princeps-Elects are inan adjacent compartment, separated from usby glass (3 × 6 feet, bulletproof, Republicseal carved on the side facing me, judgingfrom the edges of the cut). Outside the win-dow, the sky is brilliant blue and a blanket ofclouds pads the bottom of our view. Anyminute now, we should feel the plane dip

and see the sprawling Antarctican metropol-is come into view.

I’ve stayed quiet for most of the trip,listening on as Anden takes a stream of end-less calls from Denver about the battle. Onlywhen we’re almost over Antarctican watersdoes he finally fall silent. I watch how thelight plays on his features, contouring theyoung face that holds such world-wearythoughts.

“What’s the history between us andAntarctica?” I ask after a while. What I reallywant to say is, Do you think they’ll help us?but that question is just silly small talk, im-possible to answer and thus pointless to ask.

Anden looks away from the window andfixes his bright green eyes on me. “Antarcticagives us aid. We’ve taken international aidfrom them for decades. Our own economyisn’t strong enough to stand on its own.”

It still unsettles me that the nation I oncebelieved so powerful is in reality struggling

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for survival. “And what is our relationshipwith them now?”

Anden keeps his gaze steadily on me. Ican see the tension in his eyes, but his faceremains composed. “Antarctica has prom-ised to double their aid if we can draft atreaty that can get the Colonies talking withus again. And they’ve threatened to halvetheir aid if we don’t have a treaty by the endof this year.” He pauses. “So we’re visitingthem not just to ask for help, but to try topersuade them not to withhold their aid.”

We have to explain why everything hasfallen apart. I swallow. “Why Antarctica?”

“They have a long rivalry with Africa,”Anden replies. “If anyone with power willhelp us win a war against the Colonies andAfrica, it’ll be them.” He leans forward andrests his elbows on his knees. His glovedhands are a foot away from my legs. “We’llsee what happens. We owe them a lot of

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money, and they haven’t been happy with usfor the past few years.”

“Has the President ever met you inperson?”

“Sometimes I visited with my father,”Anden replies. He offers me a crooked smilethat sends unexpected flutters through mystomach. “He was a charmer during meet-ings. Do you think I have a chance?”

I smile back. I can sense the doublemeaning in his question; he’s not just talkingabout Antarctica. “You’re charismatic, ifthat’s what you’re asking,” I decide to say.

Anden laughs a little. The sound warmsme. He looks away and lowers his eyes. “Ihaven’t been very successful at charminganyone lately,” he murmurs.

The plane dips. I turn my attention to mywindow and take a deep breath, fightingdown the pink rising on my cheeks.

The clouds grow nearer as we descend,and soon we are engulfed in swirling gray

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mist; after a few minutes we emerge fromtheir underbelly to see a massive stretch ofland covered in a dense layer of high-risesthat come in a wild assortment of bright col-ors. I suck in my breath at the sight. Onelook is all I need to confirm just how much ofa technological and wealth gap there isbetween the Republic and Antarctica. A thin,transparent dome stretches across the city,but we pass right through it as easily as wesliced through the clouds. Each building ap-pears to have the ability to change colors ona whim (two have already shifted from a pas-tel green to a deep blue, and one changesfrom gold to white), and each building looksbrand-new, polished and flawless in a waythat very few Republic buildings are. Enorm-ous, elegant bridges connect many of thetowering skyscrapers, brilliantly white underthe sun, each one linking one building’s floorto its adjacent building and forming ahoneycomb-like web of ivory. The uppermost

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bridges have round platforms in their cen-ters. When I look closer, I see what seem likeaircraft parked on the platforms. (Anotheroddity: All of the high-rises have enormoussilver holograms of numbers floating overtheir roofs, each ranging between zero andthirty thousand. I frown. Are they beingbeamed from a light at each rooftop? Per-haps they signify the population living ineach skyscraper—although if that were thecase, thirty thousand seems like a relativelylow ceiling given the size of each building.)

Our pilot’s voice rings out over the inter-com to inform us of our landing. As thecandy-colored buildings gradually fill our en-tire view, we zero in on one of the bridgeplatforms. Down below, I see people hurry-ing to prepare for our jet’s landing. Whenwe’re finally hovering over the platform, anabrupt jolt jerks all of us sideways in ourseats. Ollie lifts his head and growls.

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“We’re magnetically docked now,” Andentells me when he sees my startled expression.“From here on out, our pilot doesn’t need todo a thing. The platform itself will pull usdown for the landing.”

We touch down so smoothly that I don’tfeel a thing. As we step out of the plane alongwith our entourage of Senators and guards,I’m shocked first by how nice the temperat-ure is outside. A cool breeze, the warmth ofthe sun. Aren’t we at the bottom of the earth?(Seventy-two degrees is my assumption,southwest wind, a breeze surprisingly lightconsidering how high up from ground levelwe are.) Then I remember the thin,substance-less dome we passed through. Itmight be a way the Antarcticans control theclimate in their cities.

Secondly, I’m shocked to see us immedi-ately ushered into a plastic tent by a team ofpeople in white biohazard suits and gasmasks. (The news of the Colonies’ plague

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must have spread here.) One of them quicklyinspects my eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, andthen runs a bright green light across my en-tire body. I wait in tense silence as the per-son (male or female? I can’t be sure) ana-lyzes the reading on a handheld device. Fromthe corner of my eye, I can see Anden under-going the same tests—being the Republic’sElector does not apparently exempt one frombeing possibly contaminated with plague. Ittakes a good ten minutes before we are allcleared for entry and led out from under thetarp.

Anden greets three Antarctican people(each dressed respectively in a green, black,or blue suit, cut in an unfamiliar style) wait-ing for us on the landing bridge with a fewguards. “I hope your flight went well,” one ofthem says as Mariana, Serge, and I ap-proach. She greets us in English, but her ac-cent is thick and lush. “If you prefer, we cansend you home in one of our own jets.”

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The Republic is hardly perfect; that muchI’ve known for a long time, and certainly eversince I met Day. But the Antarctican wo-man’s words are so arrogant that I feel my-self bristle. Apparently our Republic jetsaren’t good enough for them. I look at Andento see what his reaction will be, but hesimply bows his head and offers a beautifulsmile to the woman. “Gracias, Lady Medina.You are always so gracious,” he replies. “I’mvery grateful for your offer, but I certainlydon’t want to impose. We’ll make do.”

I can’t help admiring Anden. Every day, Isee new evidence of the burdens heshoulders.

After some argument, I reluctantly letone of the guards take Ollie away to the hotelquarters where I’ll be staying. Then we allfall into a quiet procession as the Antarctic-ans lead us off the platform and along thebridge toward the connecting building(colored scarlet, although I’m not sure if it’s

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in honor of our landing). I make a point ofwalking close to the bridge’s edge, so that Ican look down at the city. For once, it takesme a while to count the floors (based on thebridges branching out from every floor, thisbuilding has over three hundred floors—ap-proximately three hundred twenty-seven, al-though eventually I look away to shake off asense of vertigo). Sunlight bathes the upper-most floors, but the lower floors are alsobrightly illuminated; they must be simulat-ing sunlight for those walking at groundlevel. I watch Anden and Lady Medina chatand laugh as if they are old friends. Andenfalls so neatly into it that I can’t tell whetherhe genuinely likes this woman or he is simplyplaying the role of an agreeable politician.Apparently our late Elector had at leasttrained his son well in internationalrelations.

The building’s bridge entrance, an arch-way framed with intricately carved swirls,

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slides open to greet us. We halt in a lavishlydecorated lobby (thick ivory carpet that, tomy fascination, bursts with swirls of colorwherever I put my feet down; rows of pottedpalms; a curved glass wall displaying brightads and what seem like interactive stationsfor things I don’t understand). As we walk,the Antarcticans hand each of us a thin pairof glasses. Anden and many of the Senatorsimmediately put them on as if they’re used tothis ritual, but the Antarcticans explain theglasses anyway. I wonder whether they knowwho I am, or whether they care. They cer-tainly noticed my puzzlement at the glasses.

“Keep these on for the duration of yourvisit,” Lady Medina tells us with her rich ac-cent, although I know her words are directedat me. “They will help you see Ross City as itreally is.”

Intrigued, I put the glasses on.I blink in surprise. The first thing I feel is

a subtle tickle in my ears, and the first thing I

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see are the small, glowing numbers hoveringover the heads of each of the Antarcticans.Lady Medina has 28,627: LEVEL 29, while hertwo companions (who have yet to utter asound) respectively have 8,819: LEVEL 11 and11,201: LEVEL 13. When I look around the lobby,I notice all sorts of virtual numbers andwords—the green bulbous plant in the cornerhas WATER: +1 hovering over it, while CLEAN: +1

floats above a dark, half-circle side table. Inthe corner of my glasses, I see tiny, glowingwords:

JUNE IPARISPRINCEPS-ELECT 3REPUBLIC OF AMERICALEVEL 1SEPT. 22. 2132DAILY SCORE: 0CUMULATIVE SCORE: 0

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We’ve started walking again. None of theothers seem particularly concerned about theonslaught of virtual text and numberslayered over the real world, so I’m left to myown intuition. (Although the Antarcticansaren’t wearing glasses, their eyes occasion-ally flicker to virtual things in the world in away that makes me wonder whether theyhave something embedded in their eyes, orperhaps in their brains, that permanentlysimulates all of these virtual things forthem.)

One of Lady Medina’s two companions, abroad-shouldered, white-haired man withvery dark eyes and golden-brown skin, walksslower than the others. Eventually hereaches me near the end of the processionand falls into step beside me. I tense up athis presence. When he speaks, though, hisvoice is low and kind. “Miss June Iparis?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply, bowing my head re-spectfully in the way Anden had done. To my

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surprise, I see the numbers in the corner ofmy glasses change:

SEPT. 22. 2132DAILY SCORE: 1CUMULATIVE SCORE: 1

My mind spins. Somehow, the glassesmust have recorded my bowing action andadded a point to this Antarctican scoring sys-tem, which means bowing is equal to onepoint. This is also when I realize somethingelse: When the white-haired man spoke, Iheard absolutely no accent—he’s now speak-ing perfect English. I glance over to LadyMedina, and when I catch hints of what she’ssaying to Anden, I notice that her Englishnow sounds impeccable too. The tickle I’dfelt in my ears when I put on the glasses . . .maybe it’s acting as some sort of languagetranslation device, allowing the Antarcticansto revert to their native language while still

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communicating with us without missing abeat.

The white-haired man now leans over tome and whispers, “I am Guardsman Mako-are, one of Lady Medina’s newer bodyguards.She has assigned me to be your guide, MissIparis, as it seems you are a stranger to ourcity. It’s quite different from your Republic,isn’t it?”

Unlike Lady Medina, the way GuardsmanMakoare speaks has no condescension in itat all, and his question doesn’t rub me thewrong way. “Thank you, sir,” I reply grate-fully. “And, yes, I have to admit that thesevirtual numbers I see all over the place arestrange to me. I don’t quite understand it.”

He smiles and scratches at the whitescruff on his chin. “Life in Ross City is agame, and we are all its players. NativeAntarcticans don’t need glasses like you vis-itors do—all of us have chips embedded nearour temples once we turn thirteen. It’s a

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piece of software that assigns points toeverything around us.” He gestures towardthe plants. “Do you see the wordsWater—Plus One hovering over that plant?”I nod. “If you decided to water that plant, forexample, you would receive one point for do-ing so. Almost every positive action youmake in Ross City will earn you achievementpoints, while negative actions subtractpoints. As you accumulate points, you gainlevels. Right now, you are at Level One.” Hepauses to point up at the virtual numberfloating over his head. “I am at LevelThirteen.”

“What’s the point of reaching . . . levels?”I ask as we leave the hall and step into an el-evator. “Does it determine your status in thecity? Does it keep your civilians in line?”

Guardsman Makoare nods. “You’ll see.”We step out of the elevator and head out

onto another bridge (this time it’s coveredwith an arched glass roof) that connects this

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building to another. As we walk, I begin tosee what Guardsman Makoare is talkingabout. The new building we enter looks likean enormous academy, and as we peerthrough glass panels into classrooms linedwith rows of what must be students, I noticethat all of them have their own point scoresand levels hovering over their heads. At thefront of the room, a giant glass screen dis-plays a series of math questions, each with aglowing point score over them.

CALCULUS SEMESTER 2Q1: 6 PTSQ2: 12 PTS

And so on. At one point, I see one of thestudents attempt to lean over and cheat froma neighbor. The point score over his headflashes red, and a second later the numberdecreases by five.

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CHEATING: −5 PTS1,642: LEVEL 3

The student freezes, then quickly returnsto looking at his own exam.

Guardsman Makoare smiles when he seesme analyzing the situation. “Your levelmeans everything in Ross City. The higheryour level, the more money you make, thebetter jobs you can apply for, and the morerespected you are. Our highest scorers arewidely admired and quite famous.” Hepoints toward the back of the cheating stu-dent. “As you can see, our citizens are so en-grossed in this game of life that most of themknow better than to do things that will de-crease their scores. We have very little crimein Ross City as a result.”

“Fascinating,” I murmur, my eyes stillglued to the classroom even as we reach theend of the hallway and head out onto

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another bridge. After a while, a new messagepops up in the corner of my glasses.

WALKED 1,000 METERS: +2PTSDAILY SCORE: 3CUMULATIVE SCORE: 3

To my surprise, seeing the numbers go upgives me a brief thrill of accomplishment. Iturn to Guardsman Makoare. “I can under-stand how this leveling system is good mo-tivation for your citizens. Brilliant.” I don’tsay my next thought aloud, but secretly Iwonder, How do they distinguish betweengood and bad actions? Who decides that?What happens when someone speaks outagainst the government? Does her score goup or down? I marvel at the technology avail-able here—it really makes clear, for the firsttime, exactly how far behind the Republic is.

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Have things always been so unequal? Werewe ever the leaders?

We eventually settle inside a buildingwith a large, semicircular chamber used forpolitical meetings (“The Discussion Room,”Lady Medina calls it). It’s lined with flagsfrom countries around the world. In thechamber’s center is a long, mahogany woodtable, and now the Antarctican delegates siton one side while we sit on the other. Twomore delegates who are at similar levels asLady Medina join us as we begin our talks,but it’s a third delegate who catches my at-tention. He’s in his midforties, with bronzehair and dark skin and a well-trimmedbeard. The text hovering over his head readsLEVEL 202.

“President Ikari,” Lady Medina says asshe introduces him to us. Anden and the oth-er Senators bow their heads respectfully. I dothe same. Although I don’t dare turn my eyesaway from the discussion, I can see the

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Republic’s flag in my peripheral vision. Withmy glasses I see the virtual text THE REPUBLIC

OF AMERICA above it in glowing letters. Rightnext to it is the Colonies flag, with its blackand gray stripes and the bright gold bird inits center.

Some of the other countries’ flags havethe word Ally hovering under their names.But we don’t.

From the beginning, our discussion istense.

“It seems like your father’s plans havebackfired against you,” the President tellsAnden. He leans stiffly forward. “The UnitedNations is, of course, concerned that Africahas already given aid to the Colonies. TheColonies declined an invitation to talk withus.”

Anden sighs. “Our scientists are hard atwork on a cure,” he continues. I notice hedoesn’t mention Day’s brother in all this, andDay’s lack of cooperation. “But the Colonies’

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forces are overwhelming with Africa’s moneyand military supporting them. We need helpto push them back, or we risk being overrunwithin the month. The virus could spread tous as well—”

“You speak with passion,” the Presidentinterrupts. “And I have no doubt that you’redoing great things as the Republic’s newleader. But a situation like this . . . The virusmust first be contained. And I’ve heard theColonies have already breached yourborders.”

The President’s honey-gold eyes are pier-cingly bright. When Serge tries to speak up,he silences him immediately, never takinghis eyes off Anden. “Let your Elector re-spond,” he says. Serge falls back into sullensilence, but not before I catch a smug lookpass between the Senators. My temper rises.They—the Senator, the Antarctican Presid-ent, even Anden’s own Princeps-Elect—areall taunting Anden in their own subtle ways.

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Interrupting him. Emphasizing his age. Ilook at Anden, quietly willing him to standup for himself. Mariana nods once at him.

“Sir?” she says.I’m relieved when Anden first shoots a

disapproving look at Serge, then lifts his chinand calmly replies. “Yes. We’ve managed tohold them off for now, but they are right atthe outskirts of our capital.”

The President leans forward and rests hiselbows on the table. “So, there’s a possibilitythat this virus has already crossed into yourterritory?”

“Yes,” Anden replies.The President is silent for a moment. Fin-

ally, he says, “What exactly do you want?”“We need military support,” Anden

replies. “Your army is the best in the world.Help us secure our borders. But most of all,help us find a cure. They’ve warned us that acure is the only way they’ll retreat. And weneed time to make that happen.”

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The President tightens his lips andshakes his head once. “No military support,money, or supplies. I’m afraid you’re far tooindebted to us for that. I can offer my scient-ists to help you find a cure for the disease.But I will not send my troops into an area in-fected with disease. It’s too dangerous.”When he sees the look on Anden’s face, hiseyes harden. “Please keep us updated, as Ihope as much as you do to see a resolutionfor this. I apologize that we can’t be of morehelp to you, Elector.”

Anden leans on the table and laces hisfingers together. “What can I do to persuadeyou to help us, Mr. President?” he says.

The President sits back in his chair andregards Anden for a moment with a thought-ful look. It chills me. He’s been waiting forAnden to say this. “You’re going to have tooffer me something worth my while,” he fi-nally says. “Something your father neveroffered.”

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“And what’s that?”“Land.”My heart twists painfully at those words.

Giving up land. In order to save our country,we’ll have to sell ourselves to another nation.Something about it feels as violating asselling our own bodies. Giving up your ownchild to a stranger. Tearing away a piece ofour home. I look at Anden, trying to decipherthe emotions behind his composed exterior.

Anden stares at him for a long moment.Is he thinking about what his father wouldsay in a situation like this? Is he wonderingwhether he’s as good a leader to his people?Finally, Anden bows his head. Graceful, evenin humility. “I’m open to discussion,” he saysquietly.

The President nods once. I can see thesmall smile at the corners of his lips. “Thenwe’ll discuss,” he replies. “If you find a cureto this virus, and if we agree to the land, thenI promise you military support. Until then,

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the world will have to deal with this as we dowith any pandemic.”

“And what do you mean by that, sir?”Anden asks.

“We will need to seal your ports and bor-ders, as well as the Colonies’. Other nationswill need to be notified. I’m sure youunderstand.”

Anden’s silent. I hope the Presidentdoesn’t see the stricken look on my face. Theentire Republic is going to be quarantined.

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JUNE’S LEFT FOR ANTARCTICA.EDEN’S GONE TO LOS ANGELES withthe second wave of evacuees. The restof us stay down in this bunker, listen-ing as the Colonies’ assault continues.This time the fighting sounds worse.Sometimes the earth trembles somuch that fine dust rains down on usfrom the underground bunker’s ceil-ing, coating lines of evacuees with grayash as they hurry onto the waitingtrains. Rotating lights over the tunnelpaint us all in flashes of red. I wonderhow other bunkers across the city areholding up. The evacuations growmore urgent as each train leaves onthe hour and is replaced by a new one.

Who knows how long this tunnel willstay stable. Now and then I see sol-diers shoving civilians back into linewhen they get unruly. “Single file!”they bark out, hoisting their gunsthreateningly. Their faces are hiddenbehind riot masks that I know all toodamn well. “Dissidents will be left be-hind, no questions asked. Move along,people!”

I stay at one end of the bunker asthe dust continues to rain down,huddled with Pascao, Tess, and theother remaining Patriots. At first a fewsoldiers tried to hustle me onto one ofthe trains, but they left me alone afterI lashed out at them with a string ofcurses. Now they ignore me. I watchpeople load onto the train for a fewseconds before I return to my conver-sation with Pascao. Tess sits besideme, although the unspoken tension

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between us makes her feel muchfarther away. My ever-present head-ache pounds a dull rhythm against theback of my head.

“You saw more of the city than Idid,” I whisper to Pascao. “How do youthink the Armor is holding up?”

“Not great,” Pascao responds. “Infact, with another country helping theColonies, I wouldn’t be surprised if theArmor breaks down in a matter ofdays with this kind of assault. It’s notgonna hold for long, trust me.”

I turn to see how many people arestill waiting to board the trains. “Howshould we go about throwing the Co-lonies some curve balls?”

Another voice pipes up. It’s one ofthe Hackers, Frankie, the girl with thewounded shoulder. “If we can get ourhands on a few electrobombs,” shesays in a thoughtful voice, “I can

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probably rewire them to scramblesome of the Colonies’ weapons orsomething. We might be able to throwtheir jets off too.”

Jets. That’s right—Anden had men-tioned the Colonies jets parked on amakeshift airfield outside the Armor’swalls. “I can get my hands on some,” Iwhisper. “And some grenades too.”

Pascao clicks his tongue in excite-ment. “So we get to have fun with ni-troglycerine in your plan? You get onthat, then.” He turns to address Bax-ter, who shoots me a cranky glare. Hisear looks as mangled as ever. “Hey,Baxter boy. Back up Gioro andFrankie, make sure you give them cov-er while they’re working their magic.”

“Pascao,” I say quietly. “You up forsome decoy work?”

He laughs. “It’s what Runners arebest at, yeah?”

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“Let’s play with them a little—Iwant you to be my double while I’mheading toward their makeshiftairfield.”

“Sounds promising.”“Good.” Despite the grimness of the

situation, I smile. A note of haughti-ness creeps into my voice. “Thisnight’ll end with a bunch of expensive,useless military machines.”

“You’re out of your mind, blinderboy,” Baxter snaps at me. “The Repub-lic itself can’t even keep the Coloniesout—you think our little group standsa chance at beating them?”

“We don’t need to beat them. All weneed to do is stall them. And I’m prettysure we’re good at that.”

Baxter lets out a loud snort of irrit-ation—but Pascao’s grin grows wider.Next to me, Tess shifts uncomfortably.She’s probably thinking back on my

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past crimes, how she’d had to witnessthem all and how she’d had to bandageme up after every single one. Maybeshe’s worried about me. Or maybeshe’s glad. Maybe she’d rather me notbe here at all. But she had come backhere because of me. That’s what shesaid, isn’t it? She must still care, atleast on some level. I try to think of theright thing to say to her to fill this awk-ward silence, but instead I questionthe others. “You told me back in theroom that you guys came back here be-cause you wanted to be pardoned. Butyou could’ve tried escaping to a coun-try other than the Republic, yeah? Youwouldn’t even have to help the Repub-lic out. Anden—the Elector, that is—hewould’ve pardoned you all anyway.”My eyes fall on Pascao. “You knewthat, didn’t you? Why’d you all really

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come back here? I know it’s not justbecause you heard my plea.”

Pascao’s grin fades, and for a mo-ment he actually looks serious. Hesighs, then gazes around at our littlegroup. It’s hard to believe they used tobe a part of something so much larger.“We’re the Patriots, right?” he finallysays. “We’re supposed to be commit-ted to seeing the United States returnin some way or other. With the waythings seem to be in the Colonies, Idon’t know if they’d be the right onesto bring that kinda change about. But Igotta admit, the new Republic Electorhas potential, and after what Razorpulled on us, even I think Anden mightbe the answer we’ve been waiting for.”Pascao pauses to nod at Baxter, whojust shrugs. “Even Baxter boy herethinks so.”

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I frown. “So you guys came backhere because you genuinely want tohelp the Republic win this war? Youseriously want to help us defendourselves?” Pascao nods again. “Whydidn’t you say that back in the room?Would’ve sounded pretty noble.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” Pascao shakes hishead. “They wouldn’t have believed us.The Patriots, the terrorists who usedto blow up Republic soldiers everychance they got? Yeah, right. I figuredit’d be better for us if we played thepardon card instead. It’d seem like amore realistic answer for your Electorand your little Princeps-Elect.”

I stay silent. When Pascao sees mehesitate, he dusts off his hands andstands up. “Let’s get started,” he saysto me. “No time to waste, not with thishailstorm happening upstairs.” Hemotions for the other Patriots to

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gather around and starts divvying uptheir individual tasks. I rise to acrouch.

Tess takes a deep breath, and whenshe catches my gaze again, she speaksto me for the first time since being inthe room together. “I’m sorry, Day.”She says it softly, so that the otherscan’t hear.

I freeze where I am, resting my el-bows on my crouched legs. “Why?” Ireply. “You don’t have anything to besorry for.”

“Yes, I do.” Tess looks away. Howdid she grow up so quickly? She’s stillthin, still delicate, but her eyes belongto someone older than I remember. “Ididn’t mean to leave you behind, and Ididn’t mean to blame June foreverything. I don’t really believe she’sbad. I never really believed that. I wasjust so . . . angry.”

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Her face pulls me to her like it al-ways does, the way it did all the wayback when I first saw her diggingaround in that dumpster. I wish Icould hug her, but I sit back and wait,letting her make the call. “Tess . . . ,” Isay slowly, trying to figure out the bestway to express what I’m feeling. Hell,I’ve said so many stupid things to herin the past. “I love you. No matterwhat happens between us.”

Tess wraps her arms around herknees. “I know.”

I swallow hard and look down. “ButI don’t love you the way you want meto. I’m sorry if I ever gave you thewrong impression. I don’t think I’veever treated you as well as you de-serve.” My heart twists painfully as thewords leave my mouth, striking her asthey go. “So don’t be sorry. It’s myfault, not yours.”

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Tess shakes her head. “I know youdon’t love me that way. Don’t youthink I know that by now?” A note ofbitterness enters her voice. “But youdon’t know how I feel about you. Noone does.”

I give her a level look. “Tell me,then.”

“Day, you mean more to me thansome crush.” Her brows furrow as shetries to explain herself. “When the en-tire world turned its back on me andleft me to die, you took me in. Youwere the one person who cared aboutwhat might happen to me. You wereeverything. Everything. You becamemy entire family—you were my par-ents and my siblings and my care-taker, my only friend and companion,you were both my protector andsomeone who needed protecting. Yousee? I didn’t love you in the way you

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might’ve thought I did, although Ican’t deny that was part of it. But theway I feel goes beyond that.”

I open my mouth to reply, but noth-ing comes out. I don’t know what tosay. All I can do is see.

Tess lets out a shaky breath. “Sowhen I thought June might take youaway, I didn’t know what to do. I feltlike she was taking everything thatmattered to me. I felt like she was tak-ing away from you all the things that Ididn’t have.” She lowers her eyes.“That’s why I’m sorry. I’m sorry be-cause you shouldn’t have to beeverything to me. I had you, but I’dforgotten that I had myself too.” Shepauses to look over at the Patriots,who are deep in conversation. “It’s anew feeling, something I’m still gettingused to.”

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And just like that, we’re both kidsagain. I see the younger us, danglingour feet over the edge of some brokenhigh-rise, watching the sun dip everyevening below the ocean’s horizon.How much we’ve seen since then, howfar we’ve come.

I reach over to tap her nose once,just like how I always have. She smilesfor the first time.

* * *

The night has transitioned into theearly hour before dawn, and thedrizzle and slush has finally paused,leaving the city glistening under themoonlight. The evacuation alarm stillechoes every now and then, and theJumboTrons continue their ominousred warning to seek cover, but a brieflull has hit the battle and the skies

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aren’t full of jets and explosions.Guess both sides have to rest up orsomething. I rub the weariness frommy eyes and try to ignore my head-ache—I could use some rest.

“It’s not gonna be easy, you know,”Pascao whispers to me as we both sur-vey the morning. “They’re probably onthe lookout for Republic soldiers.”We’re perched on top of the Armor,watching the field just beyond thecity’s boundaries. It’s not like peopledon’t live outside the Armor, but un-like LA, which is just one large spreadof buildings that melts right into itsneighboring cities, Denver’s popula-tion is sparser outside the safety of itswalls. Small clusters of buildings sithere and there. They seem empty, andI wonder if the Republic saw the Co-lonies approaching from a distanceand evacuated their people inside the

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Armor. Although the Colonies’ air-ships have returned back to their ownland in order to refuel, they’ve left abunch of jets in the fields, and theareas they’ve occupied are well lit withfloodlights. I’m kind of shocked byhow repulsed I am at the thought ofthe Colonies taking us over. A yearago, I would be cheering at the top ofmy goddy lungs for this exact scenario.But now I just hear the Colonies’ slo-gan over and over in my head. A freestate is a corporate state. The ads I re-member from their cities make meshiver.

It’s hard to decide which I prefer,really: watch my brother grow up un-der the Colonies’ rule, or watch himtaken back for experimentation by theRepublic?

“Yeah, they’ll be on the lookout,” Iagree. Then I turn away from the

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Armor’s edge and start making myway down the wall. Along the Armor’souter edge, Republic jets lie parked,manned, and ready. “But we’re not Re-public soldiers. If they can hit us witha surprise attack, then so can we.”

Pascao and I are dressed exactlyalike, in black from head to toe, withmasks pulled over our faces. If it wer-en’t for a little height difference, Idon’t think anyone would be able totell us apart.

“You two ready?” Pascao muttersinto his mike to our Hackers. Then heglances at me and gives a thumbs-upsignal. If they’re in place, then thatmeans Tess is in place too. Stay safe.

We make our way down to theground and then let several Republicsoldiers guide us around to a small,discreet underground passage. It leadsoutside the Armor and into dangerous

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territory. The soldiers nod a silent“good luck” to us before retreatingback inside. I hope to hell this allworks.

I look out at the field where Colon-ies jets are parked. When I first turnedfifteen, I had set fire to a series of tenbrand-new F-472 Republic fighter jetsparked at the Burbank air force basein Los Angeles. It was the first stuntthat landed me at the top of the mostwanted list, and one of the crimesJune herself actually made me confessto when I’d been arrested. I did it byfirst stealing gallons of highly explos-ive blue nitroglide from air forcebases, then pouring the liquid into thejets’ exhaust nozzles and across thetail end of the jets. The instant theirengines turned on, their tails explodedinto flames.

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The memory comes back to me insharp focus. The design of the Colon-ies jets looks different, with theirstrange, forward-swept wings, but atthe end of the day they’re still just ma-chines. And this time, I’m not workingalone. I’ve got the Republic’s support.Most importantly, I’ve got theirexplosives.

“Ready to make your move?” Iwhisper to Pascao. “Got your bombs?”

“You think I’d forget to bringbombs? You should know me betterthan that.” Pascao’s voice turns taunt-ing. “Day—no bull this time. Got it,pretty boy? If you suddenly think youwanna go rogue, you sure as hell bet-ter tell me first. Then at least I’ll havetime to sock you in the face.”

I smile a little at the jab. “Yes, sir.”Our outfits blend us into the shad-

ows. We creep forward without a

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sound, until we’re past the short dis-tance where the Armor’s guns couldprotect us from the ground. Now we’reout of range, and the Colonies’ make-shift airfield looks within reach. Theirsoldiers stand guard along the edges ofthe field. Not far away are a couplerows of tanks. Their airships mightnot be here, but there sure as hell areenough war machines to start up an-other battle.

Pascao and I crouch behind a pileof rubble near the airfield. All I cansee in this light is his silhouette. Henods his head once before whisperingsomething into his mike.

We wait for a few tense seconds.Then the JumboTrons that line theouter edges of the Armor light up inunison. Displayed across the screensis a Republic flag, and over the city’sloudspeakers, the pledge blares out

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across the night. The whole thinglooks exactly like one of the Republic’stypical propaganda reels—the Jum-boTrons start displaying genericvideos of patriotic soldiers and civil-ians, war victories and prosperousstreets. At the airfield, the soldiers’ at-tention shifts to the JumboTrons’ feed.At first they look alert and wary, but asthe reel continues for a few secondslonger, the Colonies soldiers relax.

Good. They think the Republic’sjust broadcasting morale-boostingvideo. Nothing weird enough to putthe Colonies on high alert, butsomething entertaining enough tohold their interest. I pick out an areawhere the soldiers are all watching theJumboTrons, then nod at Pascao. Hemotions at me. My turn to head out.

I squint harder to see where I cansqueeze onto the airfield. There are

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four Colonies soldiers here, all ofthem focused on the broadcast; a sol-dier dressed like a pilot is the farthestaway and has his back to me, and fromhere it looks like he’s making fun ofthe broadcast with a pal of his. I waituntil all of the guards are looking awayfrom where I am. Then I scamper overthe edge without a sound and hide be-hind the closest jet’s back landingwheel. I tuck myself into a tight ball,letting my black outfit blend me inwith the shadows.

One of the guards looks casuallyover his shoulder toward the jet.When he doesn’t see anything interest-ing, though, he returns to surveyingthe Armor.

I wait for a few more seconds. ThenI adjust my backpack and climb up in-side the jet’s exhaust nozzle. My heartpounds with anticipation at the déjà

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vu this gives me. I waste no timenow—I pull a small metal cube out ofmy pack and attach it firmly to the in-side of the nozzle. Its display panelgives off a very faint red glow, so dim Ican barely see it. I make sure it’s se-cure, and then shift to the edge of thenozzle. We won’t have much longer be-fore the guards lose interest in ourlittle propaganda distraction. Whenthe coast’s clear, I hop out of thenozzle. My cushioned boots landwithout a sound. I melt back into theshadows cast by the jet’s landing gear,watch for guards, and move to the nextrow of jets. Pascao should be doing theexact same work on the other side ofthe field. If this all goes down asplanned, then one explosive per rowshould do plenty of damage.

By the time I make my way to thethird row of jets and finish my work

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there, I’m soaked in sweat. Off in thedistance, the JumboTrons’ propa-ganda keeps running, but I can tellthat some of the guards have alreadylost interest. Time to get out of here. Ilower myself silently toward theground again, dangle there in theshadows, and then pick the right mo-ment to drop and rush toward thedarkness.

Except it wasn’t really the right mo-ment. One of my hands slips and themetal edge of the exhaust nozzle slicesmy palm open. My weakened bodydoesn’t land perfectly—I let out agrunt of pain and move too slowly intothe landing gear’s shadows. A guardspots me. Before I can stop him, hiseyes widen and he lifts his gun at me.

He hasn’t even had a chance toshout out when a shining knife comesflying out of the darkness and sinks

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itself in the soldier’s neck. I watch foran instant, horrified. Pascao. I know itwas him, saving my ass while drawingattention to himself. Already a coupleof shouts have gone up on the otherside of the airfield. He’s pulling theirfocus away from me. I seize the oppor-tunity, racing into the relative safety ofthe land outside the airfield.

I click my mike on and call Pascao.“Are you safe?” I whisper urgently.

“Safe as you, pretty boy,” he hissesback, the sounds of heavy breathingand footsteps loud in my earpiece.“Just got out of the airfield’s range.Give Frankie the okay—I gotta shaketwo more off my tail.” He hangs up.

I contact Frankie. “We’re ready,” Itell her. “Let ’em go.”

“You got it,” Frankie answers. TheJumboTrons suddenly stop their reeland go dark—the sound blasting

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across the city cuts short, plunging usall into an eerie silence. Colonies sol-diers who’d probably been pursuingPascao now look up at the blank Jum-boTrons in bewilderment, along withthe others.

A few seconds of silence pass.Then a bright, blinding explosion

rips apart the center of the airfield. Isteady myself. When I look back at thefirst line of soldiers on the street, I seethem knocked off their feet and pick-ing themselves slowly up in a daze.Sparks of electricity fill the air, jump-ing frantically back and forth betweenthe jets. Soldiers farther down thestreet point their guns up at the build-ings, firing randomly—but the onesalong the front line discover that theirguns no longer work. I keep runningback toward the Armor.

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Another explosion rocks the samearea and an enormous golden haze en-gulfs everything in sight. Shouts ofpanic rise from the Colonies troops.They can’t see what’s happening, but Iknow that right now each bomb we’dplanted is destroying the rows of jets,both crippling them and temporarilydisabling the magnets in their guns.Some of them pull out their guns andfire randomly into the darkness, as ifRepublic soldiers are lying in wait. Iguess they’re not entirely wrong. Righton cue, the Republic jets along the Ar-mor take off into the sky. Their roarsdeafen me.

I switch my mike back to Frankie.“How are the evacuations going?”

“As smoothly as possible,” shereplies. “Probably two more waves ofpeople left. Ready for your bigmoment?”

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“Go for it,” I whisper back.The JumboTrons flare to life. This

time, though, they’re displaying mypainted face on all of their screens. Aprerecorded video we made. I smilewidely for the Colonies, even as theyscramble to what jets they still have,and in this instant, I feel like I’m look-ing into the face of a stranger, a facethat’s unfamiliar and terrifying behindits wide black stripe. For a moment, Ican’t even remember recording thisvideo in the first place. The thoughtmakes me scramble for the memory ina panic, until I finally recall it andbreathe a sigh of relief. “My name isDay,” my JumboTron video self says,“and I’m fighting for the Republic’speople. If I were you, I’d be a littlemore careful.”

Frankie cuts my feed again. Over-head, the Republic’s jets scream

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across the sky—I see orange fireballslight up the airfield. With our stuntand half their jets gone, and the ad-vantage of surprise, the Colonies sol-diers scramble for a retreat. I bet thecalls going back to their command areflying fast and furious now.

Frankie comes back online. Shesounds elated. “The Republic’s troopshave gotten wind of our success,” shesays. In the background, I hear—to myrelief—Pascao’s line click on too. “Nicejob, Runners. Gioro and Baxter arealready on their way.” She sounds dis-tracted. “We’re heading back in now.Gimme a few seconds, and we’ll be—”

She cuts off. I blink, surprised.“Frankie?” I say, reconnecting to her.Nothing. All I hear is static.

“Where’d she go?” Pascao saysthrough the white noise. “Did she gooffline for you too?”

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“Yeah.” I scramble onward, tryingnot to think the worst. The safety ofthe Armor isn’t far away—I can makeout the tiny side entrance we’re sup-posed to return through—and here, inthe midst of all the chaos, I see severalRepublic soldiers rushing through thedust to face off against any Coloniestroops that might have followed us.Just a few yards from the door now.

A bullet sparks past me, narrowlymissing my ear. Then I hear a screamthat makes my blood run cold. When Iwhirl around, I see Tess and Frankierunning behind me. They’re leaningon each other. Behind them must befive or six Colonies soldiers. I freeze,then quickly change course. I yank aknife from my belt and throw it at thesoldiers as hard as I can. It catchesone of them clean in the side—hedrops to his knees. The others notice

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me. Tess and Frankie barely make it tothe door. I dash toward them. Behindme, the soldiers hoist their guns.

Just as Tess pushes Frankiethrough the entrance, a soldier stepsout of the shadows near the door. I re-cognize him instantly. It’s Thomas, agun dangling from one hand.

His eyes are fixed on Tess and me,and his expression is dark, deadly, andfurious. For an instant, the worldseems to go silent. I glance at his gun.He hoists it. No. Instinctively, I movetoward Tess, shielding her with mybody. He’s going to kill us.

But even as this thought racesthrough my mind, Thomas turns hisback on us, facing the oncoming Co-lonies soldiers instead. His handquivers with rage and tightens on thegun. Shock pulses through me, butthere’s no time to think about that

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now. “Go,” I urge Tess. We stumblethrough the side door.

In that same moment, Thomasraises his gun—he fires one shot, thenanother, then another. He lets out abloodcurdling yell as each bullethurtles toward the enemy troops. Ittakes me a second to make out whathe’s screaming.

“Long live the Elector! Long live theRepublic!”

He manages six shots before theColonies soldiers return fire. I hugTess to my chest, then cover her eyes.She lets out a cry of protest. “Don’tlook,” I whisper in her ear. At thatvery moment, I see Thomas’s headsnap violently back and his entirebody go limp. An image of my motherflashes before my eyes.

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Shot through the head. He’s beenshot through the head. Death by firingsquad.

The blast makes Tess jump—she ut-ters a strangled sob behind my shield-ing hands. The door swings shut.

Pascao greets us the instant we’resafely through. He’s covered head totoe in dust, but he still has a half grinon his face. “The final evacuation waveis waiting for us,” he says, nodding to-ward two parked jeeps ready to take usback to the bunker. Republic soldiershave already started toward us, butbefore any of us can feel relieved, I no-tice that Frankie has collapsed to theground and Tess is hovering over her.Pascao’s half grin vanishes. As sol-diers seal off the side entrance, wegather around Frankie. Tess pulls outa kit of supplies. Frankie has started toconvulse.

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Her coat’s stripped completely off,revealing a blood-soaked shirt be-neath. Her eyes are open wide inshock, and she’s struggling to breathe.

“She was shot as we were gettingaway,” Tess says as she tears away thecloth of Frankie’s shirt. Sweat beadsalong her brow. “Three or four times.”Her trembling hands fly acrossFrankie’s body, scattering powder andpressing ointment into the wounds.When she’s done, she yanks out a thickwad of bandages.

“She’s not gonna make it,” Pascaomutters to Tess as she pushes him outof the way and pushes firmly down onone of Frankie’s gushing wounds. “Wehave to move. Now.”

Tess wipes her brow. “Just give meanother minute,” she insists throughgritted teeth. “We have to control thebleeding.”

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Pascao starts to protest, but I si-lence him with a dangerous look. “Lether do it.” Then I kneel beside Tess,my eyes helplessly drawn to Frankie’spitiful figure. I can tell that she’s notgoing to make it. “I’ll do whatever yousay,” I murmur to Tess. “Let us help.”

“Keep pressure on her wounds,”Tess replies, waving a hand at thebandages that are already more redthan white. She rushes to make apoultice.

Frankie’s eyelids flutter. Shechokes out a strangled cry, then man-ages to look up at us. “You’ve—got—togo. The Colonies—they’re—coming—”

It takes a whole minute for her todie. Tess keeps applying meds for awhile longer, until I finally put a handover hers to stop her. I look up at Pas-cao. One of the Republic soldiers ap-proaches us again and gives us a stern

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frown. “This is your final warning,” hesays, gesturing toward the open doorsof two jeeps. “We’re heading out.”

“Go,” I tell Pascao. “We’ll take thejeep right behind you.”

Pascao hesitates for a second,stricken at the sight of Frankie, butthen hops to his feet and disappearsinto the first jeep. It tears away, leav-ing a cloud of dust in its wake.

“Come on,” I urge Tess, who stayshunched over Frankie’s lifeless body.On the other side of the Armor, thesounds of battle rage. “We have to go.”

Tess wrenches free of my grasp andflings her roll of bandages hard at thewall. Then she turns to look back atFrankie’s ashen face. I stand up, for-cing Tess to do the same. My bloodyhand leaves prints on her arm. Sol-diers grab both of us and lead us to-ward the remaining jeep. As we finally

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make our way inside, Tess turns hereyes up to mine. They’re brimmingwith tears, and the sight of her an-guish breaks my heart. We pull awayfrom the Armor as soldiers loadFrankie onto a truck. Then we turn acorner and speed toward the bunker.

By the time we arrive, Pascao’s jeephas already unloaded and they’veheaded down to the train. The soldiersare tense. As they clear us past thebunker entrance’s chain-link fence,another explosion from the Armorsends tremors through the ground. Asif in a dream, we rush down the metalstaircase and through the corridorsflooded with dim red lights, the soundof pounding boots echoing dully fromoutside. Farther and farther down wego, until we finally reach the bunkerand make our way onto the waitingtrain. Soldiers pull us on board.

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As the subway flares to life and wepull away from the bunker, a series ofexplosions reverberate through thespace, nearly knocking us off our feet.Tess clings to me. As I hold her close,the tunnel behind us collapses, encas-ing us in darkness. We speed along.Echoes of the explosions ring throughthe earth.

My headache flares up.Pascao tries to say something to

me, but I can no longer hear him. Ican’t hear anything. The world aroundme dulls into grays, and I feel myselfspinning. Where are we again? Some-where, Tess screams out myname—but I don’t know what she saysafter that, because I lose myself in anocean of pain and collapse intoblackness.

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2100 HOURS.

ROOM 3323, LEVEL INFINITY HOTEL, ROSS

CITY.

ALL OF US HAVE SETTLED INTO OUR

INDIVIDUAL HOTEL rooms. Ollie’s resting atthe foot of my bed, completely knocked outafter an exhausting day. I can’t imagine fall-ing asleep, though. After a while, I get upquietly, leave three treats for Ollie near thedoor, and step out. I wander the halls withmy virtual glasses tucked into my pocket, re-lieved to see the world as it really is againwithout the onslaught of hovering numbersand words. I don’t know where I’m going,but eventually I end up two floors higher andnot far from Anden’s room. It’s quieter up

here. Anden might be the only one staying onthis floor, along with a few guards.

As I go, I pass a door that leads into alarge chamber that must be some public,central room on this floor. I turn back andpeer inside. The place looks whitewashed,probably because I don’t have my virtualglasses on and can’t see all the simulations;the room is partitioned into a series of tallcylinder-like booths, each one a circle of tall,transparent slabs of glass. Interesting. I haveone of those cylinder booths in a corner ofmy hotel room, although I haven’t botheredtrying it yet. I look around the hall, thenpush gingerly on the door. It slides openwithout a sound.

I step inside and as soon as the doorslides shut behind me, the room declaressomething in Antarctican that I can’t under-stand. I take my virtual glasses out of mypocket and put them on. Automatically, theroom’s voice brightens and repeats her

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phrase, this time in English. “Welcome to thesimulation room, June Iparis.” I see my vir-tual score go up by ten points, congratulatingme for using a simulation room for the veryfirst time. Just as I suspected, the room nowlooks bright and full of colors, and the glasswalls of the cylindrical rooms have all sortsof moving displays on them.

Your access to the portal away fromhome! one panel says. Use in conjunctionwith your virtual glasses for a fully immers-ive experience. Behind the text is a lushvideo depicting what look like beautifulscenes from around the world. I wonderwhether their portal is their way of connect-ing to the Internet. Suddenly, my interestpiques. I’ve never browsed the Internet out-side of the Republic, never seen the world forwhat it was without the Republic’s masksand filters. I approach one of the glass cylin-der booths and step inside. The glass aroundme lights up.

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“Hello, June,” it says. “What can I find foryou?”

What should I look up? I decide to try outthe first thing that pops into my head. I hes-itantly reply, wondering whether it’ll justread my voice. “Daniel Altan Wing,” I say.How much does the rest of the world knowabout Day?

Suddenly everything around me vanishes.Instead, I’m standing in a white circle withhundreds—thousands—of hovering rectan-gular screens all around me, each onecovered with images and videos and text. Atfirst I don’t know what to do, so I just staywhere I am, staring in wonder at the imagesall around me. Each screen has different infoon Day. Many of them are news articles. Theone closest to me is playing an old video ofDay standing on top of the Capitol Towerbalcony, rousing the people to supportAnden. When I look at it long enough (threeseconds), a voice starts talking. “In this

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video, Daniel Altan Wing—also known asDay—gives his support to the Republic’s newElector and prevents a national uprising.Source: The Republic of America’s publicarchives. See whole article?”

My eyes flicker to another screen, and thevoice from the first screen fades. This secondscreen comes to life as I look on, playing avideo interviewing some girl I don’t know,with light brown skin and pale hazel eyes.She sports a scarlet streak in her hair. Shesays, “I’ve lived in Nairobi for the past fiveyears, but we’d never heard of him untilvideos of his strikes against the R-oh-A star-ted popping up online. Now I belong to aclub—” The video pauses there, and the samesoothing voice from earlier says, “Source:Kenya Broadcasting Corporation. See wholevideo?”

I take a careful step forward. Each time Imove, the rectangular screens rearrangearound me to showcase the next circle of

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images for me to peruse. Images of Day popup from when he and I were still working forthe Patriots—I see one blurry image of Daylooking over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips.It makes me blush, so I quickly glance away.I look through two more rounds of them,then decide to change my search. This time Isearch for something I’ve always been curi-ous about. “The United States of America,” Isay.

The screens with videos and images ofDay vanish, leaving me strangely disappoin-ted. A new set of screens flip up around me,and I can almost feel a slight breeze as theyshift into place. The first thing that pops upis an image that I instantly recognize as thefull flag that the Patriots both use and basetheir symbol on. The voiceover says, “Theflag of the former United States of America.Source: Wikiversity, the Free Academy. Un-ited States History One-oh-two, Grade

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Eleven. See full entry? For textual version,say ‘Text.’”

“See full entry,” I say. The screen zoomsin toward me, engulfing me in its contents. Iblink, momentarily thrown off by the rushingimages. When I open my eyes again, I nearlystumble. I’m hovering in the sky over a land-scape that looks both familiar and strange.The outline of it appears to be some versionof North America, except there’s no lakestretching from Los Angeles to San Fran-cisco, and the Colonies’ territory looks muchlarger than I remember. Clouds float by be-low my feet. When I reach a hesitant footdown, I smudge part of the clouds and canactually feel the cool air whistling beneathmy shoes.

The voiceover begins. “The United Statesof America—also known as the USA, the Un-ited States, the US, America, and theStates—was a prominent country in NorthAmerica composed of fifty states held

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together as a federal constitutional republic.It first declared independence from Englandon July 4, 1776, and became recognized onSeptember 3, 1783. The United States unoffi-cially split into two countries on October 1,2054 and officially became the western Re-public of America and the eastern Coloniesof America on March 14, 2055.”

Here the voiceover pauses, then shifts.“Skip to a subtopic? Popular subtopics: theThree-Year Flood, the Flood of 2046, the Re-public of America, the Colonies of America.”

A series of bright blue markers appearover the west and east coasts of North Amer-ica. I stare at them for a moment, my heartpounding, before I reach out and try to toucha marker near the southern coastline of theColonies. To my surprise, I can feel the tex-ture of the landscape under my finger. “TheColonies of America,” I say.

The world rushes up at me with dizzyingspeed. I’m now standing on what feels like

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solid ground, and all around me are thou-sands of people huddled together in make-shift shelters in a flooded cityscape, whilehundreds are launching an all-out attackagainst soldiers decked out in uniforms Idon’t recognize. Behind the soldiers arecrates and sacks of what look like rations.

“Unlike the Republic of America,” thevoiceover starts, “where the government en-forced rule through martial law in order tocrack down on the influx of refugees into itsborders, the Colonies of America formed onMarch 14, 2055 after corporations seizedcontrol of the federal government (theformer United States, see higher index) fol-lowing the latter’s failure to handle debt ac-cumulated from the Flood of 2046.” I take afew steps forward—it’s as if I’m right here inthe middle of the scene, standing just a fewdozen feet from where the people are rioting.My surroundings look shaky and pixelated,as if rendered from someone’s personal

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videos. “In this civilian recording, the city ofAtlanta stages a fifteen-day riot against theUnited States Federal Emergency Manage-ment Agency. Similar riots appeared in alleastern cities over the course of threemonths, after which the cities declared loy-alty to the military corporation DesCon,which possessed funds the beleaguered gov-ernment did not.”

The scene blurs and clears, placing me inthe center of an enormous campus full ofbuildings, each displaying a symbol I recog-nize as the DesCon logo. “Along with twelveother corporations, DesCon contributed itsfunds to aid the civilians. By early 2058, theUnited States government ceased to exist al-together in the east and was replaced withthe Colonies of America, formed by a coali-tion of the country’s top thirteen corpora-tions and bolstered by their joint profits.After a series of mergers, the Colonies ofAmerica now consists of four ruling

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corporations: DesCon, Cloud, Meditech, andEvergreen. Skip to a specific corporation?”

I stay silent, watching the rest of the im-mersive video unfold until it finally pauseson the last frame, an unsettling image of adesperate civilian shielding his face from asoldier’s hoisted gun. Then I remove my vir-tual glasses, rub my eyes, and step out of thenow-blank and sterile-looking glass cylinder.My footsteps echo in the empty chamber. Ifeel dizzy and numb from the sudden lack ofmoving images.

How can two countries with such radic-ally different philosophies ever reunite?What hope do we possibly have of transform-ing the Republic and the Colonies into whatthey once were? Or perhaps they’re not asdrastically different as I think they are.Aren’t the Colonies’ corporations and the Re-public’s government really the same thing?Absolute power is absolute power, no matterwhat it’s called. Isn’t it?

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I exit the chamber, lost in thought, and asI turn the corner to head to my room, I al-most bump right into Anden.

“June?” he blurts out when he sees me.His wavy hair is slightly disheveled, as if he’sbeen raking his hands through it, and hiscollar shirt is crumpled, his sleeves rolled upto his elbows and the buttons near his neckundone. He manages to compose himselfenough to offer me a smile and a bow. “Whatare you doing up here?”

“Just exploring.” I return his smile. I’mtoo tired to mention all my online research.“I’m not sure what I’m doing here, to behonest.”

Anden laughs softly. “Me either. I’ve beenwandering the halls for over an hour.” Wepause for a moment. Then he turns back inthe direction of his suite and gives me aquestioning look. “The Antarcticans won’thelp us, but they’ve been kind enough tosend a bottle of their best wine up to my

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room. Care to have a sip? I could use somecompany—and some advice.”

Advice from his lowliest Princeps-Elect? Ifall into step with him, all too aware of thecloseness between us. “How very polite ofthem,” I reply.

“Exceedingly polite,” he murmurs underhis breath so that I can barely hear him.“Next they’ll be throwing us a parade.”

Anden’s suite is nicer, of course, than myown—at least the Antarcticans did him thatcourtesy. A curved glass window runs alonghalf of the wall, giving us a breathtaking viewof Ross City engulfed in thousands of twink-ling lights. The Antarcticans must be simu-lating this nightfall too, considering how it’ssupposed to be summer down here—but thesimulation seems flawless. I think back onthe dome-like film we passed through as wedescended into the city. Maybe it acts like agiant screen too. Streaks dance quietly acrossthe sky in sheets of breathtaking color,

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turquoise and magenta and gold, all of themswirling together and vanishing and re-appearing against a backdrop of stars. I catchmy breath. Must be imitating the aurora aus-tralis. I’d read about these southern lightsduring our weekly lessons, although I hadn’texpected them to look this beautiful, simula-tion or not.

“Nice view,” I say.Anden grins wryly, a small spark of

amusement shining through his otherwiseweary mood. “The useless advantages of be-ing the Republic’s Elector,” he replies. “I’vebeen reassured that we can see through thisglass, but that no one from outside can seeus. Then again, perhaps they’re just messingwith me.”

We settle into soft chairs near the win-dow. Anden pours us both glasses of wine.“One of the accused guards confessed aboutCommander Jameson,” he says as he hands aglass to me. “Republic soldiers unhappy with

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my rule, paid off by the Colonies. The Colon-ies is taking advantage of CommanderJameson’s knowledge of our military. Shemight even still be within our borders.”

I sip my wine numbly. So, it was all true.I desperately wish I could go back in time towhen I’d visited Thomas in his cell, that Icould have noticed the unusual setup intime. And she could still be within our bor-ders. Where is Thomas?

“Rest assured,” Anden says when he seesmy expression, “that we’re doing everythingwe can to find her.”

Everything we can might not be enough.Not with our attention and soldiers spreadout so thin, trying to fight a war on so manysides. “What do we do now?”

“We return to the Republic tomorrowmorning,” he replies. “That’s what we do.And we’ll push the Colonies back without theAntarcticans’ help.”

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“Are you really going to give up some ofour land to them?” I ask after a pause.

Anden swirls the wine in his glass beforetaking a sip. “I haven’t turned them downyet,” he says. I can hear the disgust with him-self in his voice. His father must’ve seen sucha move as the ultimate betrayal of hiscountry.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, unsure how toconsole him.

“I’m sorry too. The good news is I’ve re-ceived word that Day and his brother haveboth successfully evacuated to Los Angeles.”He exhales a long breath. “I don’t want toforce him into anything, but I might be run-ning out of options. He’s keeping his word,you know. He’d agreed to help us in any wayhe could, short of giving up his brother. He’strying to help, in the hopes that it’ll guilt meout of asking for Eden. I wish we’d broughthim. I wish he could see the situation frommy point of view.” He looks down.

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My heart squeezes again at the thought ofDay being killed in action, and settles in re-lief at the news that he has survived un-scathed. “What if we persuade the Antarctic-ans to take Day in for his treatment? It mightbe his only chance at surviving his illness,and it might at least make him consider therisk of letting Eden undergoexperimentation.”

Anden shakes his head. “We have nothingto bargain with. Antarctica has offered asmuch help to us as they’re willing. Theywon’t trouble themselves with taking in oneof our patients.”

Deep down, I know this too. It’s just a fi-nal, desperate idea from me. I understand, aswell as he does, that Day would never handover his brother in exchange for saving hisown life. My eyes wander back to the displayof light outside.

“I don’t blame him, not at all,” Andensays after a pause. “I should have stopped

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those bioweapons the instant they named meElector. The very same day my father died. IfI were smart, that’s what I would’ve done.But it’s too late to dwell on that now. Day hasevery right to refuse.”

I feel a swell of sympathy for him. If heforcefully takes Eden into custody, Day willno doubt call the people to rise up in revolt.If he respects Day’s decision, he risks notfinding a cure in time and allowing the Co-lonies to take over our capital—and ourcountry. If he hands over a piece of our landto Antarctica, the people may see him as atraitor. And if our ports are sealed, we won’tbe receiving any imports or supplies at all.

And yet, I can’t blame Day either. I try toput myself in his shoes. The Republic tries tokill me as a ten-year-old; they experiment onme before I escape. I live the next few yearsin the harshest slums of Los Angeles. I watchthe Republic poison my family, kill my moth-er and older brother, and blind my younger

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brother with their engineered plagues. Be-cause of the Republic’s experiments, I’mslowly dying. And now, after all the lies andcruelty, the Republic approaches me, beg-ging for my help. Begging for me to allowthem to experiment once again on myyounger brother, experiments that can’tguarantee his absolute safety. What would Isay? I would probably refuse, just as he did.It’s true that my own family suffered horriblefates at the hands of the Republic . . . but Dayhad been on the front lines, watchingeverything unfold from the time he wassmall. It’s a miracle that Day had given hissupport to Anden in the first place.

Anden and I sip wine for four moreminutes, watching the city lights in silence.

“I envy Day, you know,” he says, his voiceas soft as ever. “I’m jealous that he gets tomake decisions with his heart. Every choicehe makes is honest, and the people love himfor it. He can afford to use his heart.” His

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face darkens. “But the world outside of theRepublic is so much more complicated.There’s just no room for emotion, is there?All of our countries’ relations are held to-gether with a fragile web of diplomaticthreads, and these threads are what preventus from helping one another.”

Something’s broken in his voice. “There’sno room for emotion on the political stage,” Ireply, putting my wineglass down. I’m notsure if I’m helping, but the words come outanyway. I don’t even know if I believe them.“When emotion fails, logic will save you. Youmight envy Day, but you’ll never be him andhe’ll never be you. He isn’t the Republic’sElector. He’s a boy protecting his brother.You are a politician. You have to make de-cisions that break your heart, that hurt anddeceive, that no one else will understand. It’syour duty.” Even as I say this, though, I feelthe doubt in the back of my mind, the seedsthat Day has planted.

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Without emotion, what’s the point of be-ing human?

Anden’s eyes are heavy with sadness. Heslouches, and for a moment I can see him ashe really is, a young ruler standing aloneagainst a tide of opposition and attemptingto bear the burden of his country on his ownshoulders, with a Senate cooperating onlyout of fear. “I miss my father sometimes,” hesays. “I know I shouldn’t admit that, but it’strue. I know the rest of the world sees him asa monster.” He puts his wineglass down onthe side table, then buries his head in hishands and rubs his face once.

My heart aches for him. At least I cangrieve for my brother without fear of others’hatred. What must it be like to know that theparent you once loved was responsible forsuch evil acts?

“Don’t feel guilty for your grief,” I saysoftly. “He was still your father.”

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His gaze comes to rest on me, and as ifpulled by some invisible hand, he leans for-ward. He wavers there, hovering precari-ously between desire and reason. He is soclose now, close enough that if I were tomove even a little, our lips might brushagainst each other. I feel his breath faintlyagainst my skin, the warmth of his nearness,the quiet gentleness of his love. In this mo-ment, I feel myself drawn to him.

“June . . . ,” he whispers. His eyes danceacross my face.

Then he touches my chin with one hand,coaxes me forward, and kisses me.

I close my eyes. I should stop him, but Idon’t want to. There is something electrify-ing about the bare passion in the youngElector of the Republic, the way he leans intome, his desire exposed even beneath his un-failing politeness. How he opens his heart forno one but me. How in spite of everythingworking against him, he still has the strength

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to step out every day with his chin up and hisback straight. How he soldiers on, for thesake of his country. As do we all. I let myselfsuccumb. He breaks away from my lips tokiss my cheek. Then the soft line of my jaw,right under my ear. Then my neck, just thesoftest whisper of a touch. A shiver sweepsthrough me. I can feel him holding back, andI know that what he really wants to do is tolace his fingers through my hair and drownhimself in me.

But he doesn’t. He knows, as much as Ido, that this isn’t real.

I have to stop. And with a pained effort, Ipull away. I struggle to catch my breath. “I’msorry,” I whisper. “I can’t.”

Anden looks down, embarrassed. But notsurprised. His cheeks flush a faint pink in thedim light of the room, and he runs a handthrough his hair. “I shouldn’t have donethat,” he murmurs. We fall silent for a fewuncomfortable seconds, until Anden sighs

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and leans all the way back. I slouch a little,both disappointed and relieved. “I . . . knowyou care deeply for Day. I know I can’t hopeto compete with that.” He grimaces. “Thatwas inappropriate of me. My apologies,June.”

I have a fleeting urge to kiss him again, totell him that I do care, and to erase the painand shame on his face that tugs at my heart.But I also know I don’t love him, and I can’tlead him on like this. I know the real reasonwe went so far is that I couldn’t bear to turnhim away in his darkest moment. That Iwished, deep down . . . he were someoneelse. The truth fills me with guilt. “I shouldgo,” I say sadly.

Anden moves farther from me. He seemsmore alone than ever. Still, he composeshimself and bows his head respectfully. Hismoment of weakness has passed, and hisusual politeness takes over. As always, hehides his pain well. Then he stands up and

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holds a hand out to me. “I’ll walk you back toyour room. Get some rest—we’ll leave in theearly morning.”

I stand too, but I don’t take his hand. “It’sfine. I can find my own way back.” I avoidmeeting his eyes; I don’t want to see howeverything I say only hurts him more. Then Iturn toward the door and leave him behind.

Ollie greets me with a wagging tail when Ireturn to my room. After a petting session, Idecide to try out the Internet portal in myroom while he curls up nearby and fallspromptly asleep. I run a search on Anden, aswell as on his father. My room’s portal is asimplified version of the portals I used earli-er, without interactive textures and immers-ive sounds attached, but it’s still miles bey-ond anything I’ve seen in the Republic. I siftquietly through the search results. Most arestaged photos and propaganda videos that Irecognize—Anden having his portrait doneas a young boy, the former Elector standing

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in front of Anden at official press events andmeetings. Even the international communityseems to have little information on the rela-tionship between father and son. But thedeeper I dig, the more I stumble across mo-ments of something surprisingly genuine. Isee a video of Anden as a four-year-old, hold-ing his salute with a solemn young face whilehis father patiently shows him how. I find aphoto of the late Elector holding a crying,frightened Anden in his arms and whisperingsomething into his ear, oblivious to thecrowd that surrounds them. I see a clip ofhim angrily shoving the international pressaway from his small son, of him clutchingAnden’s hand so tightly that his knuckleshave turned white. I stumble across a rareinterview between him and a reporter fromAfrica, who asks him what he cares about themost in the Republic.

“My son,” the late Elector answerswithout hesitation. His expression never

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softens, but the edges of his voice shiftslightly. “My son will always be everything tome, because someday he will be everythingto the Republic.” He pauses for a second tosmile at the reporter. Inside that smile, Ithink I see glimpses of a different man whoonce existed. “My son . . . reminds me.”

* * *

We had initially planned to return to the cap-ital the next morning—but the news comesjust as we board our jet in Ross City. Itcomes earlier than we thought it would.

Denver has fallen to the Colonies.

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“DAY. WE’RE HERE.”I open my eyes groggily to the

gentle sound of Tess’s voice. Shesmiles down at me. There’s pressureon my head, and when I reach up totouch my hair, I realize that bandagesare wrapped around my forehead. Mycut hand is also now covered in cleanwhite linen. It takes me anothersecond to notice that I’m sitting in awheelchair.

“Oh, come on,” I immediately blurtout. “A goddy wheelchair?” My headfeels foggy and light, the familiar sen-sation of coming off a dose of paink-illers. “Where are we? What happenedto me?”

“You’ll probably need to stop at ahospital when we get off the train.They think all the commotiontriggered a bad response in you.” Tesswalks beside me as some soldierpushes me down the length of thetrain car. Up ahead, I see Pascao andthe other Patriots getting off the train.“We’re in Los Angeles. We’re backhome.”

“Where are Eden and Lucy?” I ask.“Do you know?”

“They’ve already settled into yourtemporary apartment in Ruby sector,”Tess replies. She’s quiet for a second.“Guess a gem sector’s your homenow.”

Home. I fall silent as we exit thetrain and stream out onto the platformwith the other soldiers. Los Angelesfeels as warm as ever, a typical hazyday in late fall, and the yellowish light

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makes me squint. The wheelchair feelsso foreign and annoying. I have a sud-den urge to bolt out of it and kick itonto the tracks. I am a Runner—I’mnot supposed to be stuck in thiscracked thing. Another bad response,this time triggered by commotion? Igrit my teeth at how weak I’ve become.The doctor’s last prognosis haunts me.A month, maybe two. The frequencyof severe headaches has definitelybeen increasing.

The soldiers help me into a jeep.Before we leave, Tess reaches throughmy open car window and gives me aquick hug. The sudden warmth fromher startles me. All I can do is hug herback, savoring the brief moment. Westare at each other until the jeep fi-nally pulls away from the station andTess’s figure disappears around abend. Even then, I keep turning

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around in my seat to see if I can spother.

We stop at an intersection. As wewait for a group of evacuees to cross infront of our jeep, I study the streets ofdowntown Los Angeles. Some thingsappear unchanged: Lines of soldiersbark orders at unruly refugees; othercivilians stand on the sidelines andprotest the influx of new people; theJumboTrons continue to flash encour-aging messages of the Republic’s so-called victories on the warfront, re-minding people: Don’t let the Coloniesconquer your home! Support thecause!

My conversation with Eden replaysin my mind.

I blink, then look closer at thestreets. This time, the scenes I’dthought were familiar take on newcontext. The lines of soldiers barking

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orders are actually handing out ra-tions to the new refugees. The civiliansprotesting the new people are actuallybeing allowed to protest—soldierslook on, but their guns stay tuckedaway at their belts. And the Jum-boTrons’ propaganda, once imagesthat looked so ominous to me, nowseem like messages of optimism, abroadcast of hope in dark times, a des-perate attempt to keep people’s spiritsup. Not far from where our jeep’sstopped, I see a crowd of childrenevacuees surrounding a young soldier.He’s knelt to their eye level, and in hishands is some sort of puppet toy thathe’s now using animatedly to tell thekids a story. I roll my window down.His voice is clear and upbeat. Now andthen, the children laugh, their fear andconfusion momentarily held at bay.

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Nearby, the parents look on with facesboth exhausted and grateful.

The people and the Republic . . . areworking together.

I frown at the unfamiliar thought.There’s no question that the Republichas done some horrible things to usall, that they might still be doing thosethings. But . . . maybe I’ve also beenseeing the things I want to see. Maybenow that the old Elector is gone, theRepublic’s soldiers have started toshed their masks too. Maybe theyreally are following Anden’s lead.

The jeep takes me first to see theapartment where Eden’s staying. Herushes out to greet me when we pullup, all unhappiness from our previousargument gone. “They said you causeda bunch of trouble out there,” he saysas he and Lucy join me in the jeep. Adisapproving look creeps onto his

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face. “Don’t ever scare me like thatagain.”

I give him a wry smile and ruffle hishair. “Now you know how I feel aboutyour decision.”

By the time we end up outside theLos Angeles Central Hospital, word ofour arrival has spread like wildfireand a huge crowd is waiting for myjeep. They’re screaming, crying, chant-ing—and it takes two patrols of sol-diers to form enough of a walkway forthem to usher us inside the hospital. Istare numbly at the people as I passby. A lot of them have the scarletstreak in their hair, while others holdup signs. They shout out the samething.

SAVE US.

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I look away nervously. They’ve allseen and heard about what I did withthe Patriots in Denver. But I’m notsome invincible super-soldier—I’m adying boy who’s about to be stuck,helpless, in the hospital while an en-emy takes over our country.

Eden leans over my wheelchair’shandlebars. Even though he doesn’tsay a word, I take one look at his sol-emn face and know exactly what’s run-ning through his mind. The thoughtsends terror trickling down my spine.

I can save them, my little brother’sthinking. Let me save them.

Once we’re inside the hospital andthe soldiers bar the doors, they wheelme up to the third-floor rooms. There,Eden waits outside while doctors strapa bunch of metal nodes and wires tome. They run a brain scan. Finally,they let me rest. Throughout it all, my

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head throbs continuously, sometimesso much that I feel like I’m movingeven though I’m lying down on a bed.Nurses come in and give me some sortof injection. A couple of hours later,when I’m strong enough to sit up, apair of doctors come to see me.

“What is it?” I ask before they canspeak up. “Do I have three days left?What’s the deal?”

“Don’t worry,” one of them—theyounger, more inexperienced one—as-sures me. “You still have a couple ofmonths. Your prognosis hasn’tchanged.”

“Oh,” I reply. Well, that’s a relief.The older doctor scratches uncom-

fortably at his beard. “You can stillmove around and do normal activit-ies—whatever those are,” he grumbles,“but don’t strain yourself. As for yourtreatments . . .” He pauses here, then

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peers at me from the top of his glasses.“We’re going to try some more radicaldrugs,” the doctor continues with anawkward expression. “But let me beclear, Day—our greatest enemy istime. We are fighting hard to prepareyou for a very risky surgery, but thetime that your medication needs maybe longer than the time you have left.There’s only so much we can do.”

“What can we do?” I ask.The doctor nods at the dripping flu-

id bag hanging next to me. “If youmake it through the full course, youmight be ready for surgery a fewmonths from now.”

I lower my head. Do I have a fewmonths left? They’re sure as hell cut-ting it close. “So,” I mutter, “I might bedead by the time the surgery comesaround. Or there might not be a Re-public left.”

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My last comment drains the bloodfrom the doctor’s face. He doesn’t re-spond, but he doesn’t need to. No won-der the other doctors had warned meto get my affairs in order. Even in thebest of circumstances, I might not pullthrough in time. But I might actuallylive long enough to see the Republicfall. The thought makes me shudder.

The only way Antarctica will help isif we provide proof of a cure againstthis plague, give them a reason to callin their troops to stop the Colonies’ in-vasion. And the only way to do that isto let Eden give himself over to theRepublic.

* * *

The medicine knocks me out, and it’s afull day before I come around. Whenthe doctors aren’t there, I test my legs

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by taking short walks around myroom. I feel strong enough to gowithout a wheelchair. Still, I stumblewhen I try to stretch too thin andspring from one end of the room to theother. Nope. I sigh in frustration, thenpull myself back into bed. My eyesshift to a screen on the wall, wherefootage from Denver is playing. I cantell that the Republic is careful abouthow much of it they show. I’d seenfirsthand how it looked when the Co-lonies’ troops started rolling in, but onthe screen there are only farawayshots of the city. The viewer can justsee smoke rising from several build-ings and the ominous row of Coloniesairships hovering near the edge of theArmor. Then it cuts to footage of Re-public jets lining up on the airfield,preparing to launch into battle. Foronce, I’m glad that the propaganda’s in

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place. There’s just no point in scaringthe hell out of the whole country.Might as well show that the Republic’sfighting back.

I can’t stop thinking aboutFrankie’s lifeless face. Or the way Tho-mas’s head snapped back when the Co-lonies soldiers shot him. I wince as itreplays in my mind. I wait in silencefor another half hour, watching as thescreen’s footage changes from theDenver battle to headlines about howI’d helped slow down the invading Co-lonies troops. More people are in thestreets now, with their scarlet streaksand handmade signs. They really thinkI’m making a difference. I rub a handacross my face. They don’t understandthat I’m just a boy—I’d never meant toget involved so deeply in any of this.Without the Patriots, June, or Anden,

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I couldn’t have done anything. I’m use-less on my own.

Static suddenly blares out of myearpiece; an incoming call. I jump.Then, an unfamiliar male voice in myear: “Mr. Wing,” the man says. “I pre-sume it’s you?”

I scowl. “Who’s this?”“Mr. Wing,” the man says, adding a

flourish of cracked excitement thatsends a chill down my spine. “This isthe Chancellor of the Colonies.Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The Chancellor? I swallow hard.Yeah, right. “Is this some sort ofjoke?” I snap into the mike. “Somehacker kid—”

“Come now. This wouldn’t be a veryfunny joke, now would it?”

I didn’t know the Colonies could ac-cess our earpiece streams and makecalls like this. I frown, then lower my

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voice. “How’d you get in?” Are the Co-lonies winning in Denver? Did the cityfall already, right after we finishedevacuating it?

“I have my ways,” the man replies,his voice dead calm. “It seems thatsome of your people have defected toour side. I can’t say I blame them.”

Someone in the Republic must havegiven up info to the Colonies to allowthem to use our data streams like this.Suddenly my thoughts rush back to thejob I’d done with the Patriots, wherethe Colonies soldiers had shot Thomasin the head—the image sends a violentshudder through me, and I force my-self to push it away. CommanderJameson.

“I hope I’m not inconveniencingyou,” the Chancellor says before I canrespond, “given your condition andsuch. And I’m sure you must be feeling

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a bit tired after your little escapade inDenver. I’m impressed, I must say.”

I don’t respond to that. I wonderwhat else he knows—whether heknows which hospital I’m currently ly-ing in . . . or worse, where our newapartment is, where Eden’s staying.“What do you want?” I finally whisper.

I can practically hear the Chancel-lor’s smile over my earpiece. “I’d hateto waste your time, so let’s get to themeat of this conversation. I realizethat the Republic’s current Elector isthis young Anden Stavropoulos fel-low.” His tone is condescending. “Butcome now, both you and I know whoreally runs your country. And that’syou. The people love you, Day. Whenmy troops first went into Denver, doyou know what they told me? ‘The ci-vilians have plastered posters of Dayon the walls. They want to see him

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back on the screens.’ They have beenvery stubborn to cooperate with mymen, and it’s a surprisingly tiresomeprocess to get them to comply.”

My anger slowly burns. “Leave thecivilians out of it,” I say through aclenched jaw. “They didn’t ask for youto barge into their homes.”

“But you forget,” the Chancellorsays in a coaxing voice. “Your Repub-lic has done the exact same thing tothem for decades—didn’t they do it toyour own family? We are invading theRepublic because of what they did tous. This virus they’ve sent across theborder. Exactly where do your loyal-ties lie, and why? And do you realize,my boy, how incredible your positionis at your age, how you have your fin-ger on the pulse of this nation? Howmuch power you hold—”

“Your point, Chancellor?”

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“I know you’re dying. I also knowyou have a younger brother who youwould love to see grow up.”

“You bring Eden into this again,and this conversation’s over.”

“Very well. Just bear with me. Inthe Colonies, Meditech Corp handlesall of our hospitals and treatments,and I can guarantee you they would doa much finer job dealing with yourcase than anything the Republic canoffer. So here’s the deal. You canslowly whittle away whatever’s left ofyour life, staying loyal to a countrythat’s not loyal to you—or you can dosomething for us. You can publicly askthe Republic’s people to accept the Co-lonies, and help this country fall underthe rule of something better. You canget treatment in a quality place.Wouldn’t that be nice? Surely you de-serve more than what you’re getting.”

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A scornful laugh forces its way outof me. “Yeah, right. You expect me tobelieve that?”

“Well now,” the Chancellor says,trying to sound amused, but this time Idetect darkness in his words. “I cansee this is a losing argument. If youchoose to fight for the Republic, I’ll re-spect that decision. I only hope thatthe best will happen for you and yourbrother, even after we establish ourplace firmly in the Republic. But I’m abusinessman, Day, and I like to workwith a Plan B in mind. So, let me askyou this instead.” He pauses for asecond. “The Princeps-Elect JuneIparis. Do you love her?”

An icy claw grips my chest. “Why?”“Well.” The Chancellor lets his

voice turn somber. “You have to seethis situation from my point of view,”he says gently. “The Colonies will win,

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inevitably, at this rate. Ms. Iparis isone of the people sitting at the heart ofthe losing government. Now, son, Iwant you to think about this. What doyou suppose happens to the rulinggovernment on the losing side of awar?”

My hands tremble. This is a thoughtthat has floated in the dark recesses ofmy mind, something I’ve refused tothink about. Until now. “Are youthreatening her?” I whisper.

The Chancellor tsks in disapprovalat my tone. “I’m only being reason-able. What do you think will happen toher once we declare victory? Do youreally think we will let live a girl whois on track to become the leader of theRepublic’s Senate? This is how all civ-ilized nations work, Day, and it’s beenthat way for centuries. For millennia.After all, I’m sure your Elector

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executed those who stood against him.Didn’t he?” I stay silent. “Ms. Iparis,along with the Elector and his Senate,will be tried and executed. That iswhat happens to a losing governmentin a war, Day.” His voice turns serious.“If you don’t cooperate with us, thenyou might have to live with their bloodon your hands. But if you do cooper-ate, I might find a way to pardon themof their war crimes. And what’s more,”he adds, “you can have all the com-forts of a quality life. You won’t needto worry for your family’s safety everagain. You won’t have to worry for theRepublic’s people either. They don’tknow any better; the common folknever know what’s good for them. Butyou and I do, don’t we? You knowthey’re better off without the Repub-lic’s rule. Sometimes they just don’tunderstand their choices—they need

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their decisions made for them. Afterall, you chose to manipulate thepeople yourself when you wantedthem to accept your new Elector. Am Icorrect?”

Tried and executed. June, gone.Dreading the possibility is one thing;hearing it spelled out to me and thenusing it to blackmail me is another. Mymind spins frantically for ways theycould escape instead, to find asylum inanother country. Maybe the Antarctic-ans can keep June and the others over-seas and protected in case the Colon-ies overrun the country. There mustbe a way. But . . . what about the rest ofus? What’s to stop the Colonies fromharming my brother?

“How do I know you’ll keep yourword?” I finally manage to croak.

“To show you my genuine nature, Igive you my word that the Colonies

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have ceased their attacks as of thismorning, and I will not resume themfor three days. If you agree to my pro-position, you just guaranteed thesafety of the Republic’s people . . . andof your loved ones. So, let the choicebe yours.” The Chancellor laughs alittle. “And I recommend that you keepour conversation to yourself.”

“I’ll think about it,” I whisper.“Wonderful.” The Chancellor’s

voice brightens. “Like I said, as soonas possible. After three days, I’ll ex-pect to hear back from you on makinga public announcement to the Repub-lic. This can be the start of a very fruit-ful relationship. Time is of the es-sence—I know you understand thismore than anyone.”

Then the call ends. The silence isdeafening. I sit in the thick of our con-versation for a while, soaking it in.

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Thoughts run endlessly through mymind . . . Eden, June, the Republic, theElector. Their blood on your hands.The frustration and fear bubbling in-side my chest threatens to drown mein its tide. The Chancellor’s smart, I’llgive him that—he knows exactly whatmy weaknesses are and he’s going totry to use them to his advantage. Buttwo can play at this. I have to warnJune—and I’ll have to do it quietly. Ifthe Colonies find out that I’ve passedthe word along instead of keeping mymouth shut and doing as the Chancel-lor says, then who knows what tricksthey might try to pull. But maybe wecan use this to our advantage. Mymind whirls. Maybe we can fool theChancellor at his own game.

Suddenly, a shriek echoes from thehallway outside that raises every hairon my skin. I turn my head in the

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sound’s direction. Somebody’s comingdown the corridor against herwill—whoever it is must be putting upa pretty damn good fight.

“I’m not infected,” the voiceprotests. It grows louder until it’s rightoutside my door, then fades as thesounds of the voice and gurney wheelstravel farther down the hall. I recog-nize the voice right away. “Run yourtests again. It’s nothing. I’m notinfected.”

Even though I don’t know exactlywhat’s going on, I’m instantly sure ofone thing—the sickness spreadingthrough the Colonies has a new victim.

Tess.

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FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THE REPUBLIC’S

HISTORY, THERE is no capital to land in.We touch down at an airfield located on

the southern edge of Drake University at1600 hours, not a quarter mile away fromwhere I used to attend all of my RepublicHistory classes. The afternoon is disconcert-ingly sunny. Has it really been less than ayear since everything happened? As we stepoff the plane and wait for our luggage to un-load, I look around in a dull stupor. Thecampus, both nostalgic and strange to me, isemptier than I remember—many of the seni-ors, I hear, have been pushed through gradu-ation early in order to send them off to thewarfront to fight for the Republic’s survival. Iwalk in silence through the campus streets a

few steps behind Anden, while Mariana andSerge, as part of their Senator nature, keepup a steady stream of chatter with their oth-erwise quiet Elector. Ollie stays close to myside, the hackles up on his neck. The mainDrake quad, normally crowded with passingstudents, is now home to pockets of refugeesbrought over from Denver and a few neigh-boring cities. An unfamiliar, eerie sight.

By the time we reach a series of jeepswaiting for us and begin traveling throughBatalla sector, I notice the various thingsthroughout LA that have changed. Evacu-ation centers have popped up where Batallasector meets Blueridge, where the militarybuildings give way to civilian high-rises, andmany of the older, half-abandoned buildingsalong this poor sector have been hastily con-verted into evacuation centers. Large crowdsof disheveled Denver refugees crowd the en-trances, all hoping to be lucky enough to geta room assignment. One glance tells me that,

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naturally, the people waiting here are prob-ably all from Denver’s poor sectors.

“Where are we placing the upper-classfamilies?” I ask Anden. “In a gem sector, I’msure?” I find it difficult now to say somethinglike this without a sharp edge in my voice.

Anden looks unhappy, but he calmly an-swers, “In Ruby. You, Mariana, and Sergewill all have apartments there.” He reads myexpression. “I know what you’re thinking.But I can’t afford to have our wealthy famil-ies revolting against me for forcing them intoevacuation centers in the poor sectors. I didset a number of spaces in Ruby to be alloc-ated for the poor—they’ll be assigned to themon a lottery system.”

I don’t answer, simply because I havenothing to argue against. What is there to doabout this situation? It’s not like Anden canuproot the entire country’s infrastructure inthe span of a year. As I look on through thewindow, a growing group of protesters

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gathers along the edge of a guarded refugeezone. MOVE TO THE OUTSKIRTS! one of theirsigns says. KEEP THEM QUARANTINED!

The sight sends a shiver down my spine.It doesn’t seem so different from what hadhappened in the Republic’s early years, whenthe west protested the people fleeing in fromthe east.

We ride in silence for a while. Then, sud-denly, Anden presses his hand against hisear and motions to the driver. “Turn on thescreen,” he tells him, gesturing to the smallmonitor embedded into the jeep’s seats.“General Marshall says the Colonies arebroadcasting something onto our twelfthchannel.”

We all watch as the monitor comes to life.At first we only see a blank, black screen, butthen the broadcast comes in, and I look on asthe Colonies slogan and seal appear over anoscillating Colonies flag.

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THE COLONIES OF AMERICACLOUD . MEDITECH .DESCON . EVERGREENA FREE STATE IS ACORPORATE STATE

Then, an evening landscape of a beauti-ful, sparkling city comes up, completelycovered in thousands of twinkling bluelights. “Citizens of the Republic,” a grandiosevoice says. “Welcome to the Colonies ofAmerica. As many of you already know, theColonies have overrun the Republic capitalof Denver and, as such, have declared an un-official victory over the tyrannical regimethat has kept you all under its thumb. Afterover a hundred years of suffering, you arenow free.” The landscape changes to a top-down map of both the Republic and the Co-lonies—except this time, the line dividing thetwo nations is gone. A shiver runs down myspine. “In the weeks to come, you will all be

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integrated into our system of fair competi-tion and freedom. You are a citizen of the Co-lonies. What does that mean, you mightwonder?”

The voiceover pauses, and the imageryshifts to a happy family holding a check infront of them. “As a new citizen, each of youwill be entitled to at least five thousand Co-lonies Notes, equivalent to sixty thousandRepublic Notes, granted from one of our fourmain corps that you decide to work for. Thehigher your current income, the higher we’llpay you. You will no longer answer to the Re-public’s street police but to DesCon’s citypatrols, your own private neighborhood po-lice dedicated to serving you. Your employerwill no longer be the Republic, but one of ourfour distinguished corps, where you can ap-ply for a fulfilling career.” The video shiftsagain to scenes of happy workers, proud,smiling faces hovering over suits and ties.

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“We offer you, citizens, the freedom ofchoice.”

The freedom of choice. Images flashthrough my mind of what I’d seen in the Co-lonies when Day and I first ventured intotheir territory. The crowds of workers, thedilapidated slums of the poor. The advertise-ments printed all over the people’s clothes.The commercials that covered every squareinch of the buildings. Most of all, DesCon’spolice, the way they had refused to help therobbed woman who had missed her pay-ments to their department. Is this the futureof the Republic? And suddenly I feel naus-eous, because I cannot say whether thepeople would be better off in the Republic orthe Colonies.

The broadcast continues. “We only askthat you return a small favor to us.” Thevideo shifts again, this time to a scene ofpeople protesting in solidarity. “If you, as acivilian, have grievances with the Republic,

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now is the time to voice them. If you arecourageous enough to stage proteststhroughout your respective cities, the Colon-ies will pay you an additional five thousandColonies Notes, as well as grant you a one-year discount on all of our Cloud Corp gro-cery goods. Simply send your proof of parti-cipation to any DesCon headquarters in Den-ver, Colorado, along with your name andmailing address.”

So, this explains the various protests pop-ping up around the city. Even their propa-ganda sounds like an advertisement. A dan-gerously tempting one. “Declaring victory alittle too soon,” I say under my breath.

“They’re trying to turn the people againstus,” Anden murmurs in reply. “They an-nounced a ceasefire this morning, perhaps asa chance to disseminate propaganda likethis.”

“I doubt it will be effective,” I say, al-though I don’t sound as confident as I

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should. All these years of anti-Colonies pro-paganda are going to be difficult for the Co-lonies to work around. Aren’t they?

Anden’s jeep finally slows to a halt. Ifrown, confused for a second. Instead of tak-ing me back to a high-rise for my temporaryapartment, we are now parked in front of theLos Angeles Central Hospital. The placewhere Metias died. I glance at Anden. “Whatare we doing here?” I ask.

“Day’s here,” Anden replies. His voicecatches a little when he speaks Day’s name.

“Why?”Anden doesn’t look at me. He seems re-

luctant to discuss it. “He collapsed duringthe evacuation to LA,” he explains. “Theseries of explosions we used to knock out theunderground tunnels apparently triggeredone of his severe headaches. The doctorshave started another round of treatment forhim.” Anden pauses, then gives me a grave

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stare. “There’s another reason we’re here.But you’ll see for yourself.”

The jeep comes to a halt. I climb out, thenwait for Anden. A feeling of dread slowlycreeps through me. What if Day’s illness hasgotten worse? What if he isn’t going to pullthrough? Is that why he’s here? There’s noreason for Day to ever set foot inside thisbuilding again, not unless he was forced to,not after everything this hospital put himthrough.

Together, Anden and I head into thebuilding with soldiers flanking us. We travelup to the fourth floor, where one of the sol-diers swipes us inside, and then step into theCentral Hospital’s lab floor. The tense feelingin my stomach only tightens as we go.

Finally, we stop in front of a smallerseries of rooms that line the side of the mainlab floor. As we go through one of thesedoors, I see Day. He’s standing outside aroom with glass walls, smoking one of his

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blue cigarettes and looking on as someoneinside gets inspected by lab technicians infull body suits. What makes me lose mybreath, though, is that he’s leaning heavilyon a pair of crutches. How long has he beenhere? He looks exhausted, pale, and distant.I wonder what new drugs the doctors are try-ing on him. The thought is a sudden,stabbing reminder of Day’s waning life, thefew seconds he has left, slowly ticking by.

Standing beside him are a few lab techswith white jumpsuit gear and gogglesdangling from their necks, each of themwatching the room and typing away on theirnotepads. A short distance away, Pascao’sdeep in conversation with the other Patriots.They leave Day alone.

“Day?” I say as we approach.He looks over to me—a dozen emotions

flicker through his eyes, some that make mycheeks flush. Then he notices Anden. Hemanages to give the Elector a stiff bow of his

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head, then turns back to watching the patienton the other side of the glass. Tess.

“What’s going on?” I ask Day.He takes another puff of his cigarette and

lowers his eyes. “They won’t let me in. Theythink she might’ve come down with whateverthis new plague is,” he says. His voice isquiet, but I can hear an undercurrent of frus-tration and anger. “They’ve already run testson me and the other Patriots. Tess is the onlyone who didn’t come up clean.”

Tess bats away one of the lab techs’hands, then stumbles backward as if she’shaving trouble keeping her balance. Sweatforms on her forehead and drips down herneck. The whites of her eyes have a sicklyyellow tint to them, and when I look closely,I can tell that she’s squinting in an effort tosee everything around her—something thatreminds me of her nearsightedness, the wayshe used to squint at the streets of Lake. Herhands are trembling. I swallow hard at the

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sight. The Patriots couldn’t have been ex-posed for long to the Colonies soldiers, butapparently it was long enough for some sol-dier carrying the virus to pass it to one ofthem. It’s also a very real possibility that theColonies are purposefully spreading the dis-ease right back to us, now that they’re in ourterritory. My insides turn cold as I remembera line from Metias’s old journals: One daywe’ll create a virus that no one will be ableto stop. And that just might bring about thedownfall of the entire Republic.

One of the lab techs turns to me and of-fers a quick explanation. “The virus lookslike a mutation of one of our past plague ex-periments,” she says, shooting Day a nervousglance (he must have given her a hard timeabout this earlier) before continuing. “As faras we can tell from the statistics the Colonieshave released, the virus seems to have a lowuptake rate among healthy adults, but whenit does infect someone, the disease

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progresses rapidly and the fatality rate isvery high. We’re seeing infection-to-deathtimes of about a week.” She turns momentar-ily to Tess on the other side of the glass.“She’s showing some early symptoms—fever,dizziness, jaundice, and the symptom thatpoints us to one of our own manufacturedviruses, temporary or possibly permanentblindness.”

Beside me, Day clenches his crutches sohard that his knuckles look white. Knowinghim, I wonder whether he’s already had sev-eral fights with the lab techs, trying to forcehis way in to see her or scream at them toleave her alone. I know he must be picturingEden right now, with his purple, half-blindeyes, and in this moment a deep hatred forthe former Republic fills my chest. My fatherhad worked behind those experimental labdoors. He had tried to quit once he found outwhat they were actually doing with all thoselocal LA plagues, and he gave his life as a

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result. Is that country really behind us now?Can our reputation ever change in the eyes ofthe outside world—or of the Colonies?

“She tried to save Frankie,” Day whispers,his eyes still fixed on Tess. “She’d made itback inside the Armor right after we did. Ithought Thomas was going to kill her.” Hisvoice turns bitter. “But maybe she’s alreadymarked for death.”

“Thomas?” I whisper.“Thomas is dead,” he murmurs. “When

Pascao and I were fleeing to the Armor, I sawhim stand and face the Colonies soldiersalone. He kept firing at them until they shothim in the head.” He flinches at this finalsentence.

Thomas is dead.I blink twice, suddenly numb from head

to toe. I shouldn’t be shocked. Why am Ishocked? I was prepared for this. The soldierwho had stabbed my brother through theheart, who had shot Day’s mother . . . he’s

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gone. And of course he would have died inthis way—defending the Republic until theend, unwavering in his insane loyalty to astate that had already turned her back onhim. I also understand right away why thishas affected Day so much. Shot through thehead. I feel empty at the news. Exhausted.Numb. My shoulders sag.

“It’s for the best,” I finally whisperthrough the lump in my throat. Images flashthrough my head of Metias, and of what Tho-mas had told me about his last night alive. Iforce my thoughts back to Tess. To the living,and those who still matter. “Tess is going tobe okay,” I say. My words sound unconvin-cing. “We just have to find a way.”

The lab techs inside the glass room stick along needle into Tess’s right arm, then herleft. She lets out a choked sob. Day tears hiseyes away from the scene, adjusts his grip onhis crutches, and begins to make his way to-ward us. As he passes me, he whispers,

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“Tonight.” Then he leaves the rest of us be-hind and heads down the hall.

I watch him go in silence. Anden sighs,looks sadly toward Tess, and joins the otherlab techs. “Are you sure Day is clean?” hesays to the one who’d shared the virus in-formation with us. She confirms it, andAnden nods at her in approval. “I want asecond check run on all of our soldiers im-mediately.” He turns to one of the other Sen-ators. “Then I want a message sent rightaway to the Colonies’ Chancellor, as well astheir DesCon CEO. Let’s see whether dip-lomacy can get us anywhere.”

Finally, Anden gives me a long look. “Iknow I have no right to ask this of you,” hesays. “But if you can find it in your heart toask Day again about his brother, I would begrateful. We might still have a chance withAntarctica.”

1930 HOURS.

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RUBY SECTOR.

73° F.

The high-rise I’m staying in is just a fewblocks away from where Metias and I used tolive. As the jeep I’m riding in approaches it, Ilook down the street and try to catch aglimpse of my old apartment complex. EvenRuby sector is now blocked off with seg-ments of tape indicating which areas are forevacuees, and soldiers line the streets. I won-der where Anden’s staying in the midst of allthis mess; probably somewhere in Batallasector. He’ll definitely be up late tonight. Be-fore I’d left for my assigned apartment, hehad taken me aside in the lab hall. His eyesflickered unconsciously to my lips and thenback up again. I knew he was dwelling on thebrief moment we shared in Ross City, as wellas the words that had come after it. I knowyou care deeply for Day.

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“June,” he said after an awkward pause.“We’re meeting with the Senate tomorrowmorning to discuss what our next stepsshould be. I want to give you the heads-upthat this will be a conference where each ofthe Princeps-Elects will deliver some wordsto the group. It’s a chance to experience whateach of you would do if you were the officialPrinceps—but be warned, things may getheated.” He smiled a little. “This war has leftus all on edge, to put it lightly.”

I’d wanted to tell him that I would sit thisone out. Another meeting with the Senat-ors—another four-hour-long session oflistening to forty talking heads all battling tooutdo one another, all attempting to eithersway Anden to their side or embarrass himin front of the others. No doubt Mariana andSerge will lead the arguments to see which ofthem can come across as the better Princepscandidate. The mere idea of it drains me ofall my remaining strength. But at the same

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time, the thought of leaving Anden toshoulder the burden alone in a room full ofpeople who were so cold and distant was toohard to bear. So I smiled and bowed to him,like a good Princeps-Elect. “I’ll be there,” Ireplied.

Now the jeep pulls up to my assignedcomplex and stops, and I push the memoryout of my mind. I get out of the jeep with Ol-lie, then watch it go until it turns a cornerand disappears completely from sight. I headinside the high-rise.

I initially plan to stop by Day’s room rightafter settling into my own, to see what hemeant by his “tonight” comment. But as Ireach my hall, I see that I don’t have to.

Day is camped outside my door, sittingslouched against the wall and absentlysmoking a blue cigarette. His crutches are ly-ing idly beside him. Even though he’s notmoving, some small piece of his man-ner—wild, careless, defiant—still shines

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through, and for an instant I flash back towhen I’d first met him on the streets, withhis bright blue eyes and quicksilver move-ments and unruly blond hair. That nostalgicimage is so sweet that I suddenly feel myeyes watering. I take a deep breath and willmyself not to cry.

He pulls himself to his feet when he seesme at the end of the hall. “June,” he says as Iapproach. Ollie trots over to greet him, andhe pats my dog once on the head. He stilllooks exhausted, but manages to give me alopsided, if sad, grin. Without his crutches,he sways on his feet. His eyes are heavy withanguish, and I know it’s because of our earli-er stint in the lab. “From the look on yourface, I’m guessing the Antarcticans weren’tmuch help.”

I shake my head, then unlock my doorand invite him inside. “Not really,” I reply asI close the door behind me. My eyes instinct-ively study the room, memorizing its layout.

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It resembles my old home a little too closelyfor comfort. “They’ve contacted the UnitedNations about the plague. They’re going toseal off all of our ports to traffic. No importsor exports—no aid, no supplies. We’re all un-der quarantine now. They’ve told us thatthey can help us out only after we show themproof of a cure, or if Anden hands over achunk of Republic land to them as payment.Until then, they won’t send any troops. All Iknow now is that they’re monitoring oursituation pretty closely.”

Day says nothing. Instead, he wandersaway from me and stands on the room’s bal-cony. He leans against the railing. I put outsome food and water for Ollie, then join him.The sun set a while ago, but with the glowfrom the city lights, we can see the low-lyingclouds that block the stars, covering the skyin shades of gray and black. I notice howheavily Day has to lean on the railing to sup-port himself, and I’m tempted to ask him

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how he’s feeling. But the expression on hisface stops me. He probably doesn’t want totalk about it.

“So,” he says after another puff on his ci-garette. The light from distant JumboTronspaints a glowing line of blue and purplearound his face. His eyes skim across thebuildings, and I know he’s instinctively ana-lyzing how he would run each one of them.“Guess we’re on our own now. Can’t say I’mall that upset about it, though. The Repub-lic’s always been about closing off her bor-ders, yeah? Maybe she’ll fight better thisway. Nothing motivates you like being aloneand cornered on the streets.”

When he lifts his cigarette to his lipsagain, I see his hand trembling. The paperclip ring gleams on his finger. “Day,” I saygently. He just raises an eyebrow and glancesat me sideways. “You’re shaking.”

He exhales a puff of blue smoke, squintsat the city lights in the darkness, and then

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lowers his lashes. “It’s strange being back inLA,” he replies, his voice distracted and dis-tant. “I’m fine. Just worried about Tess.” Along pause follows. I know thename—Eden—that hangs at the tips of bothof our tongues, although neither one of uswants to bring it up first. Day finally endsour silence, and when he does, he ap-proaches the topic with slow and laboriouspain. “June, I’ve been thinking about whatyour Elector wants from me. About, youknow . . . about my brother.” He sighs, thenleans farther out on the railing and rakes ahand through his hair. His arm brushes pastmy own—even this small gesture sends myheart beating faster. “I had an argument withEden about it all.”

“What did he say?” I ask. Somehow, I feelguilty when I think back on Anden’s requestfor me. If you can find it in your heart to askDay again about his brother, I would begrateful.

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Day puts his cigarette out on the metalrailing. His eyes meet mine. “He wants tohelp,” he murmurs. “After seeing Tess today,and after what you just told me, well . . .” Hetightens his jaw. “I’ll talk to Anden tomor-row. Maybe there’s something in Eden’sblood that can, you know . . . make a differ-ence in all this. Maybe.”

He’s still reluctant, of course, and I canhear the pain plainly in his voice. But he isalso agreeing. Agreeing to let the Republicuse his little brother to find a cure. A small,bittersweet smile tugs at the corners of mymouth. Day, the champion of the people, theone who can’t bear to see those around himsuffer on his behalf, who would gladly givehis life for those he loves. Except it’s not hislife that we need in order to save Tess, buthis brother’s. Risking one loved one for thesake of another loved one. I wonder whetheranything else made him change his mind.

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“Thank you, Day,” I whisper. “I know howhard this is.”

He grimaces and shakes his head. “No,I’m just being selfish. But I can’t help it.” Helooks down, laying bare his weaknesses.“Just . . . tell Anden to bring him back. Pleasebring him back.”

There’s something else bothering him,something that’s making his hands shake un-controllably. I lean into him, then place oneof my hands over his. He looks me in theeyes again. There’s such deep sadness andfear in his face. It breaks my heart. “Whatelse is wrong, Day?” I whisper. “What else doyou know?”

This time, he doesn’t look away. He swal-lows—and when he speaks, there’s a slighttremor in his voice. “The Colonies’ Chancel-lor called me while I was in the hospital.”

“The Chancellor?” I whisper, careful tokeep my voice low. You never know. “Are yousure?”

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Day nods once. Then he tells meeverything—the conversation he had with theChancellor, the bribes, the blackmail andthreats. He tells me what the Colonies havein store for me, should Day refuse them. Allmy unspoken fears. Finally, he sighs. The re-lease of all this information seems to lightenthe burden on his shoulders, if only by a hair.“There must be a way we can use this againstthe Colonies,” he says. “Some way to trickthem with their own game. I don’t knowwhat yet, but if we can find some way tomake the Chancellor think that I’m going tohelp him out, then maybe we can take themby surprise.”

If the Colonies really do win, they willcome after me. We’ll be killed, all of us. I tryto sound as calm as he does, but I don’t suc-ceed. A tremor still manages to creep into myvoice. “He’ll expect you to react emotionallyto all this,” I reply. “It might be as good anopportunity as any to hit the Colonies with

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your own brand of propaganda. Butwhatever we do, we have to be careful aboutit. The Chancellor should know better thanto trust you wholeheartedly.”

“Things won’t go well for you if they win,”Day whispers, his voice pained. “I never tookthem to be some goddy compassionatesofties—but maybe you should find a way toflee the country. Sneak off to a neutral placeand seek asylum.”

Flee the country, run away from this en-tire nightmare, and hole up in some farawayland? A small, tiny, dark voice in my headwhispers agreement, that I will be safer thatway . . . but I recoil from the thought. I drawmyself up as well as I can. “No, Day,” I replygently. “If I flee, what will everyone else do?What about those who can’t?”

“They will kill you.” He draws closer. Hiseyes beg me to listen. “Please.”

I shake my head. “I’m staying right here.The people don’t need their morale crushed

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any further. Besides, you might need me.” Igive a little smile. “I think I know a fewthings about the Republic’s military thatcould come in handy, wouldn’t you say?”

Day shakes his head in frustration, but atthe same time he knows I won’t budge. Heknows, because he would do no differently inmy position.

He takes my hand in his and pulls me to-ward him. His arms wrap around me. I’m sounused to his touch that this embrace sendsan overwhelming wave of heat through mybody. I close my eyes, collapse against hischest, and savor it. Has it really been so longsince the last time we kissed? Have I reallymissed him this much? Have all the prob-lems threatening to crush us both weakenedus to the point where we are gasping forbreath, clinging desperately to each other forsurvival? I’ve forgotten how right it feels tobe in his arms. His collar shirt is rumpledand soft against my skin, and beneath it his

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chest is warm and pulses with the faint beat-ing of his heart. He smells of earth, smoke,and wind.

“You drive me insane, June,” he murmursagainst my hair. “You’re the scariest, mostclever, bravest person I know, and some-times I can’t catch my breath because I’mtrying so hard to keep up. There will never beanother like you. You realize that, don’tyou?” I tilt my face up to see him. His eyesreflect the faint lights from the JumboTrons,a rainbow of evening colors. “Billions ofpeople will come and go in this world,” hesays softly, “but there will never be anotherlike you.”

My heart twists until it threatens tobreak. I don’t know how to respond.

Then he releases me abruptly—the cool-ness of the night is a sudden shock againstmy skin. Even in the darkness, I can see theblush on his cheeks. His breathing soundsheavier than usual. “What is it?” I say.

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“I’m sorry,” he replies, his voice strained.“I’m dying, June—I’m no good for you. And Ido so well until I see you in person, and theneverything changes again. I think I don’t careabout you anymore, that things will be easieronce you’re far away, and then all of a sud-den I’m here again, and you’re . . .” Hepauses to look at me. The anguish in his ex-pression is a knife cutting through my heart.“Why do I do this to myself? I see you andfeel such—” He has tears in his eyes now. Thesight is more than I can bear. He takes twosteps away from me and then turns back likea caged animal. “Do you even love me?” hesuddenly asks. He grips both of myshoulders. “I’ve said it to you before, and Istill mean it. But I’ve never heard it fromyou. I can’t tell. And then you give me thisring”—he pauses to hold his hand up—“and Idon’t know what to think anymore.”

He draws closer, until I feel his lipsagainst my ear. My entire body trembles. “Do

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you have any idea?” he says in a soft,broken, hoarse whisper. “Do you knowhow . . . how badly I wish . . .”

He pulls away long enough to look medesperately in the eyes. “If you don’t love me,just say it—you have to help me. It’d prob-ably be for the best. It’d make it easier to stayaway from you, wouldn’t it? I can let go.” Hesays it like he’s trying to convince himself. “Ican let go, if you don’t love me.”

He says this as if he thinks I’m thestronger one. But I’m not. I can’t keep thisup any better than he can. “No,” I saythrough gritted teeth and blurry vision. “Ican’t help you. Because I do love you.” Thereit is, out in the open. “I’m in love with you,” Irepeat.

There’s a conflicted look in Day’s eyes, ajoy and a grief, that makes him so vulner-able. I realize then how little defense he hasagainst my words. He loves so wholly. It ishis nature. He blinks, then tries to find the

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right response. “I—” he stumbles. “I’m soafraid, June. So afraid of what might happento—”

I put two fingers against his lips to hushhim. “Fear makes you stronger,” I whisper.Before I can stop myself, I put my hands onhis face and press my mouth to his.

Whatever shreds of self-restraint Day hadnow crumble into pieces. He falls into mykiss with helpless urgency. I feel his handstouch my face, one palm smooth and one stillwrapped in bandages, and then he wraps hisarms frantically around my waist, pulling meso close that I gasp aloud. No one comparesto him. And right now, I want nothing else.

We make our way back inside, our lipsnever apart. Day stumbles against me, thenloses his balance, and we collapse backwardinto my bed. His body knocks the breath outof me. His hands run along my jaw and neck,down my back, down my legs. I tug his coatoff. Day’s lips move away from mine and he

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buries his face against my neck. His hair fansout across my arm, heavy and softer thanany silk I’ve ever worn. Day finally finds thebuttons on my shirt. I’ve already loosenedhis, and underneath the fabric his skin is hotto the touch. The heat radiating from himwarms me. I savor the weight of him.

Neither of us dares to say a word. We’reafraid that words will stop us, that they’lltear apart the spell that binds us. He’s trem-bling as much as I am. It suddenly occurs tome that he must be just as nervous. I smilewhen his eyes first meet mine and then lowerin a bashful gesture. Day is shy? What astrange new emotion on his face, somethingout of place and yet so fitting. I’m relieved tosee it, because I can feel the blush rising hoton my own cheeks. Embarrassed, I feel anurge to cover up my exposed skin. I’ve fre-quently imagined what this would be like, ly-ing with Day for the first time. I’m in lovewith him. I tentatively test these new words

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again in my mind, amazed and frightened bywhat they might mean. He is here, and he isreal, flesh and blood.

Even in his feverish passion, Day is gentlewith me. It is a different gentleness fromwhat I’ve felt around Anden, who is refine-ment and properness and elegance. Day iscoarse, open, uncertain, and pure. When Ilook at him, I notice the subtle smile playingat the edges of his mouth, the smallest hintof mischief that only strengthens my desirefor him. He nuzzles my neck; his touch sendsshivers dancing along my spine. Day sighs inrelief against my ear in a way that makes myheart pound, a sigh of freeing himself fromall of the dark emotions that plague him. Ifall into another kiss, running my handsthrough his hair, letting him know that I’mokay. He gradually relaxes. I suck in mybreath as he moves against me; his eyes areso bright that I feel like I could drown inthem. He kisses my cheeks, tucking a strand

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of my hair carefully behind my ear as hegoes, and I slide my arms around his backand pull him closer.

No matter what happens in the future, nomatter where our paths take us, this momentwill be ours.

Afterward, we stay quiet. Day lies besideme with blankets covering part of his legs,his eyes closed in a drowsy half sleep, hishand still entwined with mine as if for reas-surance. I look around us. The blankets hangprecariously off the corner of the bed. Thesheets have wrinkles that radiate out, lookinglike a dozen little suns and their rays. Thereare deep indents in my pillow. Broken glassand flower petals litter the floor. I hadn’teven noticed that we’d knocked a vase off mydresser, hadn’t heard the sound of it shatter-ing against the cherrywood planks. My eyesgo back to Day. His face looks so peacefulnow, free of pain in the dim glow of night.Even naïve. His mouth is no longer open, his

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brows no longer scrunched together. He’snot trembling anymore. Loose hair frameshis face, a few strands catching the city’slights from outside. I inch forward, run myhand along the muscles of his arm, andtouch my lips to his cheek.

His eyes open; they blink at me sleepily.He stares at me for a long moment. I wonderwhat he sees, and whether all of the pain andjoy and fear he had confessed earlier is stillthere, forever haunting him. He leans over togive me the gentlest, most delicate kiss. Hislips linger, afraid to leave. I don’t want toleave either. I don’t want to think about wak-ing up. When I pull him close to me again, heobliges, aching for more. And all I can thinkabout is that I’m grateful for his silence, fornot telling me that I am joining us togetherwhen I should be letting him go.

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IT’S NOT LIKE I HAVEN’T HAD MYSHARE OF MOMENTS WITH girls. Ihad my first kiss when I was twelve,when I locked lips with a sixteen-year-old girl in exchange for her not rattingme out to the street police. I’ve fooledaround with a handful of girls in theslum sectors and a few from wealthysectors—there was even one gem sec-tor, high school freshman who I’d hada couple days’ romance with backwhen I was fourteen. She was cute,with pixie-short, light brown hair andflawless olive skin, and we’d sneak offevery afternoon to the basement of herschool and, well, have a little fun. Longstory.

But . . . June.My heart’s been torn wide open,

just like I feared it would be, and Ihave no willpower to close it back up.Any barrier I might’ve succeeded inputting up around myself, any resist-ance I might’ve built up against myfeelings for her, is now completelygone. Shattered. In the dim blue lightof night, I reach out and run one handalong the curve of June’s body. Mybreathing is still shallow. I don’t wantto be the first to say something. Mychest is pressed gently against herback and my arm’s resting comfort-ably around her waist; her hair drapesover her neck in a dark, glossy rope. Ibury my face against her smooth skin.A million thoughts pour through myhead, but like her, I stay silent.

There’s simply nothing to say.

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* * *

I jolt awake in bed, gasping. I canbarely breathe—my lungs heave in anattempt to suck in air. I look aroundfrantically. Where am I?

I’m in June’s bed.It was a nightmare, just a night-

mare, and the Lake sector alley andstreet and blood are gone. I lie there amoment, trying quietly to catch mybreath and slow the pounding of myheart. I’m completely drenched insweat. I glance over at June. She’s ly-ing on her side and facing me, herbody still rising and falling in a gentle,steady rhythm. Good. I didn’t wakeher. I hurriedly wipe tears from myface with the palm of my uninjuredhand. Then I lie there for a fewminutes, still trembling. When it’s ob-vious that I’m not going to be able tofall back asleep, I slowly sit up in bed

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and crouch with my arms against myknees. I bow my head. My lashes brushagainst the skin of my arm. I feel soweak, like I just finished climbing up athirty-story building.

This was easily the worst nightmareI’ve had yet. I’m even terrified to blinkfor too long, in case I have to revisitthe images that danced under my eye-lids. I look around the room. My visionblurs again; I angrily wipe the freshtears away. What time is it? It’s stillpitch-black outside, with only the faintglow from distant JumboTrons andstreetlights filtering into the room. Iglance toward June, watching how thedim lights from outside splash coloracross her silhouette. This time, Idon’t reach out and touch her.

I don’t know how long I sit therecrouched like that, taking in one deeplungful of air after another until my

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breathing finally steadies. It’s longenough for the sweat beading my en-tire body to dry. My eyes wander to theroom’s balcony. I stare at it for awhile, unable to look away, and then Igingerly slide out of bed without asound and slip into my shirt, trousers,and boots. I twist my hair up into atight knot, then fit a cap snugly over it.June stirs a little. I stop moving. Whenshe settles back down, I finish button-ing my shirt and walk over to the glassbalcony doors. In the corner of thebedroom, June’s dog gives me a curi-ous tilt of his head. But he doesn’tmake a sound. I say a silent thanks inmy head, then open the balcony doors.They swing open, then close behindme without a click.

I pull myself laboriously onto thebalcony railings, perch there like a cat,and survey my surroundings. Ruby

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sector, a gem sector that’s so com-pletely different from where I camefrom. I’m back in LA, but I don’t recog-nize it. Clean, manicured streets, newand shiny JumboTrons, wide side-walks without cracks and potholes,without street police dragging cryingorphans away from market stands. In-stinctively, my attention turns in thedirection of the city that Lake sectorwould be. From this side of the build-ing, I can’t see downtown LA, but I canfeel it there, the memories that wokeme up and whispered for me to comeback. The paper clip ring sits heavilyon my finger. A dark, terrible moodlingers at the back of my mind afterthat nightmare, something I can’tseem to shake. I hop over the side ofthe balcony and work my way down toa lower ledge. I make my way silently,floor by floor, until my boots hit the

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pavement and I blend into the shad-ows of the night. My breaths comeraggedly.

Even here in a gem sector, there arenow city patrols guarding the streets,their guns drawn as if ready for a sur-prise Colonies’ attack at any moment.I steer clear of them to avoid any ques-tions, and go back to my old streethabits, making my way through backalley mazes and shaded sides of build-ings until I reach a train station wherejeeps are lined up, waiting to giverides. I ignore the jeeps—I’m not in themood to get chatty with one of thedrivers and then have them recognizeme as Day, and then hear rumorsspreading around town the next morn-ing about whatever the hell they thinkI was up to. Instead, I head into thetrain station and wait for the next

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automated ride to come and take meto Union Station in downtown.

Half an hour later, I step out of thedowntown station and make my waysilently through the streets until I’mclose to my mother’s old home. Thecracks in all the slum sector roads aregood for one thing—here and there Isee patches of sea daisies growinghaphazardly, little spots of turquoiseand green on an otherwise gray street.On instinct, I bend down and pick ahandful of them. Mom’s favorite.

“You there. Hey, boy.”I turn to see who’s calling. It actu-

ally takes me a few seconds to find her,because she’s so small. An old wo-man’s hunched against the side of aboarded-up building, shivering in thenight air. She’s bent almost double,with a face completely covered in deepwrinkles, and her clothes are so

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tattered that I can’t tell where any of itends or begins—it’s just one big mop ofrags. She has a cracked mug sitting ather dirty bare feet, but what reallymakes me stop is that her hands arewrapped in thick bandages. Just likeMom’s. When she sees that my atten-tion is on her, her eyes light up with afaint glint of hope. I’m not sure if sherecognizes me, but I’m also not surehow well she can see. “Any sparechange, little boy?” she croaks.

I dig around numbly in my pockets,then pull out a small wad of cash.Eight hundred Republic Notes. Not toolong ago, I would’ve put my life indanger to get my hands on this muchmoney. I bend down next to the oldwoman, then press the bills into hershaking palm and squeeze her band-aged hands with my own.

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“Keep it hidden. Don’t tell anyone.”When she just continues to stare at mewith shocked eyes and an agapemouth, I stand up and start walkingback down the street. I think she callsout, but I don’t bother turning around.Don’t want to see those bandagedhands again.

Minutes later, I reach the intersec-tion of Watson and Figueroa. My oldhome.

The street hasn’t changed muchfrom how I remember it, but this timemy mother’s home is boarded up andabandoned, like many of the otherbuildings in the slum sectors. I won-der if there are squatters in there, allholed up in our old bedroom or sleep-ing on the kitchen floor. No lightshines from the house. I walk slowlytoward it, wondering if I’m still lost inmy nightmare. Maybe I haven’t woken

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up at all. No more quarantine tapeblocks the street off, no more plaguepatrols hang around outside thehouse. As I walk toward it, I notice anold bloodstain still visible, if onlybarely, on the broken concrete leadingtoward the house. It looks brown andfaded now, so different from how I re-member it. I stare at the bloodstain,numb and unfeeling, then step aroundit and continue on. My hand clingstightly to the thick bundle of sea dais-ies I brought.

When I approach the front door, Isee the familiar red X is still there, al-though now it’s faded and chipped,and several planks of rotting wood arenailed across the door frame. I standthere for a while, running a fingeralong the dying paint streaks. A fewminutes later, I snap out of my dazeand wander around to the back of the

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house. Half of our fence has now col-lapsed, leaving the tiny yard exposedand visible to our neighbors. The backdoor also has planks of wood nailedacross it, but they’re so rotten andcrumbling that all I have to do is put alittle weight on them and they comeapart in a dull crackle of splinters.

I force the door open and step in-side. I remove my cap as I go, lettingmy hair tumble down my back. Momhad always told us to take our hats offwhile in the house.

My eyes adjust to the darkness. Istep quietly up a few steps and enterthe back of our tiny living room. Theymay have boarded up the house aspart of some standard protocol, butthe furniture inside the house is un-touched, different only in that it’s allcovered in a layer of dust. My family’sfew belongings are still here, in exactly

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the same condition as I’d last seenthem. The old Elector’s portrait hangson the room’s far wall, prominent andcentered, and our little wooden diningtable still has thick layers of cardboardtacked to one of its legs, still doingtheir job of holding the table up. Oneof the chairs is lying on the ground, asif someone had to get up in a hurry.That had been John, I now remember.I recall how we’d all headed into thebedroom to grab Eden, trying to getour little brother out before the plaguepatrols came for him.

The bedroom. I turn my boots inthe direction of our narrow bedroomdoor. It only takes a few steps to reachit. Yeah, everything in here is exactlythe same too, maybe with a few extracobwebs. The plant that Eden hadonce brought home is still sitting inthe corner, although now it’s dead, its

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leaves and vines black and shriveled. Istand there for a moment, staring at it,and then head back into the livingroom. I walk once around the diningtable. Finally, I sit in my old chair. Itcreaks like it always did.

I lay the bundle of sea daisies care-fully on the tabletop. Our lantern sitsin the middle of the table, unlit andunused. Usually, the routine went likethis: Mom would come home aroundsix o’clock every day, a few hours afterI’d gotten back from grade school, andJohn would get home around nine orten. Mom would try to hold off onlighting the table lantern each nightuntil John returned, and after a whileEden and I got used to looking forwardto “the lantern lighting,” which alwaysmeant John had just walked throughthe door. And that meant we’d get tosit down to dinner.

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I don’t know why I sit here and feelthe familiar old expectation that Momis going to come out from the kitchenand light the lantern. I don’t knowhow I can feel a jolt of joy in my chest,thinking John is home, that dinner’sserved. Stupid old habits. Still, myeyes go expectantly to the front door.My hopes rise.

But the lantern stays unlit. Johnstays outside. Mom isn’t home.

I lean my arms heavily against thetable and press my palms to my eyes.“Help me,” I whisper desperately tothe empty room. “I can’t do this.” Iwant to, I love her, but I can’t bear it.It’s been almost a year. What’s wrongwith me? Why can’t I just move on?

My throat chokes up. The tearscome in a rush. I don’t bother to stopthem, because I know it’s impossible. Isob uncontrollably—I can’t stop, I

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can’t catch my breath, I can’t see. Ican’t see my family because they’re nothere. Without them, all this furnitureis nothing, the sea daisies lying on thetable are meaningless, the lantern isjust an old, blackened piece of junk.The images from my nightmare linger,haunting me. No matter how hard Itry, I can’t push them away.

Time heals all wounds. But not thisone. Not yet.

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I DON’T STIR, BUT THROUGH MY HALF-LIDDED,

SLEEPY eyes, I see Day sit up in bed besideme and bury his face in his arms. He’sbreathing heavily. Seven minutes later hegets up quietly, casts one last glance in mydirection, and disappears out the balconydoors. He’s as silent as ever, and if him wak-ing up from his nightmare hadn’t roused me,he would easily have left my room withoutmy ever knowing.

But I do know, and this time I rise rightafter he leaves. I throw on some clothes, pullon my boots, and head out after him. Thecool air washes over my face, and moonlightdrenches the whole night in dark silver.

Even in his deteriorating condition, he’sstill fast when he wants to be. By the time I

catch up with him at Union Station and fol-low him through the streets of downtown,my heart is pounding steadily in the way itdoes after a thorough workout. By now, Ialready know where he’s going. He’s return-ing to his family’s old home. I look on as hefinally reaches the intersection of Watsonand Figueroa, turns the corner, and headsinside a tiny, boarded-up house with a fadedX still painted on its door.

Just being back here makes me dizzy withthe memory. I can’t imagine how muchworse it must be for Day. Gingerly I make myway over to the boarded windows, then listenintently for him. He goes in through the backdoor—I hear him shuffling around inside, hisfootsteps subdued and muffled, and thenstop in the living room. I go from window towindow until I finally find one that still has acrack between two of its wooden planks. Atfirst I can’t see him. But eventually I do.

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Day is sitting at the living room table withhis head in his hands. Even though it’s toodark inside for me to make out his features, Ican hear him crying. His silhouette trembleswith grief, and his anguish is etched intoevery single crumpled, devastated muscle ofhis body. The sound is so foreign that it tearsat my heart; I’ve seen Day cry, but I’m notused to it. I don’t know whether I ever willbe. When I reach up to my face, I realize thattears are running down my cheeks too.

I did this to him . . . and because he lovesme, he can never really escape it. He’ll re-member the fate of his family every time hesees me, even if he loves me, especially if heloves me.

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I FINALLY RETURN, BLEARY-EYEDAND EXHAUSTED, TO JUNE’S bed-room just before dawn. She’s stillthere, apparently undisturbed. I don’ttry to crawl back into bed beside her;instead, I collapse onto her couch andfall into a deep, dreamless sleep untilthe light strengthens outside.

June’s the one who shakes meawake. “Hey,” she whispers. To mysurprise, she doesn’t comment on howred or puffy my eyes must look. Shedoesn’t even seem shocked to wake upand find me lounging on her couch in-stead of in her bed. Her own eyes lookheavy. “I’ve . . . informed Anden aboutwhat you decided. He says a lab team

will be ready to pick you and Eden upin two hours, at your apartment.” Shesounds grateful, weary, and hesitant.

“I’ll be there,” I mutter. I can’t helpstaring vacantly off into space for afew seconds—nothing seems real rightnow, and I feel like I’m swimming in asea of fog where emotions and imagesand thoughts are all out of focus. Iforce myself off the couch and into thebathroom. There, I unbutton my shirtand splash water on my face and chestand arms. I’m afraid to look in themirror this time. I don’t want to seeJohn staring back at me, with my ownblindfold tight around his eyes. Myhands are shaking so badly; the gashon my left palm is open again andbleeding, probably from the fact that Ikeep clenching that hand instinctively.Had June seen me leave? I shudder asI relive the memory of her standing

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there outside my mother’s home, wait-ing at the head of a squadron of sol-diers. Then I revisit the Chancellor’swords to me, the precarious situationthat June is in . . . that Tess is in, thatEden is in—that we’re all in.

I splash water repeatedly on myface, and when that doesn’t help, Ijump in the shower and drown myselfwith scalding hot water. But it doesn’tnumb the images.

By the time I finally emerge fromthe bathroom, my hair still wet and myshirt half buttoned, I’m sickly pale andtrembling. June watches me quietly asshe sits on the edge of her bed, sippinga pale purple tea. Even though I knowit’s pointless to try hiding anythingfrom her, I still give it a shot. “I’mready,” I say with as genuine of a smileas I can muster. She doesn’t deserve tosee this sort of pain on my face, and I

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don’t want her to think that she’s theone causing it. She’s not the one caus-ing it, I angrily remind myself.

But June doesn’t comment on it.She studies me with those deep darkeyes. “I just got a call from Anden,”she says, running a hand uncomfort-ably through her hair. “They havesome new evidence that CommanderJameson’s the one responsible forpassing along some military secrets tothe Colonies. It sounds like she’sworking for them now.”

Underneath my tidal wave of emo-tions, a deep hatred wells up. If it wer-en’t for Commander Jameson, maybeeverything would have been betterbetween June and me—and maybe ourfamilies would still be alive. I don’tknow. We’ll never know. And nowshe’s working for the enemy whenshe’s supposed to be dead. I mutter a

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curse under my breath. “Is there anyway to know exactly where she is? Isshe actually in the Republic?”

“No one knows.” June shakes herhead. “Anden says they’re trying to seeif anything on her can be tracked, butshe must have long changed out of herprison clothing, and her boots’ track-ing chips must be gone by now. She’llhave made sure of that.” When Junesees the frustration on my face, shegrimaces in sympathy. Both of us,broken by the same person. “I know.”She puts her tea down and squeezesmy uninjured hand.

Violent flashbacks flicker throughmy memory at her touch—I wince be-fore I can stop myself. She freezes. Fora second, I see the deep hurt in her ex-pression. I quickly cover up my mis-take by kissing her, trying to lose my-self in the gesture as I did last night.

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But I’ve never been the best liar, atleast not around her. She takes a stepaway from me. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” I say in a rush, irritatedwith myself at dragging our oldwounds back to the surface. “It’snot—”

“Yes, it is.” June forces herself toface me. “I saw where you went lastnight—I saw you in there. . . .” Hervoice fades away as she looks down inguilt. “I’m sorry I followed you, but Ihad to know. I had to see that I was theone causing all of the grief in youreyes.”

I want to reassure her that it’s notall because of her, that I love her sodesperately that I’m terrified of thefeeling. But I can’t. June sees the hesit-ation on my face and knows it’s a con-firmation of her fear. She bites her lip.“It’s my fault,” she says, as if it’s just

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simple logic. “And I’m not sure I willever be able to earn your forgiveness. Ishouldn’t.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Myhands dangle at my sides, helpless.Terrible images from our past flashthrough my mind again—my best at-tempts can’t stop them. “I don’t knowhow to do it.”

June’s eyes are glossy with tears,but she manages to hold them in. Canone mistake really destroy a lifetimetogether? “I don’t think there’s a way,”she finally says.

I take a step toward her. “Hey,” Iwhisper in her ear. “We’ll be okay.”I’m not sure if it’s true, but it seemslike the best thing to say.

June smiles, playing along, but hereyes mirror my own doubt.

* * *

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The second day of the Colonies’ prom-ised ceasefire.

The last place I want to return to isthe lab floor of the Los Angeles CentralHospital. It’s hard enough being thereand seeing Tess contained behindglass walls, with chemicals being injec-ted into her bloodstream. Now I’ll beback there with Eden at my side, andI’ll have to deal with seeing the samething happen to him. As we get readyto head down to the jeep waiting infront of our temporary apartment, Ikneel in front of Eden and straightenhis glasses. He stares solemnly back.

“You don’t have to do this,” I sayagain.

“I know,” Eden replies. He brushesmy hand impatiently away when Iwipe lint off his jacket’s shoulders. “I’llbe fine. They said it wouldn’t take allday, anyway.”

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Anden couldn’t guarantee hissafety; he could only promise that theywould take every precaution. Andcoming from the mouth of the Repub-lic—even a mouth that I’ve come togrudgingly trust—that little cracked bitof reassurance means almost nothing.I sigh. “If you change your mind at anypoint, you let me know, yeah?”

“Don’t worry, Daniel,” he says,shrugging off the whole thing. “I’ll befine. It doesn’t seem that scary. Atleast you get to be there.”

“Yeah. At least I get to be there,” Iecho numbly. Lucy fusses over hismessy blond curls. More reminders ofhome, and of Mom. I shut my eyes andtry to clear my thoughts. Then I reachout and tap Eden on the nose. “Thesooner they start,” I say to him, “thesooner it can all be over.”

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Minutes later, a military jeep picksme up while a medic truck transportsEden separately to the Los AngelesCentral Hospital.

He can do this, I repeat to myself asI reach the fourth-floor laboratory.I’m escorted by technicians to a cham-ber with thick glass windows. And ifhe can, then I can live through it. Butstill, my hands are sweaty. I clenchthem again in an attempt to stop theirendless trembling, and a stab of painruns through my injured palm. Eden’sinside this glass chamber. His paleblond curls are messy and ruffled inspite of Lucy’s efforts, and he’s nowwearing a thin red patient scrub. Hisfeet are bare. A pair of lab technicianshelp him up onto a long, white bed,and one of them rolls up Eden’ssleeves to take his blood pressure.

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Eden winces when the cool rubbertouches his arm.

“Relax, kid,” the lab tech says, hisvoice muffled by the glass. “Just take adeep breath.”

Eden murmurs a faint “okay” in re-sponse. He looks so small next tothem. His feet don’t even touch thefloor. They swing idly while he staresoff toward the window separating us,searching for me. I clench and un-clench my hands, then press themagainst the window.

The fate of the entire Republic restson the shoulders of my kid brother. IfMom, John, or Dad were here, they’dprobably laugh at how ridiculous thiswhole thing is.

“He’s going to be okay,” the lab techstanding next to me mutters in reas-surance. He doesn’t sound very con-vincing. “Today’s procedures

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shouldn’t cause him any pain. We’rejust going to take some blood samplesand then give him a few medications.We’ve sent some samples to Antarc-tica’s lab teams for analysis too.”

“Is that supposed to make me feelbetter?” I snap at him. “Today’s pro-cedures shouldn’t cause him any pain?What about tomorrow’s?”

The lab tech holds his hands up de-fensively. “I’m sorry,” he stammers.“It came out wrong—I didn’t mean itlike that. Your brother won’t be in anypain, I promise. Some discomfort, per-haps, from the medicine, but we’retaking every precaution we can. I, er, Ihope you won’t report this negativelyto our glorious Elector.”

So, that’s what he’s worried about.That if I’m upset, I’m going to run toAnden and whine. I narrow my eyes at

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him. “If you don’t give me a reason toreport anything bad, then I won’t.”

The lab tech apologizes again, butI’m not paying attention to him any-more. My eyes go back to Eden. He’sasking one of the technicianssomething, although he’s speakingquietly enough that I can’t hear. Thelab tech shakes his head at my broth-er. Eden swallows, looks backnervously in my direction, and thensqueezes his eyes shut. One of the labtechs takes out a syringe, then care-fully injects it into the vein of Eden’sarm. Eden clenches his jaw tight, buthe doesn’t utter a sound. A familiardull pain throbs at the base of myneck. I try to calm myself down.Stressing myself out and triggeringone of my headaches at a time like thisis not going to help Eden.

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He chose to do this, I remind my-self. I swell with sudden pride. Whenhad Eden grown up? I feel like Iblinked and missed it.

The lab tech finally removes thesyringe, which is now filled withblood. They dab something on Eden’sarm, then bandage it. The second tech-nician then drops a handful of pills in-to Eden’s open palm.

“Swallow them together,” he tellsmy brother. Eden does as he says.“They’re a bit bitter—best to get it allover with at once.”

Eden grimaces and gags a little, butmanages to wash the pills down withsome water. Then he lies down on thebed. The technicians wheel him overto a cylindrical machine. I can’t re-member what the machine’s called,even though they told me less than anhour ago. They slowly roll him inside

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it, until all I can see of Eden are theballs of his bare feet. I slowly peel myhands off the window. My skin leavesprints on the glass. A minute later, myheart twists in my chest as I hear Edencrying from inside the machine. So-mething about it must be painful. Iclench my teeth so hard that I thinkmy jaw might break.

Finally, after what seems like aneternity, one of the lab techs motionsfor me to come inside. I immediatelyshove past them and enter the glasschamber to lean over Eden’s side. He’ssitting on the edge of the white bedagain. When he hears me approach, hebreaks into a smile.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he says to mein a weak voice.

I just take his hand and squeeze itin my own. “You did good,” I reply.“I’m proud of you.” And I am. I’m

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prouder of him than I’ve ever been ofmyself—I’m proud of him for standingup to me.

One of the lab techs shows me ascreen with what looks like a magni-fied view of Eden’s blood cells. “A goodstart,” he tells us. “We’ll work withthis and try injecting Tess with a curetonight. If we’re lucky, she’ll hang inthere for another five or six days andgive us some time to work with.” Thetech’s eyes are grim, even though hiswords are pretty hopeful. The weirdcombination makes a chill run downmy spine. I grip Eden’s hand tighter.

“We don’t have a lot of time left,”Eden whispers to me when the labtechs leave us to talk in peace. “If theycan’t find a cure, what are we going todo?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. It’s notsomething I really want to think about,

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because it leaves me feeling morehelpless than I like. If we don’t find acure, there won’t be any internationalmilitary aid. If there’s no aid, thenwe’ll have no way to win against theColonies. And if the Colonies overrunus . . . I recall what I saw when I wasover there, and remember what theChancellor had offered me. If youchoose, we can work together. Thepeople don’t know what’s best forthem. Sometimes you just have tohelp them along. Isn’t that right?

I need to find a way to stall themwhile we work on a cure. Anything toslow the Colonies down, to give theAntarcticans a chance to come to ouraid. “We’ll just have to fight back,” Itell Eden, ruffling his hair. “Until wecan’t fight back anymore. That’s theway it always seems to be, yeah?”

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“Why can’t the Republic win?”Eden asks. “I always thought their mil-itary was the strongest in the world.This is the first time I actually wishthey were right.”

I smile sadly at Eden’s naïveté. “TheColonies have allies,” I reply. “Wedon’t.” How the hell do I explain it all?How do I tell him exactly how helplessI feel, standing by like a broken puppetwhile Anden leads his army in a battlethey just can’t win? “They have a bet-ter army, and we just don’t haveenough soldiers to go around.”

Eden sighs. His little shouldersslump in a way that chokes me up. Iclose my eyes and force myself to calmdown. Crying in front of Eden at a timelike this is way too embarrassing. “Toobad everyone in the Republic isn’t asoldier,” he mutters.

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I open my eyes. Too bad everyonein the Republic isn’t a soldier.

And just like that, I know what Ineed to do. I know how to answer theChancellor’s blackmail, and how tostall the Colonies. I’m dying, I don’thave many days left—my mind isslowly falling apart, and so is mystrength. But I do have enoughstrength for one thing. I have enoughtime to take one final step.

“Maybe everyone in the Republiccan be a soldier,” I reply quietly.

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LAST NIGHT FEELS LIKE A DREAM, EVERY LAST

DETAIL of it. But this morning stands in starkcontrast—there is no mistaking the flinch Ifelt from Day when I touched his arm, the vi-olent shudder that went through him at justa brush of my hand. My heart still hurts as Ileave my apartment, headed for a parkedjeep that will be waiting for me. A morningspent with the Senate. I try in vain to clearDay from my mind, but it’s impossible. ASenate meeting feels so trivial right now—theColonies are gradually pushing our countryback with the help of strong allies, Antarcticastill refuses to help us, and CommanderJameson is at large. And here I’ll sit, talkingpolitics when I could be—should be—out inthe field, doing what I’m trained to do. What

am I going to say to all of them, anyway? Areany of them even going to listen?

What are we going to do?No. I need to focus. I need to support

Anden as he attempts, yet again, to negotiatewith the Colonies’ Chancellor and CEOs andgenerals. We both know that it won’t get usanywhere. . . . The only thing that will makethem budge is a cure. And even then, itmight not be enough to hold the Coloniesback. But still. We have to try. And perhapshe’ll be up for helping the Patriots with theirplans, especially if he knows how much Daywill be involved in them.

The mere thought of Day brings backmemories of last night. My cheeks turn hot,and I know it’s not because of the warm LosAngeles weather. Stupid timing, I chide my-self, and push last night from my thoughts.All around me, the usually busy streets ofLake are eerily empty, as if we’re preparing

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for an oncoming storm. I suppose that’s notso inaccurate.

A prickling sensation suddenly travels upmy spine. I stop for a moment, then frown.What was that? The streets still look deser-ted, but a strange premonition makes thehairs on the back of my neck stand up.Someone is watching me. Immediately theidea feels too far-fetched, but as I walk, Itighten my jaw and let my hand rest on mygun. Maybe I’m being ridiculous. Perhapsthe warning that Day had given me—that theColonies might use me against him or thatthey might have me in their sights—is start-ing to play tricks on my mind. Still, no reas-on to throw caution to the winds. I leanagainst the closest building so that my backis protected, and call Anden. The sooner thisjeep arrives, the better.

And then I see her. I stop the call.She wears a good disguise. (Weathered

Republic attire that’s supposed to be worn

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only by first-year soldiers, which means shelooks unremarkable and easily missed; a sol-dier’s cap pulled low over her face, with onlya few dark red strands poking out from un-derneath it.) But even from this distance, Irecognize her face—cold and hard.

Commander Jameson.I look casually away and pretend to dig

around in my pockets for something, but in-side, my heart pounds at a furious pace.She’s here in Los Angeles, which means shesomehow managed to escape the fighting inDenver and avoided the Republic’s clutches.Is it too big a coincidence that she is where Iam? Perhaps she is here because she knewthat I would be here? The Colonies. Theremust be other eyes here. My hands shake asshe passes me by on the other side of thestreet. She gives no indication of seeing me,but I know that she’s noticed. On such anempty block, I should be impossible tomiss—and I’m not in disguise.

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When her back is finally turned to me, Icross my arms, tilt my head slightly down-ward, and call Anden on my earpiece again.“I see her. She’s here. Commander Jamesonis in Los Angeles.”

My voice sounds so quiet and mumbledthat Anden has trouble making it out. “Yousee her?” he asks in disbelief. “She’s on thesame block as you?”

“Yes,” I whisper. I’m careful to keep aneye on Commander Jameson’s disappearingfigure. “She might be here intentionally,looking for where my jeep will take me orperhaps trying to locate you.” As she pullsfarther away, an overwhelming desire risesup in me to tag along. For the first time in along time, my agent skills are calling out tome. Gone are politics; suddenly I’ve beenthrust back in the field. When she turns acorner, I immediately abandon my spot andstart heading after her. Where is she going?“She’s at Lake and Colorado,” I whisper

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urgently to Anden. “Turning north. Get somesoldiers out here, but don’t let her knowyou’re following along. I want to see whereshe’s going.” Before Anden can say anythingelse, I end the call.

I trail along the side of the buildings,careful to stay in the shadows as much as Ican, and take a shortcut through one alley to-ward the street where I think CommanderJameson had gone. Instead of peeringaround the corner and potentially giving my-self away, I instead huddle in the alley andcalculate how much time has passed. If shekept up the same pace, and she stayed onthis street, then she should have walked pastthis alley at least one minute ago. Carefully, Ilean out until I can catch a quick glimpse ofthe street. Sure enough, she’s already walkedpast me, and I can see the back of her figurehurrying away. This quick glimpse is alsoenough to tell me something else—she’s talk-ing into her own mike.

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I wish Day were with me. He’d know in-stantly the best way to travel unseen throughthese streets. For a second I contemplatecalling him, but for him to get here in timewould be too much of a stretch.

Instead, I follow Commander Jameson. Itail her for a good four blocks, until we entera strip of Ruby that borders part of Batalla,where two or three pyramid airship bases sitalong the street. She makes a turn again. Ihurry to turn with her—but by the time Ilook down the street, she’s gone. Perhaps sheknew someone was following her; after all,Commander Jameson is much more experi-enced in this sort of tracking than I am. Ilook to the roofs.

Anden’s voice crackles in my earpiece.“We lost her,” he confirms. “I’ve put out a si-lent alert to the troops there to search for herand report immediately back. She couldn’thave gone far.”

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“That’s true,” I agree, but my shoulderssag. She’d disappeared without a trace. Whohad she been talking to on her mike? Myeyes scan the street, trying to figure out whatshe must have come here for. Maybe she’sscouting. The thought unnerves me.

“I’m heading back,” I finally whisper intomy own mike. “If my suspicions are correct,then we might have—”

A whoosh of air—a blindingspark—something explodes before my eyes. Iflinch and throw myself instinctively to theground behind a nearby trash bin. What wasthat?

A bullet. I look to the wall where it hit. Asmall chunk of brick is missing. Someonetried to shoot me. My sudden turn to go backthe way I came must have been the onlything that saved my life. I start placing an-other frantic call to Anden. Blood rushesthrough my ears like a tidal wave of noise,blocking out logic and allowing the panic in.

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Another bullet sparks against the metal ofthe trash bin. There’s no question now thatI’m under attack.

I click the call off. Where is CommanderJameson shooting from? Are there otherswith her? Colonies troops? Republic soldiersturned traitorous? I don’t know. I can’t tell. Ican’t hear and I can’t see—

Through my rising panic, Metias’s voicematerializes. Stay calm, Junebug. Logic willsave you. Focus, think, act.

I close my eyes, taking a deep, shudder-ing breath, and allow myself a second to stillmy mind, to concentrate on my brother’svoice. This is no time to fall apart. I havenever let emotions get the best of me, andI’m not about to start now. Think, June.Don’t be stupid. After over a year of trauma,after months and months of political bar-gaining, after days of war and death, I amstarting to suspect everything and everyone.This is how the Colonies could tear us

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apart . . . not with their allies or weapons, butwith their propaganda. With fear anddesperation.

My panic clears. Logic sweeps back in.First, I yank my own gun out of its hol-

ster. Then I make an exaggerated gesture,like I’m about to dart out from behind thetrash bin. Instead, I stay put—but my feint isenough to provoke another bullet. Spark! Itricochets off the brick wall that my back ispressed up against. Instantly I glance at themark it leaves and pinpoint where it mighthave come from. (Not from the roofs—theangle isn’t wide enough. Four, maybe fivefloors up. Not the building directly acrossfrom me, but the one right next to it.) I lookover to the windows lining those floors.Several are open. At first I want to aim rightback at those windows—but then I remindmyself that I might hit someone unintention-ally. Instead, I study the building. It lookslike either a broadcast station or a military

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hall—it’s close enough to the air bases that Iwonder whether it’s where the airships arebeing monitored from.

What is she up to that involves the airbases? Are the Colonies planning a surpriseattack here?

I click my mike back on. “Anden,” I whis-per after I input his code. “Get me out ofhere. Use my gun’s tracking.”

But my call has no time to go through. Asplit second later, another bullet cracks rightabove my head—this time I flinch and flattenmyself underneath the trash bin. When Iopen my eyes, I find myself staring straightinto the cold eyes of Commander Jameson.

She grabs for my wrist.I bolt out from under the trash bin before

she can reach me. I twist around to aim mygun at her, but she’s already darted away.Her own gun’s raised. Right away I can tellthat she’s not aiming to kill. Why? The ques-tion runs through my mind at lightning

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speed. Because the Colonies need mealive—because they need me to bargainwith.

She fires; I roll on the ground. A bulletmisses my leg by inches. I hop onto my feetand aim at her again—this time I fire. I missher by a hair. She ducks behind the trash bin.At the same time I try to put a call throughagain. I succeed. “Anden,” I gasp into themike as I turn tail and run. “Get me out!”

“Already on our way,” Anden replies. Isprint around a corner right as I hear anoth-er shot fired behind me. It’s the last one.Right on schedule, a jeep races toward meand screeches to a halt several feet awayfrom me. A pair of soldiers pours out, shield-ing me while two others run out to the streettoward Commander Jameson. I alreadyknow it’s too late to catch her, though—shemust’ve made a run for it too. It’s all over asquickly as it began. I hop into the jeep withthe soldiers’ help, then collapse against the

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seat as we speed away. Adrenaline washesthrough me. My entire body tremblesuncontrollably.

“Are you all right?” one of the soldiersasks, but his voice sounds far away. All I canthink about is what the encounter meant.Commander Jameson had known I wouldwait at that block for my jeep; she must havelured me out in an attempt to capture me.Her presence at the airship bases was no co-incidence. She’s feeding information to theColonies about our rotations and locationshere. There are probably other Colonies sol-diers hiding amongst us too—CommanderJameson is a wanted fugitive. She can’t movearound this easily without help. And with herexperience, she could probably hold off amanhunt for her on these streets longenough for the Colonies to arrive. For theColonies to arrive. They’ve targeted theirnext city, and it’s going to be us.

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Over my earpiece, Anden’s voice comeson again. “I’m on my way,” he says urgently.“Are you all right? The jeep will take youstraight to Batalla Hall, and I’ll have a fullguard on you—”

“She’s feeding them information aboutthe ports,” I breathe into the mike before hecan finish. My voice shakes as I say it. “TheColonies are about to attack Los Angeles.”

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I GET THE CALL ABOUT JUNE AS I’MSITTING WITH EDEN. After a morn-ing of experimentations, he’s finallyfallen asleep. Outside, clouds blanketthe entire city in a bleak atmosphere.Good. I wouldn’t know how to feel if itwere a bright, sunny day, not with thisnews about Commander Jameson andthe fact that she’d tried to shoot Juneout in the open on the streets. Cloudssuit my mood just fine.

While I wait impatiently for June toarrive at the hospital, I spend my timewatching Tess through the glass of herroom’s window. The lab team still sur-rounds her, monitoring her vitals likea bunch of goddy vultures on an old

nature show. I shake my head. Ishouldn’t be so hard on them. Earlierthey let me put on a suit, sit insidenext to Tess, and hold her hand. Shewas unconscious, of course, but shecould still tighten her fingers aroundmine. She knows I’m here. That I’mwaiting for her cure.

Now the lab team looks like they’reinjecting her with some sort of for-mula mixed from a batch of liquidmade from Eden’s blood cells. Hell if Iknow what’ll happen next. Their facesare hidden behind reflective glassmasks, turning them into somethingalien. Tess’s eyes stay closed, and herskin’s an unhealthy yellow.

She has the virus that the Coloniesspread, I have to remind myself. No,that the Republic spread. Damn thismemory of mine.

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Pascao, Baxter, and the other Patri-ots stay camped out at the hospital too.Where the hell else do they have to go,anyway? As the minutes drag on, Pas-cao takes a seat next to me and rubshis hands together. “She’s hanging inthere,” he mutters, his eyes lingeringon Tess. “But there have been reportsof some other outbreaks in the city.Came mostly from some refugees.Have you seen the news on theJumboTrons?”

I shake my head. My jaw is tensewith rage. When is June arriving?They said they were bringing her hereover a quarter of an hour ago.“Haven’t gone anywhere except to seemy brother and to see Tess.”

Pascao sighs, rubbing a hand acrosshis face. He’s careful not to ask aboutJune. I’d apologize to him about mytemper, but I’m too angry to care.

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“Three quarantine zones set up now indowntown. If you’re still planning toexecute your little stunt, we gottamove out within the next day.”

“That’s all the time we’ll need. If therumors we’re hearing from June andthe Elector are true, then this will beour best chance.” The thought of partsof Los Angeles being cordoned off forquarantines sends a dark, uncomfort-able nostalgia through me.Everything’s so wrong, and I’m sotired. I’m so tired of worrying about itall, about whether or not the people Icare about will make it through thenight or survive the day. At the sametime, I can’t sleep. Eden’s words fromthis morning still ring in my thoughts.Maybe everyone in the Republic canbe a soldier. My fingers run along thepaper clip ring adorning my finger. IfJune had gotten injured this morning,

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I wonder if the last shreds of my sanitywould’ve vanished. I feel like I’mhanging on by a thread. I guess that’strue in a pretty literal sense too—myheadaches have been relentless today,and I’ve grown used to the perpetualpain pulsing at the back of my head.Just a few months, I think. Just a fewmonths, like the doctors said, andthen maybe the medication will haveworked enough to let me get that sur-gery. Keep hanging on.

At my silence, Pascao turns his paleeyes on me. “It’s gonna be dangerous,what you’ve told me,” he says. Heseems like he’s treading carefully.“Some civilians will die. There’s justno way around it.”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Ireply, returning his look. “No matterhow warped this country is, it’s still

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their homeland. We have to call themto action.”

Shouts echo from the hall beyondour own. Pascao and I both stop tolisten for a second—and if I didn’tknow any better, I’d swear it was theElector. Weird. I’m not exactlyAnden’s biggest fan, but I’ve neverheard him lose his temper.

The double doors at the end of thehall swing open with abang—suddenly, the shouts fill thehall. Anden storms in with his usualcrowd of soldiers, while June keeps upbeside him. June. Relief floodsthrough my body. I hop to my feet. Herface lights up as I hurry over to her.

“I’m okay,” she says, waving me offbefore I can even open my mouth. Shesounds impatient about it, like she’sspent the entire day convincing every-one else of the same thing. “They’re

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being overly cautious, bringing mehere—”

I could care less if they’re beingoverly cautious. I cut her off and pullher into a tight embrace. A weight liftsfrom my chest, and the rest of my an-ger comes flooding in. “You’re theElector,” I snap at Anden. “You’re thedamn Elector of the Republic. Can’tyou make sure your own goddyPrinceps-Elect isn’t assassinated by aprisoner you guys can’t even seem tokeep imprisoned? What kind of body-guards do you have, anyway—a pack offirst-year cadets?”

Anden shoots me a dangerous look,but to my surprise, he stays silent. Ipull away from June so I can hold herface in my hands. “You’re okay,right?” I ask urgently. “You’re com-pletely okay?”

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June raises an eyebrow at me, thengives me a quick, reassuring kiss.“Yes. I’m completely okay.” She casts aglance over at Anden, but he’s too dis-tracted talking to one of his soldiersnow.

“Find me the men assigned to re-trieve the Princeps-Elect,” he snaps atthe soldier. Dark circles line the skinunder his eyes, and his face looks bothhaggard and furious. “If luck hadn’tbeen on our side, Jameson would havekilled her. I’ve half a mind to labelthem all traitors. There’s plenty ofroom in the firing squad yard for all ofthem.” The soldier snaps to attentionand rushes off with several others todo as Anden said. My own angerwanes, and a chill runs through me athow familiar his wrath feels. Like I’mlooking at his father.

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Now he faces me. His voice turnscalmer. “The lab team tells me thatyour brother pulled through his exper-imentation so far very bravely,” hesays. “I wanted to thank you againfor—”

“Don’t lay it on too thick,” I inter-rupt with a raised eyebrow. “Thiswhole thing isn’t over yet.” After moredays like today, where Eden’s going tofade even faster from all the experi-ments, I might not be so polite. I lowermy voice, making an effort to soundcivil again. It’s half working. “Let’stalk in private. Elector, I have someideas to run by you. With this recentnews from Commander Jameson, wemight just have an opportunity to stirup some trouble for the Colonies. You,me, June, and the Patriots.”

Anden’s eyes darken at that, and hismouth tightens in an uncertain frown

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as he scans his audience. Pascao’sgiant, ever-present grin doesn’t seemto improve his mood. After a fewseconds, though, he nods at his sol-diers. “Get us a conference room,” hesays. “I want security cams off.”

His soldiers scramble to do his bid-ding. As we fall into step behind him, Iexchange a long glance with June.She’s okay, she’s unharmed. And yet,I’m afraid that she’ll disappear if I’mcareless enough to look away. I forcemyself to hold back on asking herabout what happened until we’re all ina private room—and from the look onher face, she’s also waiting for theright moment. My hand aches to holdhers. I keep that to myself too. Ourdance around each other always seemslike it’s doomed to repeat itself overand over again.

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“So,” Anden says once we’ve settledinto a room and his patrol has dis-abled all of the cams. He leans back inone of the chairs and surveys me witha penetrating look. “Perhaps weshould start with what happened toour Princeps-Elect this morning.”

June lifts her chin, but her handsshake ever so slightly. “I saw Com-mander Jameson in Ruby sector. Myguess is that she was in the area toscout locations—and she must haveknown where I would be.” I marvel athow steady June sounds. “I tailed herfor a while, until we reached the stripof airship bases that border Ruby andBatalla. She attacked me there.”

Even this short of a summary isenough to make me see red. Andensighs and runs a hand through hishair. “We suspect that CommanderJameson may have given some

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locations and schedules to the Colon-ies about Los Angeles airship bases.She may have also attempted to kid-nap Ms. Iparis for bargaining power.”

“Does that mean the Colonies areplanning to attack LA?” Pascao asks. Ialready know his next thought. “Butthat would mean it’s true, Denver hasfallen . . .” He trails off at Anden’sexpression.

“We’re receiving some early ru-mors,” Anden replies. “The word isthat the Colonies have a bomb that canlevel the entire city. The only thingholding them back from using it is aninternational ban. They wouldn’t wantto finally force Antarctica to get in-volved, now would they?” Since whendid Anden become so sarcastic? “Atany rate, if they attack now, we will behard-pressed to have a cure ready toshow Antarctica before the Colonies

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overwhelm us. We can defend againstthem. We can’t defend against themand Africa.”

I hesitate, then bring up thethoughts that have been churning inmy mind. “I talked to Eden this morn-ing, during his experimentation. Hegave me an idea.”

“And what’s that?” June asks.I look at her. Still as lovely as ever,

but even June is starting to show thestress from this invasion, hershoulders slightly hunched. My eyesturn back to Anden. “Surrender,” Isay.

He hadn’t expected that. “You wantme to raise the white flag to theColonies?”

“Yes, surrender.” I lower my voice.“Yesterday afternoon, the Colonies’Chancellor made me an offer. He toldme that if I could get the Republic’s

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people to rise up in support of the Co-lonies and against the Republic sol-diers, he’d make sure that Eden and Iare protected once the Colonies winthe war. Let’s say that you surrender,and at the same time, I offer to meetthe Chancellor to give him the answerto his request, that I’m going to ask thepeople to embrace the Colonies astheir new government. You now havea chance to catch the Colonies offguard. The Chancellor already as-sumes you’re going to surrender anyday now, anyway.”

“Faking a surrender is against in-ternational law,” June mumbles toherself, although she studies me care-fully. I can tell that she’s not exactlyagainst the idea. “I don’t know wheth-er the Antarcticans will appreciatethat, and the whole point of this is topersuade them to help us out, isn’t it?”

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I shake my head. “They didn’t seemto care that the Colonies broke theceasefire without warning us, backwhen this all erupted.” I glance atAnden. He watches me closely, hischin resting on his hand. “Now you getto return the favor, yeah?”

“What happens when you meetwith the Chancellor?” he finally asks.“A false surrender can only last solong before we need to act.”

I lean toward him, my voice urgent.“You know what Eden said to me thismorning? ‘Too bad everyone in the Re-public can’t be a soldier.’ But theycan.”

Anden stays silent.“Let me mark each of the sectors in

the Republic, something that will letthe people know that they can’t just liedown and let the Colonies take overtheir homes, something that will ask

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them to wait for my signal and remindthem what we’re all fighting for. Then,when I make the announcement thatthe Colonies’ Chancellor wants me tomake, I won’t call on the people to em-brace the Colonies. I’ll call them toaction.”

“And what if they don’t respond toyour call?” June says.

I shoot her a quick smile. “Havesome faith, sweetheart. The peoplelove me.”

In spite of herself, June smilesback.

I turn to Anden. Seriousness re-places my flash of amusement. “Thepeople love the Republic more thanyou think,” I say. “More than Ithought. You know the number oftimes I saw evacuees around heresinging patriotic Republic songs? Youknow how much graffiti I’ve seen over

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the last few months that support bothyou and the country?” A note of pas-sion enters my voice. “The people dobelieve in you. They believe in us. Andthey will fight back for us if we call onthem—they’ll be the ones rippingdown Colonies flags, protesting infront of Colonies offices, turning theirown homes into traps for invading Co-lonies soldiers.” I narrow my eyes.“They’ll become a million versions ofme.”

Anden and I stare at each other.Finally, he smiles.

“Well,” June says to me, “whileyou’re busy becoming the Colonies’most wanted criminal, the Patriotsand I can join in your stunts. We’ll pullthem on a national level. If Antarcticaprotests, the Republic can just say theywere the actions of a few vigilantes. If

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the Colonies want to play dirty, thenlet’s play dirty.”

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1700 HOURS.

BATALLA HALL.

68° F.

I HATE SENATE MEETINGS. I HATE THEM WITH A

PASSION—nothing but a sea of bickering politi-cians and talking heads, talking talking talk-ing all the time when I could instead be outin the streets, giving my mind and body ahealthy workout. But after the plan that Day,Anden, and I have concocted, there’s nochoice but to brief the Senate. Now I sit inthe circular meeting chamber at Batalla Hall,my seat facing Anden from across the room,trying to ignore the intimidating looks fromthe Senators. Few events leave me feelingmore like a child than Senate meetings.

Anden addresses his restless audience.“Attacks against our bases in Vegas havepicked up since Denver fell,” he says. “We’veseen African squadrons approaching the city.Tomorrow, I head out to meet my generalsthere.” He hesitates here. I hold my breath. Iknow how much Anden hates the idea ofvoicing defeat to anyone, especially to theColonies. He looks at me—my cue to helphim. He’s so tired. We all are. “Ms. Iparis,”he calls out. “If you please, I hand the floorover to you to explain your story and youradvice.”

I take a deep breath. Addressing the Sen-ate: the one thing I hate more than attendingSenate meetings, made even worse by thefact that I have to sell them a lie. “By now,I’m sure all of you have heard about Com-mander Jameson’s supposed work for theColonies. Based on what we know, it seemslikely that the Colonies will hit Los Angeleswith a surprise attack very soon. If they do,

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and the attacks on Vegas continue, we won’tlast for long. After talking with Day and thePatriots, we suggest that the only way to pro-tect our civilians and to possibly negotiate afair treaty is to announce our surrender tothe Colonies.”

Stunned silence. Then, the room burstsinto chatter. Serge is the first to raise hisvoice and challenge Anden. “With all due re-spect, Elector,” he says, his voice quiveringwith irritation, “you did not discuss this withyour other Princeps-Elects.”

“It was not something I had an opportun-ity to discuss with you before now,” Andenreplies. “Ms. Iparis’s knowledge comes onlybecause she was unfortunate enough to ex-perience it firsthand.”

Even Mariana, often on Anden’s side,raises her voice against the idea. “This is adangerous negotiation,” she says. At leastshe speaks calmly. “If you are doing this tospare our lives, then I recommend you and

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Ms. Iparis reconsider immediately. Handingthe people to the Colonies will not protectthem.”

The other Senators don’t show the samerestraint.

“A surrender? We have kept the Coloniesoff our land for almost a hundred years!”

“Surely we’re not all that weakened yet?What have they done, aside from temporarilywinning Denver?”

“Elector, this is something you shouldhave discussed with all of us—even in themidst of this crisis!”

I look on as each voice rises higher thanthe next, until the entire chamber fills withthe sound of insults, anger, and disbelief.Some spew hatred over Day. Some curse theColonies. Some beg Anden to reconsider, toask for more international help, to plead forthe United Nations to stop sealing our ports.Noise.

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“This is an outrage!” one Senator (thin,probably no more than a hundred and fortypounds, with a gleaming bald head) barks,looking at me as if I’m responsible for the en-tire country’s downfall. “Surely we’re not tak-ing direction from a little girl? And fromDay? You must be joking. We’ll hand thecountry over based on the advice of somedamn boy who should still be on our nation’scriminal list!”

Anden narrows his eyes. “Careful howyou refer to Day, Senator, before the peopleturn their backs on you.”

The Senator sneers at Anden and raiseshimself up as high as he can. “Elector,” hesays, his tone exaggerated and mocking.“You are the leader of the Republic of Amer-ica. You have power over this entire country.And here you are, held hostage to the sugges-tions of someone who tried to have youkilled.” My temper has begun to rise. I lowermy head so that I don’t have to look at the

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Senator. “In my opinion, sir, you need to dosomething before your entire govern-ment—and your entire population—sees youas nothing but a cowardly, weak-willed,backroom-negotiating pushover bowing tothe demands of a teenage girl and a criminaland a ragtag team of terrorists. Your fatherwould have—”

Anden jumps to his feet and slams hishand down on the table. Instantly the cham-ber turns silent.

“Senator,” Anden says quietly. The manstares back, but with less conviction than hehad two seconds ago. “You are correct aboutonly one thing. As my father’s son, I am theElector of the Republic. I am the law.Everything I decide directly affects who livesor dies.” I study Anden’s face with a growingsense of worry. His gentle, soft-voiced self isslowly disappearing behind the veil of dark-ness and violence inherited from his father.“You’d do well to remember what happened

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to those Senators who actually plotted myfailed assassination.”

The chamber falls so quiet I feel like I canhear the beads of sweat rolling down theSenators’ faces. Even Mariana and Sergehave turned pale. In the midst of them allstands Anden, his face a mask of fury, his jawtense, and his eyes a deep, brooding storm.He turns to me—I feel an awful, electricshudder run through my body, but I keep mygaze steady. I am the only one in the cham-ber willing to look him in the eye.

Even if our surrender is a fake one, onethat the Senators aren’t meant to under-stand, I wonder how Anden will deal withthis group once it’s all over.

Maybe he won’t have to. Maybe we’ll be-long to a different country, or maybe Andenand I will both be dead.

In this moment, sitting amongst a di-vided Senate and a young Elector strugglingto hold them together, I finally see my path

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clearly. I don’t belong. I shouldn’t be here.The realization hits me so hard, I find it sud-denly hard to breathe.

Anden and the Senators exchange a fewmore tense words, but then it’s all over, andwe file out of the room, an uneasy crowd. Ifind Anden—his deep red uniform a brightmarker against the Senators’ black—in thehall and pull him aside. “They’ll comearound,” I say, trying to offer reassurance ina sea of hostility. “They don’t have a choice.”

He seems to relax, if only for a second. Afew simple words from me are enough to dis-sipate his anger. “I know. But I don’t wantthem to have no choice. I want them solidlybehind me of their own will.” He sighs. “Canwe speak in private? I’ve something to dis-cuss with you.”

I study his face, trying to guess at what hewants to say, dreading it. Finally, I nod. “Myapartment’s closer.”

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We head out to his jeep and drive in si-lence, all the way to my high-rise in Rubysector. There, we make our way upstairs andenter my apartment without a word. Olliegreets us, as enthusiastic as ever. I close thedoor behind me.

Anden’s temper has long vanished. Helooks around with a restless expression, thenturns back to me. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Please,” I reply, taking a seat myself atthe dining table. The Elector Primo, askingfor permission to sit?

Anden takes the seat beside me with all ofhis signature grace, and then rubs histemples with weary hands. “I have somegood news,” he says. He tries to smile, but Ican see how heavy it is. “I’ve made a dealwith Antarctica.”

I swallow hard. “And?”“They’ve confirmed that they will send

military support—some air support for now,more ground support when we prove we’ve

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found a cure,” Anden replies. “And they willagree to treat Day.” He doesn’t look at me.“In exchange for Dakota. I had no choice. I’mgiving them our largest territory.”

My heart jumps with an overwhelmingsense of joy and relief—and at the same time,it sinks with sympathy for Anden. He’s beenforced to fragment the country. Giving upour most precious resource; everybody inthe world’s most precious resource. It wasinevitable. Every win comes with a sacrifice.“Thank you,” I say.

“Don’t thank me yet.” His wry smilequickly turns into a grimace. “We arehanging by a thread. I don’t know if theirhelp will come fast enough. The word fromthe warfront is that we’re losing ground inVegas. If our plans with this phony surrenderfail, if we don’t find a cure soon, this war willbe over before Antarctica’s support everarrives.”

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“Do you think finding a cure will makethe Colonies stop?” I ask quietly.

Anden shakes his head. “We don’t havemany options,” he replies. “But we have tohang on until help arrives.” He falls silent fora moment. “I head to the warfront in Vegastomorrow. Our troops need it.”

Right into the thick of war. I try to staycalm. “Are your Princeps-Elects going too?” Iask. “Your Senators?”

“Only my generals will join me,” Andenreplies. “You’re not going to come, andneither are Mariana and Serge. Someoneneeds to hold firm in Los Angeles.”

And here’s the meat of what he wants totell me. My mind spins over what I knowhe’ll say next.

Anden leans on the table and threads hisgloved fingers together. “Someone needs tohold firm in Los Angeles,” he repeats, “whichmeans one of my Princeps-Elects will need totake my place as an acting Elector. She

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would need to control the Senate, keep themin check while I’m away with the troops. Iwould select this person, of course, and theSenate would confirm it.” A small, sad smileplays at the edges of his lips, as if he alreadyknows what my answer will be. “I’ve alreadyspoken individually with Mariana and Sergeabout this, and they are both eager for myappointment. Now I need to know whetheryou are, as well.”

I turn my head away and look out theapartment window. The thought of becomingan acting Elector of the Republic—eventhough my chances of being chosen pale incomparison to that of Mariana andSerge—should excite me, but it doesn’t.

Anden watches me carefully. “You can tellme,” he finally says. “I realize what a turningpoint this decision is, and I’ve sensed yourdiscomfort for quite some time.” He gives mea level stare. “Tell me the truth, June. Do youreally want to be a Princeps-Elect?”

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I feel a strange emptiness. I had beencontemplating this for a long time, my disin-terest and weariness with the politics of theRepublic, the bickering in the Senate, thefighting among Senators and the Princeps-Elects. I’d thought this would be hard to sayto him. But now that he’s here, waiting formy answer, the words come easily, calmly.

“Anden, you know that the role of aPrinceps-Elect has been a huge honor forme. But as time goes on, I can tell thatsomething’s missing, and now I know what itis. You get to head off and lead your armyagainst our enemies, while Day and the Pat-riots are fighting back against the Colonies intheir own guerilla way. I miss being out inthe field, working as a junior agent and rely-ing on myself. I miss the days when thingswere straightforward instead of political,when I could easily sense the right path andwhat I should do. I . . . miss doing what mybrother helped train me to do.” I hold my

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gaze steady. “I’m sorry, Anden, but I don’tknow whether I’m cut out to be a politician.I’m a soldier. I don’t think you should con-sider me as a temporary Elector in your ab-sence, and I’m not sure whether I shouldcontinue on as your Princeps-Elect.”

Anden searches my eyes. “I see,” he fi-nally says. Although there’s a twinge of sad-ness in his voice, he seems to agree. If there’sone thing Anden excels at, even more thanDay, it’s understanding where I’m comingfrom.

A moment later, I see another emotion inhis eyes—envy. He’s envious that I have thechoice to step away from the world of polit-ics, that I can turn to something else, whenAnden will forever and always be our Elect-or, someone the country needs to lean on. Hecan never step away with a clean conscience.

He clears his throat. “What do you wantto do?”

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“I want to join the troops in the streets,” Ireply. I’m so sure of my decision this time, soexcited by the prospect, that I can hardlybear it. “Send me back out there. Let mefight.” I lower my voice. “If we lose, thennone of the Princeps-Elects will matteranyway.”

“Of course,” Anden says, nodding. Helooks around the room with an uncertain ex-pression, and behind his brave front I cansee the boy king in him struggling to hold on.Then he notices a rumpled coat hanging atthe foot of my bed. He lingers on it.

I’d never bothered to put Day’s coat away.Anden finally looks away from it. I don’t

need to tell him that Day had spent thenight—I can already see the realization onhis face. I blush. I have always been good athiding my emotions, but this time I’m em-barrassed that something about thatnight—the heat of Day’s skin against mine,the touch of his hand smoothing my hair

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away from my face, the brush of his lipsagainst my neck—will show up in my eyes.

“Well,” he says after a long pause. Hegives me a small, sad smile, then rises. “Youare a soldier, Ms. Iparis, through andthrough—but it has been an honor to see youas a Princeps-Elect.” The Elector of the Re-public bows to me. “Whatever happens fromhere, I hope you remember that.”

“Anden,” I whisper. The memory of hisdark, furious face in the Senate chambercomes back to me. “When you’re in Vegas,promise me that you’ll stay yourself. Don’tturn into someone you’re not. Okay?”

He may not have been surprised by myanswer, or by Day’s coat. But this seems tocatch him off guard. He blinks, confused fora second. Then he understands. He shakeshis head. “I have to go. I have to lead mymen, just like my father did.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I say carefully.

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He struggles for a moment to find thenext words. “It’s no secret how cruel my fath-er was, or how many atrocities he commit-ted. The Trials, the plagues . . .” Anden trailsoff a little, the light in his green eyes turningdistant as he dwells on memories of someonefew of us had ever come to know. “But hefought with his men. You understand this,perhaps more than anyone. He didn’t hangback in a Senate chamber while he sent histroops off to die. When he was young andbrought the country from a lawless mess tostrict martial law, he was out in the streetsand in front of his squadrons. He fought atthe warfront itself, shooting down Coloniesjets.” Anden pauses to give me a quick look.“I’m not trying to defend anything he did.But if he was anything, he was unafraid. Hewon his military’s loyalty through action,however ruthless. . . . I want to boost ourtroops’ morale too, and I can’t do it whilehiding out in LA. I’m—”

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“You are not your father,” I say, holdinghis gaze with my own. “You’re Anden. Youdon’t have to follow in his footsteps; youhave your own. You’re the Elector now. Youdon’t have to be like him.”

I think back on my own loyalty to theformer Elector, of all the video footage ofhim shouting orders from the cockpit of afighter jet, or heading up tanks in the streets.He was always on the front lines. He wasfearless. Now, as I look at Anden, I can seethat same fearlessness burning steadily in hiseyes, his need to assert himself as a worthyleader of his country. When his father wasyoung, perhaps he had also been likeAnden—idealistic, full of hopes and dreams,of the noblest intentions, brave and driven.How had he slowly twisted into the Electorwho created such a dark nation? What pathhad he chosen to follow? Suddenly, forhowever brief a second, I feel like I

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understand the former Republic. And I knowthat Anden won’t go down that same road.

Anden returns my look, as if hearing myunspoken words . . . and for the first time inmonths, I see some of that dark cloud liftfrom his eyes, the blackness that gives birthto his moments of furious temper.

Without his father’s shadow in the way,he’s beautiful.

“I’ll do my best,” he whispers.

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THE SECOND NIGHT OF THECOLONIES’ CEASEFIRE.WELL, NO POINT IN RETURNINGHOME TONIGHT. PASCAO and I aregonna run through Los Angeles, mark-ing doors and walls and alerting thepeople quietly to our cause, and wemight as well do it from a central loca-tion like the hospital. Besides, Ineeded to sit with Eden for a while. Anevening of blood tests haven’t treatedhim well—he’s thrown up twice sinceI’ve been here. While a nurse rushesout of the room with a bucket in hand,I pour a glass of water for my brother.He guzzles it down.

“Any luck?” he asks weakly. “Doyou know if they’ve found anythingyet?”

“Not yet.” I take the empty glassfrom him and set it back on a tray. “I’llcheck in with them in a little bit,though. See how they’re doing. Betterbe worth all this.”

Eden sighs, closes his eyes, andleans his head against the mountain ofpillows stacked on his bed. “I’m fine,”he whispers. “How’s your friend?Tess?”

Tess. She hasn’t woken up yet, andnow I find myself wishing that wecould go back to when she was stillable to shove the lab team around. Iswallow hard, trying to replace mymental image of her sickly appearancewith the sweet, cheery face I’ve knownfor years. “She’s asleep. Lab says herfever hasn’t broken.”

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Eden grits his teeth and looks backat the screen monitoring his vitals.“She seems nice,” he finally says.“From everything I’ve heard.”

I smile. “She is. After all this isover, maybe the two of you can hangout or something. You’d get along.” Ifwe all pull through this, I add to my-self, and then hurriedly banish thethought. Damn, every day it’s gettingharder and harder to keep my chin up.

Our conversation ends after that,but Eden keeps one hand grippedtightly in my own. His eyes stay closed.After a while, his breathing changesinto the steady rhythm of sleep, andhis hand falls away to rest on hisblanket. I pull the blanket up to coverhim to his chin, watch him for a fewmore seconds, and then stand. At leasthe can still sleep pretty soundly. Idon’t. Every hour or so, for the last

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two days, I shake myself out of somegruesome nightmare and have to walkit off before attempting to sleep again.My headache stays with me, a con-stant, dull companion, reminding meof my ticking clock.

I open the door and sneak out asquietly as I can. The hall’s empty ex-cept for a few nurses here and there.And Pascao. He’s been waiting for meon one of the hall’s benches. When hesees me, he gets up and flashes me abrief grin.

“The others are getting into posi-tion,” he says. “We’ve got about twodozen Runners, all in all, already outthere and marking the sectors. I thinkit’s about time for the two of us tohead out too.”

“Ready to rouse the people?” I say,half joking, as he leads me down thehall.

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“The excitement of it all is makingmy bones ache.” Pascao pushes open aset of double doors at the hall’s end,ushers us into a larger waiting room,and then into an unused hospital roomwith the lights still turned off. Heflicks them on. My eyes go immedi-ately to something lying on the bed. Itlooks like a pair of suits, dark withgray outlines, both laid out neatly ontop of the sterile blankets. Beside thesuits is some kind of equipment thatlooks a little like guns. I glance at Pas-cao, who shoves his hands into hispockets. “Check these out,” he says ina low voice. “When I was throwingideas around this afternoon with Bax-ter and a couple of Republic soldiers,they loaned out these suits for us Run-ners. It should help you in particular.June says she uses suits and airlaunchers like these to get around the

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city quickly, without being detected.Here.” He tosses me one. “Throw thison.”

I frown at the suit. It doesn’t looklike anything particularly special, but Idecide to give Pascao the benefit of thedoubt.

“I’ll be in the next room,” Pascaosays as he swings his own suit over hisshoulder. He nudges my shoulder ashe passes. “With these things, weshould have no trouble covering LosAngeles tonight.”

I start to warn him that, with my re-cent headaches and medications, I’mprobably not strong enough to keep upwith him around the entire city—buthe’s already out the door, leaving mealone in the room. I study the suitagain, then unbutton my shirt.

The suit’s surprisingly feather-weight, and fits comfortably from my

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feet all the way to my zipped-up neck. Iadjust it around my elbows and knees,then walk around for a bit. To myshock, my arms and legs feel strongerthan usual. Much stronger. I try aquick jump. The suit absorbs almostall of my weight’s force, and withoutmuch effort I’m able to jump highenough to clear the bed. I bend onearm, then the other. They feel strongenough to lift something heavier thanwhat I’ve been used to for the past sev-eral months. A sudden thrill rushesthrough me.

I can run in this.Pascao raps on my door, then

comes back in with his own suit on.“How’s it feel, pretty boy?” he asks,looking me over. “Fits you nicely.”

“What are these for?” I reply, stilltesting my new physical limits.

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“What do you think? The Republicusually issues these to their soldiersfor physically taxing missions. Thereare special springs installed nearjoints—elbows, knees, whatever. Inother words, it’ll make you a little ac-robatic hero.”

Incredible. Now that Pascao’s men-tioned it, I can feel the very slight pushand pull of some sort of spring alongmy elbows, and the subtle lift thesprings give my knees whenever Ibend them. “It feels good,” I say, whilePascao watches me with a look of ap-proval. “Really good. It feels like I canscale a building again.”

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Pascaosays, his voice lowering again to awhisper. His lighthearted attitudefades. “If the Colonies land their air-ships here in LA after the Elector an-nounces a surrender, the Republic will

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get its troops into position to stage asurprise attack on those airships. Theycan cripple a hell of a lot of them be-fore the Colonies even realize whatwe’re up to. I’ll lead the Patriots inwith the Republic’s teams, and we’llwire up some of the airship bases toblow up ships that are docked onthem.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I flex one ofmy arms gingerly, marveling at thestrength that the suit gives me. Myheart hammers in my chest. If I don’tcarry out this plan just right, and theChancellor figures out what we’rereally up to, then the Republic will losethe advantage of our fake surrender.We only get one shot at this.

We slide open the hospital room’sglass doors and head out onto the bal-cony. The night’s cool air refreshesme, taking away some of the grief and

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stress of the last few days. With thissuit, I feel a little like myself again. Iglance up at the buildings. “Should wetest these things out?” I ask Pascao,hoisting the air launcher on myshoulder.

Pascao grins, then tosses me a canof bright red spray paint. “You tookthe words right out of my mouth.”

So off we go. I scale down to thefirst floor so fast that I nearly lose myfooting, and then make my way effort-lessly to the ground. We split up, eachcovering a different section of the city.As I run my sector, I can’t help butsmile. I’m free again, I can taste thewind and touch the sky. In this mo-ment, my troubles melt away and onceagain I’m able to run away from myproblems—I’m able to blend right inwith the rust and rubble of the city,

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changing it into something that be-longs to me.

I make my way through Tanagashisector’s dark alleys until I come acrosslandmark buildings, places where Iknow most people will have to pass by,and then take out my spray paint can. Iwrite the following on the wall:

LISTEN FOR ME.

Below that, I draw the one thing Iknow everyone will recognize as com-ing from me—a red streak paintedonto an outline of a face.

I mark everything I can think of.When I’m finished, I use the airlauncher to travel to a neighboringsector, and there, I repeat the entireprocess. Hours later, my hairdrenched in sweat and my musclesaching, I make my way back to the

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Central Hospital. Pascao’s waiting out-side for me, a sheen of sweat acrosshis own face. He gives me a mocksalute.

“Care to race back up?” he asks,flashing me a grin.

I don’t reply. I just start climbing,and so does he. Pascao’s figure isnearly invisible in the darkness, ashapeless form that leaps and boundseach story with the ease of a naturalRunner. I dash after him. Anotherstory, and then another.

We make it back to the balcony thatruns all along the tower’s fourth floor.Inside lies the hospital wing we’d leftfrom. Even though I’m out of breathand my head is pounding again, Imade the run almost as fast as Pascaodid. “Hell,” I mutter to him as we bothlean against the railing in exhaustion.“Where was this equipment when I

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was at my healthiest? I could’ve single-handedly destroyed the Republicwithout breaking a sweat, yeah?”

Pascao’s teeth shine in the night.He surveys the cityscape. “Maybe it’s agood thing you didn’t have it. Other-wise there’d be no Republic for us tosave.”

“Is it worth it?” I ask after a while,enjoying the cool winds. “Are youreally willing to sacrifice your life for acountry that hasn’t done much of any-thing for you?”

Pascao stays silent for a moment,then lifts one arm and points towardsome spot on the horizon. I try tomake out what he wants me to see.“When I was little,” he replies, “I grewup in Winter sector. I watched two ofmy little sisters fail the Trial. When Iwent to the stadium myself and had totake my own Trial, I almost failed too.

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I stumbled and fell on one of the phys-ical jumps, you know. Ironic, don’t youthink? Anyway, one of the soldiers sawme fall. I’ll never forget the look in hiseyes. When I realized that no one elsehad seen me except for him, I beggedhim to let it go. He looked damn tor-tured, but he didn’t record my fall.When I whispered my thanks, he toldme that he remembered my two sis-ters. He said, ‘I think two deaths inyour family’s enough.’” Pascao pausesfor a moment. “I’ve always hated theRepublic for what they did to thepeople I loved, to all of us. But some-times I wonder whatever happened tothat soldier, and what his life was like,and who he cared about, and whetheror not he’s even still alive. Whoknows? Maybe he’s already gone.” Heshrugs at the thought. “If I look theother way and decide to let the

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Republic handle its own business, andthen it falls, I guess I could just leavethe country. Find a way to live some-where else, hide out from the govern-ment.” He looks at me. “I don’t reallyknow why I want to stand on the hillwith them now. Maybe I have a littlebit of faith.”

Pascao wants to explain himselffurther, like he’s frustrated that hedoesn’t know how to put his answerinto the right words. But I understandhim already. I shake my head andstare out toward the Lake sector, re-membering June’s brother. “Yeah. Metoo.”

After a while, we finally head backinside the hospital. I take off the suitand change back into my own clothes.Plan’s supposed to kick into effectstarting with Anden’s surrender

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announcement. After that, it’s all oneday at a time. Anything could change.

While Pascao heads off to get somerest, I retrace my steps down the halland back toward Eden’s room, won-dering if the lab teams have sent upany new results for us to look at. As ifthey’ve read my mind, I see a few ofthem clustered outside Eden’s doorwhen I arrive. They’re talking inhushed tones. The serenity I’d felt dur-ing our brief night run fades away.

“What is it?” I ask. I can already seethe tension in their eyes. My chestknots up at the sight. “Tell me what’shappened.”

From behind the clear plastic of hishood, one of the lab techs tells me,“We received some data from theAntarctican lab team. We think we’vemanaged to synthesize somethingfrom your brother’s blood that can

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almost act as a cure. It’s working—to adegree.”

A cure! A rush of energy coursesthrough me, leaving me dizzy with re-lief. I can’t help letting a smile spillonto my face. “Have you told the Elect-or yet? Does it work? Can we start us-ing it on Tess?”

The lab tech stops me before I cango on. “Almost act as a cure, Day,” herepeats.

“What do you mean?”“The Antarctican team confirmed

that the virus has likely mutated fromthe original one Eden developed im-munity to, or that it may have com-bined its genome with another gen-ome along the way. Your brother’s Tcells have the ability to shift along withthis aggressive virus; in our samples,one of the cures we’ve developedseems to work partially—”

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“So I can understand you,” I sayimpatiently.

The lab tech scowls at me, as if Imight infect him with my attitude.“We’re missing something,” he sayswith an indignant sigh. “We’re missinga component.”

“What do you mean, you’re missingsomething?” I demand. “What are youmissing?”

“Somewhere along the way, the vir-us that’s causing our current out-breaks mutated from its original Re-public plague virus and combined withanother virus. There’s somethingmissing along the way, as a result. Wethink it may have mutated in the Co-lonies, perhaps quite a while ago.Months ago, even.”

My heart sinks as I realize whatthey’re trying to tell me. “Does thatmean the cure won’t work yet?”

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“It’s not only that the cure won’twork yet. It’s that we don’t know if wecan ever get it to work. Eden’s not Pa-tient Zero for this thing.” The lab techsighs again. “And unless we can findthe person who this new virusmutated from, I’m not sure we’ll evercreate a cure.”

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I AWAKE TO THE SOUND OF A SIREN WAILING

ACROSS our apartment complex. It’s the airraid alarm. For a second, I’m back in Denver,sitting with Day at a little lantern-lit caféwhile sleet falls all around us, listening tohim tell me that he’s dying. I’m back in thepanicked, chaotic streets as the siren shrieksat us—we’re holding hands, running for shel-ter, terrified.

Gradually, my room fades into reality andthe siren wails on. My heart begins to pound.I jump out of bed, pause to comfort a whin-ing Ollie, then rush to turn on my screen.News headlines blare out, fighting with thesiren—and running along the bottom of thescreen is an angry, red warning.

SEEK COVER

I scan the headlines.

ENEMY AIRSHIPSAPPROACHING LOSANGELES’S LIMITS

ALL TROOPS TO REPORT TOTHEIR LOCALHEADQUARTERS

ELECTOR PRIMO TO MAKEEMERGENCYANNOUNCEMENT

They’d predicted that the Colonies wouldstill take three more days before making amove on Los Angeles. It looks like they’reahead of schedule and preparing for the endof the three-day ceasefire, which means we

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need to put our plan ahead of schedule. Icover my ears from the siren, rush over tothe balcony, and look out at the horizon. Themorning light is still weak, and the cloudysky makes it difficult for me to see properly,but even so, the dots lining up above Califor-nia’s mountain skyline are unmistakable. Mybreath catches in my throat.

Airships. Colonies, African—I can’t quitetell from this distance, but there is no mis-taking the fact that they are not Republicships. Based on their position and speed,they will be hovering right over central LosAngeles before the hour’s over. I click mymike on, then rush into the closet to throwon some clothes. If Anden’s preparing tomake an announcement soon, then it willundoubtedly be the surrender. And if that’sthe case, I’ll need to join Day and the Patriotsas quickly as I can. A fake surrender will onlywork for so long before it turns into a realone.

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“Where are you guys?” I shout when Daycomes onto the line.

His voice sounds as urgent as mine. Theecho of the siren sounds out from his sidetoo. “Eden’s hospital room. You see theships?”

I glance again at the horizon before lacingup my boots. “Yes. I’m in. I’ll be there soon.”

“Watch the sky. Stay safe.” He hesitatesfor two seconds. “And hurry. We’ve got aproblem.” Then our call cuts off, and I’m outthe door with Ollie close at my side, gallop-ing like the wind.

By the time we reach the Central Hospit-al’s lab floor in the Bank Tower and areushered in to see Day, Eden, and the Patri-ots, the sirens have stopped. The sector’selectricity must have been switched offagain, and aside from the main governmentbuildings like the Bank Tower, the landscapeoutside looks eerily black, swallowed nearlywhole by damp morning shadows. Down the

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hall, the screens show an empty podiumwhere Anden will be standing any minutenow, poised to give a live national address.Ollie stays glued to my side, panting his dis-tress. I reach down and pat him severaltimes, and he rewards me with a lick of myhand.

I meet Day and the others in Eden’s roomright as Anden appears onscreen. Eden looksexhausted and half conscious. He still has anIV hooked up to his arm, but aside from that,there are no other tubes or wires. Beside thebed, a lab tech is typing notes onto anotepad.

Day and Pascao are wearing what looklike dark Republic suits meant for physicallydemanding missions—it’s the same sort ofsuit I’d once worn back when I first neededto break Day out of Batalla Hall, when Ispent a late night skimming building roofs insearch of Kaede. Both of them are talking toa lab tech, and based on their expressions,

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they’re not getting good news. I want to askthem for details, but Anden has stepped upto the podium already, and my words fadeaway as we turn our attention to the screen.All I hear is the sound of our breathing andthe ominous, distant hum of approachingairships.

Anden looks composed; and even thoughhe’s only a year older than the first time Imet him, the weight and gravity on his facemake him look much more mature than heactually is. Only the slight clench of his jawreveals a hint of his real emotions. He’sdressed in solid white, with silver epauletteson his shoulders and a gold Republic sealpinned near the collar of his military coat.Behind him are two flags: One is the Repub-lic’s, while the other is blank, white, devoidof color. I swallow hard. It’s a flag I knowwell from all my studies, but one that I’venever seen used. We all knew this was com-ing, we had planned this and we know it’s

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not real—but even so, I can’t help feeling adeep, dark sense of grief and failure. As if weare truly handing our country over tosomeone else.

“Soldiers of the Republic,” Anden beginsaddressing the soldiers surrounding him atthe base. As always, his voice is at once softand commanding, quiet but clear. “It is witha heavy heart that I come to you today withthis message. I have already relayed thesesame words to the Chancellor of the Colon-ies.” He pauses for a moment, as if gatheringhis strength. I can only imagine that for him,even faking such a gesture must weigh onhim far more than it already does on me.“The Republic has officially surrendered tothe Colonies.”

Silence. The base, filled with noise andchaos only a few minutes ago, is now sud-denly still—every soldier frozen, listening indisbelief.

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“We are now to cease all military activityagainst the Colonies,” Anden continues, “andwithin the next day, we will meet with theColonies’ leading officials to draft officialsurrender terms.” He pauses, letting theweight settle over the entire base. “Soldiers,we will continue to update you on informa-tion regarding this as we proceed.” Then thetransmission stops. He doesn’t end withLong live the Republic. A chill runs throughme when the screens are replaced with animage of, not the Republic flag, but theColonies’.

They are doing a stellar job of makingthis surrender look convincing. I hope theAntarcticans are going to keep their word. Ihope help is on the way.

“Day, we don’t have much time to getthese bases ready to blow,” Pascao muttersto us as the address stops. The three Repub-lic soldiers with us are geared up in a similarfashion, all ready to guide them to where the

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air bases will be wired. “You’re gonna have tobuy us some time. News is that the Colonieswill start landing their airships at our basesin a few hours.”

Day nods. As Pascao turns away to rattleoff some directions to the soldiers, Day’s eyesflicker to me. In them, I see a strained senseof fear that makes my stomach churn. “So-mething’s gone wrong with the cure, hasn’tit?” I ask. “How’s Eden doing?”

Day sighs, running a hand through hishair, and then looks down at his brother.“He’s hanging in there.”

“But . . . ?”“But the problem is that he isn’t Patient

Zero. They said they’re missing somethingfrom his blood.”

I look at the fragile boy in the hospitalbed. Eden isn’t Patient Zero? “But what?What are they missing?”

“It’d be easier to show you than try to ex-plain it. Come on. This is something we’ll

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need to alert Anden about. What’s the pointof staging this whole surrender if we won’t beable to get help from Antarctica?” Day leadsus out and down the hall. We walk in a tensesilence for a while, until we finally stop infront of a nondescript door. Day opens it.

We step inside a room full of comps. Alab tech monitoring the screens rises whenhe sees us, then ushers us over. “Time to up-date Ms. Iparis?”

“Tell me what’s going on,” I reply.He sits us down in front of a comp and

spends several minutes loading up a screen.When he finally finishes, I see two side-by-side comparisons of some slides of what I as-sume are cells. I peer more closely at them.

The lab tech points to the one on the left,which looks like a series of small, polygonalparticles grouped around a large central cell.Attached to the particles are dozens of littletubes sticking out of the cell. “This,” the labtech says, circling the large cell with his

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finger, “is a simulation of an infected cellthat we’re trying to target. The cell has a redhue to it, indicating that viruses have takenhold inside. If no cure’s involved, this celllyses—bursts open—and dies. Now, see theselittle particles around it? Those are simula-tions of the cure particles that we need. Theyattach to the outside of the infected cell.” Hetaps the screen twice where the large cell is,and a short animation plays, showing theparticles latching on to the cell; eventually,the cell shrinks in size and the color of itchanges. “They save the cell from bursting.”

My eyes shift over to the comparison onthe right, which also has a similarly infectedcell surrounded by little particles. This time,I don’t see any tubes for the particles to at-tach to. “This is what’s actually happening,”the lab tech explains. “We’re missingsomething from our cure particles that canattach to the cell’s receptors. If we don’t de-velop that, the rest of the particles can’t

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work. The cell can’t come in direct contactwith the medicine, and the cell dies.”

I cross my arms and exchange a frownwith Day, who shrugs helplessly. “How canwe figure out the missing piece?”

“That’s the thing. Our guess is that thisparticular attaching feature wasn’t a part ofthe original virus. In other words, someonespecifically altered this virus. We can seetraces of that marker on it when we label thecell.” He points to tiny glowing dots scatteredacross the cell’s surface. “This might mean,Ms. Iparis, that the Colonies actually physic-ally altered this virus. The Republic certainlyhas no records of tampering with this one inthis specific fashion.”

“Wait a minute,” Day interrupts. “This isnews to me. Are you saying that the Coloniescreated this plague?”

The lab tech gives us a grim look, then re-turns to the screen. “Possibly. Here’s thecurious thing, though. We think this

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additional piece—the attaching feature—ori-ginally came out of the Republic. There’s asimilar virus that came out of a small Color-ado town. But the tracers tell us that thealtered virus came out of Tribune City, whichis a warfront city on the Colonies side. Sosomewhere along that line, Eden’s virussomehow came in contact with somethingelse in Tribune City.”

This is when the pieces of the puzzle fi-nally fall into place for me. The color drainsfrom my face. Tribune City: the city that Dayand I had originally stumbled into when wefirst fled into the Colonies. I think back towhen I’d gotten ill during my arrest in theRepublic, how sick and feverish I’d beenwhen Day carried us through that under-ground tunnel from Lamar all the way intothe Colonies’ territory. I’d been in a Colonieshospital for a night. They’d injected medicineinto me, but I never considered the fact thatthey might have been using me for a

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different purpose. Had I been a part of an ex-periment without even realizing it? Am I theone holding the missing piece of the puzzlein my bloodstream?

“It’s me,” I whisper, cutting the lab techshort. Both he and Day give me a startledlook.

“What do you mean?” the lab tech asks,but Day stays silent. A look of realizationwashes over his face.

“It’s me,” I repeat. The answer is so clearthat I can hardly breathe. “I was in TribuneCity eight months ago. I’d gotten ill while un-der arrest in Colorado. If this other virusyou’re talking about originated first in theRepublic and then came back from TribuneCity in the Colonies, then it’s possible thatthe answer to your puzzle is me.”

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JUNE’S THEORY CHANGESEVERYTHING.

Immediately she joins the lab teamin a separate hospital room, wherethey strap several tubes and wires toher and take a sample of her bonemarrow. They run a series of scansthat leave her looking nauseous, scansI’ve already seen being run on Eden. Iwish I could stay. Eden’s tests areover, thankfully, but the risk has nowshifted to June, and in this moment allI want to do is stay here and make sureeverything goes smoothly.

For chrissakes, I tell myself angrily,it’s not like you being here is going tohelp anything. But when Pascao

finally ushers us out the door and outof the hospital to join the others, Ican’t help but glance back.

If June’s blood holds the missingpiece, then we have a chance. We cancontain the plague. We can save every-one. We can save Tess.

As we take a train from the hospitaltoward Batalla’s airship bases withseveral Republic soldiers in tow, thesethoughts build in my chest until I canbarely stand to wait around. Pascaonotices my restlessness and grins.“You ever been to the bases before? Iseem to recall you doing a few stuntsthere.”

His words trigger some memories.When I turned fourteen, I broke intotwo Los Angeles airships that were setto head out for the warfront. I gotin—not unlike my stunt with the Patri-ots back in Vegas—by sneaking in

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through the ventilation system, andthen navigating the entire ship un-detected by weaving my way throughtheir endless air vents. I was stillhalfway through my growth spurt backthen; my body was thinner and smal-ler, and I had no trouble squeezing myway through their myriad of tunnels.Once inside, I stole as much cannedfood from their kitchens as I could,then set fires in their engine roomsthat destroyed the ships enough to ul-timately cripple them from serving theRepublic for years, maybe forever. Itwas this particular stunt that firstlanded me on top of the Republic’smost wanted list. Not too bad a job, if Ido say so myself.

Now I think back on the bases’ lay-outs. Aside from some airship bases inBatalla sector, the four main navalbases in LA occupy a thin strip of land

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along the city’s west coastline that sitsbetween our enormous lake and thePacific Ocean. Our battleships staythere, unused for the most part. Butthe reason that the Patriots and I headthere now is that all of LA’s airshipdocks are there too, and it’s where theColonies will dock their airshipsif—when—they try to occupy the cityafter our surrender.

It’s the third and final day of theColonies’ promised ceasefire. As thetrain speeds through the sectors, I cansee groups of civilians crowdingaround JumboTrons that are now run-ning Anden’s surrender notice on re-peat. Most look stricken with shock,clinging to one another. Others arefurious—they throw shoes, crowbars,and rocks up at the screens and rageagainst their Elector’s betrayal. Good.Stay angry, use that anger against the

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Colonies. I need to play out my partsoon.

“All right, kids, listen up,” Pascaosays as our train nears the bridgesleading to the naval bases. He holdsout his palms to show us a series ofsmall, metal devices. “Remember, sixper dock.” He points to a small redtrigger in the center of each device.“We want clean, contained explosions,and the soldiers’ll point out the bestspots for us to plant these things. Ifdone right, we’ll be able to cripple anyColonies airship using our landingdocks, and an airship with a messed-up landing bay is useless. Yeah?” Hegrins. “At the same time, let’s notscrew up the landing docks too much.Six per dock.”

I look away and back out the win-dow, where the first naval base drawsnear on the horizon. Enormous

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pyramid landing bases loom in a row,dark and imposing, and I instantlythink of the first time I’d seen them inVegas. My stomach twists uneasily. Ifthis plan fails, if we’re unable to holdthe Colonies back and the Antarcticansnever come to our rescue, if June isn’twhat we need for the cure—what willhappen to us? What will happen whenthe Colonies finally get their hands onAnden, or June, or myself? I shake myhead, forcing the images out of mymind. There’s no time to worry aboutthat. It’ll either happen or it won’t.We’ve already chosen our course.

When we arrive at the first landingdock of Naval Base One, I can seeenough of the inner city to notice thetiny, dark specks in the sky. Coloniestroops—airships, jets, something—arehovering not far from the outskirts ofLos Angeles, preparing to strike. A

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low, monotonous hum fills theair—guess we can already hear theirships’ steady approach. My eyes turnup toward the JumboTrons lining thestreets. Anden’s announcement con-tinues on, accompanied with a brightred Seek Cover warning running alongthe bottom of each screen.

Four Republic soldiers join up withus as we hurry out of the jeep and in-side the pyramid base. I keep close tothem as they usher us up the elevatorstoward the looming inner roof of thebase, where airships take off and dockon. All around us is the deafeningsound of soldiers’ boots on echoingfloors, rushing to their stations andpreparing to take off against the Co-lonies. I wonder how many troopsAnden had been forced to send off toDenver or Vegas for reinforcement,

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and I can only hope that we haveenough left behind to protect us.

This isn’t Vegas, I remind myself,trying not to think about the timewhen I’d let myself get arrested. But itdoesn’t help. By the time we’ve riddenour way up to the top of the base andclimbed a flight of stairs up to theopen top of the pyramid, my heart’spounding up a storm that’s not all be-cause of the exercise. Well, if thisdoesn’t bring back memories of whenI’d first started working for the Patri-ots. I can’t stop studying the metalbeams crisscrossing the interior un-derbelly of the base, all the little inter-locking parts that will bind with anairship once it lands. The dark suit I’mwearing feels as light as air. Time toplant some bombs.

“Do you see those beams?” one Re-public captain says to Pascao and me,

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pointing up to the shadows of the ceil-ing at one, two, three crevices thatlook particularly difficult to reach.“Max damage to the ship, minimaldamage to the base. We’ll have youtwo hit those three spots at each of thebases. We’d be able to get to themourselves if we set up our cranes, butwe don’t have time for that.” Hepauses to give us a forced smile. Mostof these goddy soldiers still don’t seementirely comfortable working along-side us. “Well,” he says after an awk-ward pause, “does that look doable?Are you guys fast enough?”

I want to snap at the captain thathe’s forgotten my reputation, but Pas-cao stops me by letting out one of hisloud, sparkling laughs. “You don’thave enough faith in us, do you?” hesays, nudging the captain playfully in

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the ribs and smirking at the indignantblush that he gets back.

“Good,” the captain replies stifflybefore moving on with the other Patri-ots and his own patrol. “Hurry. Wedon’t have long.” He leaves us to ourwork, then starts dictating bomb-planting spots to the others.

Once he’s gone, Pascao drops his gi-ant grin and concentrates on thecrevices that the captain had pointedout. “Not easy to reach,” he mutters.“You sure you’re up for this? Youstrong enough, seeing as how you’redying and all?”

I cast him a withering glare, thenstudy each of the crevices in turn. Itest my knees and elbows, trying togauge how much strength I have. Pas-cao’s a bit taller than me—he’ll be ableto handle the first two crevices best,but the third crevice is wedged in such

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a tight position that I know only I canget to it. I can also see right away whythe captain pointed that spot out. Evenif we didn’t plant six bombs along thisside of the base, we’d probably disableany airship with a single bomb on thatlocation. I point to it.

“I’ll take that one,” I say.“You sure?” Pascao squints at it. “I

don’t want to watch you fall to yourdeath on our very first base.”

His words coax a sarcastic smileout of me. “Don’t you have any faith inme at all?”

Pascao smirks. “A little.”We get to work. I take a flying leap

from the stairs’ ledge to the closestcrisscrossing beam, and then weavemyself seamlessly into the maze ofmetal. What a feeling of déjà vu. Thesprings embedded in my suit’s jointstake a little getting used to—but after a

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few jumps I grow into them. I’m fast.Really fast with their help. In the spanof ten minutes, I’ve crossed a quarterof the base’s ceiling and am now with-in striking distance of that crevice. Th-in trickles of sweat run down my neck,and my head pulses with familiar pain.Below, soldiers pause to watch us evenas all of the base’s electronic tickerscontinue to run the surrender notice.They have no goddy clue what we’redoing.

I pause at the final leap, then makemy jump. My body hits the crevice andslides snugly in. Instantly I pull out thetiny bomb, open its clip, and plant itfirmly into place. My headache makesme dizzy, but I force it away.

Done.I slowly make my way back along

the beams. By the time I swing downonto the stairs again, my heart’s

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pounding from adrenaline. I spot Pas-cao along the beams and give him aquick thumbs-up.

This is the easy stuff, I remind my-self, my excitement giving way to anominous anxiety. The hard part’s go-ing to be pulling off a convincing lie tothe Chancellor.

We finish with the first base, thenmove on to the next. By the time we’redone with the fourth base, my strengthis starting to give way. If I was fully inmy element, this suit could’ve mademe damn near unstoppable—but now,even with its help, my muscles acheand my breaths sound strained. As thesoldiers now guide me into a room inthe air base and prepare me to makemy call and my broadcast, I’m silentlygrateful that I don’t need to run anymore ceilings.

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“What happens if the Chancellordoesn’t buy you?” Pascao asks whilethe soldiers file out of the room. “Nooffense, pretty boy, but you don’t ex-actly have the best reputation forkeeping your promises.”

“I didn’t promise him anything,” Ireply. “Besides, he’ll see my announce-ment go out to the entire Republic.He’s going to think that everyone inthe country will see me switch allegi-ances to the Colonies. It won’t last. Butit’ll buy us some time.” Silently, I hopeto hell that we can figure out the finalcure before the Colonies realize whatwe’re doing.

Pascao looks away and out theroom’s window, where we can see Re-public soldiers finishing up the lastfew bomb placements on the base’sceiling. If this fails, or if the Coloniesrealize the surrender’s fake before we

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have time to do anything about it, thenwe’re probably done.

“Time for you to make your call,then,” Pascao mutters. He locks thedoor, finds a chair, and pulls it off toone corner. Then he settles down withme to wait.

My hands tremble slightly as I clickmy mike on and call the Colonies’Chancellor. For a moment, all I hear isstatic, and a part of me hopes that itsomehow can’t trace the name thathad called me before, and that some-how I’ll have no way of reaching him.But then the static ends, the callclears, and I hear it connect. I greetthe Chancellor.

“This is Day. Today is the last day ofyour promised ceasefire, yeah? And Ihave an answer to your request.”

A few seconds drag by. Then, thatcrisp, businesslike voice comes on the

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other end. “Mr. Wing,” the Chancellorsays, as polite and pleasant as ever.“Right on time. How lovely to hearfrom you.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the Elector’sannouncement by now,” I reply, ignor-ing his niceties.

“I have, indeed,” the man replies. Ihear some shuffling of papers in thebackground. “And now with your call,this day is looking to be full of goodsurprises. I’d been wondering whenyou would contact us again. Tell me,Daniel, have you given some thoughtto my proposal?”

From across the room, Pascao’spale eyes lock on to mine. He can’thear the conversation, but he can seethe tension on my face. “I have,” Ireply after a pause. Gotta make myselfsound realistic and reluctant, yeah? Iwonder if June would approve.

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“And what have you decided? Re-member, this is entirely up to you. Iwon’t force you to do anything youdon’t wish to do.”

Yeah. I don’t have to do any-thing—I’ll just have to stand by andwatch while you destroy the people Ilove. “I’ll do it.” Another pause. “TheRepublic’s already surrendered. Thepeople aren’t happy about your pres-ence, but I don’t want to see themharmed. I don’t want to see anyoneharmed.” I know I don’t have to men-tion June by name for the Chancellorto understand. “I’ll make a citywideannouncement. We got access to theJumboTrons through the Patriots. Itwon’t be long before that announce-ment hits all the screens in the entireRepublic.” I kick in a little more atti-tude to keep my lie authentic. “That

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good enough for you to keep yourgoddy hands off June?”

The Chancellor claps his handsonce. “Done. If you’re willing to be-come our . . . spokesman, so to speak,then I assure you that Ms. Iparis willbe spared the trials and executionsthat come with an overturning ofpower.”

His words send a chill through me,reminding me that if we do fail, thenwhat I’m going to do isn’t going to saveAnden’s life. In fact, if we fail, theChancellor will probably figure outthat I’m behind all this too, and theregoes June’s . . . and probablyEden’s . . . chances at safety. I clear mythroat. Across the room, Pascao’s facehas turned stony with tension. “Andmy brother?”

“You need not worry about yourbrother. As I mentioned to you before,

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I am not a tyrant. I will not hook himup to a machine and pump him full ofchemicals and poisons—I will not ex-periment on him. He—and you—willlive a comfortable, safe life, free fromharm and worry. This, I can guaranteeyou.” The Chancellor’s tone changes towhat he thinks is soothing and gentle.“I can hear the unhappiness in yourvoice. But I do nothing except what isnecessary. If your Elector imprisonedme, he would not hesitate to executeme. This is the way of the world. I amnot a cruel man, Daniel. Remember,the Colonies are not responsible foryour lifetime of suffering.”

“Don’t call me Daniel.” My voicecomes out low and quiet. I am notDaniel to anyone outside of my fam-ily. I am Day. Plain and simple.

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“My apologies.” He actually soundsgenuinely sorry. “I hope you under-stand what I’m saying, Day.”

I remain silent for a moment. Evennow, I can still feel the pull against theRepublic, all of the dark thoughts andmemories that whisper to me to turnmy back, to let it all crumble to pieces.The Chancellor can gauge me betterthan I would’ve thought. A lifetime ofsuffering is hard to leave behind. As ifshe can sense the dangerous pull ofthe Chancellor’s spell, I hear June’svoice cut through this train ofthoughts and whisper something tome. I close my eyes and cling to her,drawing strength from her.

“Tell me when you want me tomake this announcement,” I say aftera while. “Everything’s wired up andready to go. Let’s get this whole thingover with.”

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“Wonderful.” The Chancellor clearshis throat, suddenly sounding like abusinessman again. “The sooner, thebetter. I will land with my troops atthe outer naval bases of Los Angeles byearly afternoon. Let’s arrange for youto speak at that time. Shall we?”

“Done.”“And one more thing,” the Chancel-

lor adds as I’m about to hang up. Istiffen, my tongue poised to click mymike off. “Before I forget.”

“What?”“I want you to make the announce-

ment from the deck of my airship.”Startled, I glance at Pascao, and

even though he has no idea what theChancellor just said, he frowns at theway my face has just drained of color.From the Chancellor’s airship? Ofcourse. How could we think he’d bethat easy to fool? He’s taking

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precautions. If something goes wrongduring the announcement, then he’llhave me in his grip. If I make an an-nouncement that’s anything otherthan telling the Republic people tobow down to the Colonies, he couldkill me right there on the airship’sdeck, surrounded by his men.

When the Chancellor speaks again,I can sense the satisfaction in hisvoice. He knows exactly what he’s do-ing. “Your words will be more mean-ingful if given right from a Coloniesairship, don’t you agree?” he says. Heclaps his hands once again. “We’ll ex-pect you at Naval Base One in a fewhours. Looking forward to meetingyou in person, Day.”

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THE REVELATION ABOUT MY CONNECTION TO

THIS PLAGUE changes all of my plans.Instead of heading out with the Patriots

and helping Day set up the airship bases, Istay behind at the hospital, letting the labteams hook me up to machines and run aseries of tests on me. My daggers and gun lieon a nearby dresser, so that they won’t get inthe way of all the wires, and only one knifestays tucked along my boot. Eden sits in bedbeside me, his skin sickly pale. Several hoursin, and the nausea has begun to hit.

“The first day’s the worst,” Eden says tome with an encouraging smile. He speaksslowly, likely from the medication the labteam gave him to help him sleep. “It gets bet-ter.” He leans over and pats my hand, and I

find myself warming to his innocent compas-sion. This must be what Day was like whenhe was young.

“Thanks,” I reply. I don’t speak the rest ofmy thoughts aloud, but I cannot believe thata child like Eden was able to tolerate this sortof testing for days. Had I known, I mighthave done what Day originally wanted andrefused Anden’s request altogether.

“What happens if they find out that youmatch?” Eden asks after a while. His eyeshave started to droop, and his questioncomes out slurred.

What happens, indeed? We have a cure.We can present the results to Antarctica andprove to them that the Colonies deliberatelyused this virus; we can present it to the Un-ited Nations and force the Colonies back.We’ll have our ports opened up again. “TheAntarcticans promise that help is on theway,” I decide to say. “We might win. Justmaybe.”

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“But the Colonies are already at our door-step.” Eden glances toward the windows,where our enemy’s airships are now dottingthe sky. Some have already docked at ourbases, while others loom overhead. A shadowcast across our own Bank Tower buildingtells me that one is hovering over us rightnow. “What if Daniel fails?” he whispers,fighting back sleep.

“We just have to play it all carefully.” ButEden’s words make my gaze linger on thecityscape too. What if Day does fail? He toldme as he left that he would contact us beforehis broadcast to the public. Now, seeing howclose the Colonies’ airships are, I feel anoverwhelming sense of frustration that Ican’t be out there with them. What if the Co-lonies realize that the airship bases are allrigged? What if they don’t come back?

Another hour passes. While Eden falls in-to a deep slumber, I stay awake and try towill away the nausea rolling over me in

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waves. I keep my eyes closed. It seems tohelp.

I must have fallen asleep, because sud-denly I’m awakened by the sound of our dooropening. The lab techs have finally returned.“Ms. Iparis,” one of them says, adjusting hisMIKHAEL name tag. “It wasn’t a perfect match,but it was close—close enough that we wereable to develop a solution. We’re testing thecure on Tess now.” He’s unable to keep agrin from crossing his face. “You were themissing piece. Right under our noses.”

I stare at him without saying a word. Wecan send results to Antarctica—the thoughtrushes through my mind. We can ask forhelp. We can stop the plague’s spread. Wehave a chance against the Colonies.

Mikhael’s companions start unhookingme from my tangle of wires, and then helpme to my feet. I feel strong enough, but theroom still sways. I’m not sure whether myunsteadiness is from the tests’ side effects or

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the thought that this might all have worked.“I want to see Tess,” I say as we start headingfor the door. “How quickly will the cure startworking?”

“We’re not sure,” Mikhael admits as weenter a long hall. “But our simulations aresolid, and we ran several lab cultures with in-fected cells. We should start seeing Tess’shealth improve very soon.”

We stop at the long glass windows ofTess’s room. She lies in a delirious half sleepon her bed, and all around her are lab techsrushing about in full suits, monitors dictat-ing her vital signs, charts and graphs beamedagainst the walls. An IV’s injected into one ofher arms. I study her face, searching forsome sign of consciousness, and fail to findit.

Static in my earpiece. An incoming call. Ifrown, press a hand to my ear, and then clickmy mike on. A second later, I hear Day’svoice. “Are you okay?” His first thought. Of

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course it is. The static is so severe that I canhardly understand what he’s saying.

“I’m fine,” I reply, hoping he can hear me.“Day, listen to me—we’ve found a cure.”

No reply, just static, loud and unrelent-ing. “Day?” I say again, and on the other sideI hear some crackling, something like thedesperation to communicate with me. But Ican’t get us hooked up. Unusual. The recep-tion on these military bands is usually crystalclear. It’s as if something else is blocking allof our frequencies. “Day?” I try again.

I finally catch his voice again. It holds atension that reminds me of when he’dchosen to walk away from me so manymonths ago. It sends a river of dread throughmy veins. “I’m giving—announcement onboard a Colonies airship—ellor won’t have itany other way—”

On board a Colonies airship. The Chan-cellor would hold all the cards in that case—ifDay were to make a sudden move, or make

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an announcement that went against whatthey agreed to, the Chancellor could havehim arrested or murdered right on the spot.“Don’t do it,” I whisper automatically. “Youdon’t have to go. We’ve found the cure, I wasthe missing piece of the puzzle.”

“—June?—”Then no answer, just more static. I try

again twice more before I click my mike offin frustration. Beside me, I can see the labtech also trying in vain to make a call.

And then I remember the shadow castacross the building we’re in. My frustrationfades immediately, followed by waves of ter-ror and comprehension. Oh no. The Colon-ies. They’re blocking our frequen-cies—they’ve taken them over. I had notthought that they would make their move soquickly. I rush over to the window lookingout at Los Angeles’s cityscape, then turn myeyes skyward. I can see the enormous Colon-ies airship that hovers overhead—and when I

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look more closely, I notice that smallerplanes are leaving its deck and circling lower.

Mikhael joins me. “We can’t reach theElector,” he says. “It seems all the frequen-cies are jammed.”

Is this in preparation for Day’s announce-ment? He’s in trouble. I know it.

Just as this thought crosses my mind, thedoors at the end of the hall swing open. Fivesoldiers come marching in, their guns hois-ted, and in a flash I can see that these are notRepublic soldiers at all—but Colonies troops,with their navy blue coats and gold stars.Panic rushes through me from head to toe.Instinctively I move toward Eden’s room, butthe soldiers see me. Their leader waves hisgun at me. My hand flies to my gun strappedto my waist—and then I remember that all ofmy weapons (save for one ankle knife) are ly-ing useless back in Eden’s room.

“With the Republic’s surrender,” he saysin a grandiose voice, “all reins of power have

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been transferred to Colonies’ officials. This isyour commander telling you to stand asideand let us pass, so that we can run a thor-ough search.”

Mikhael throws up his hands and does asthe official says. They draw closer. Memorieswhirl in my mind—they’re all lessons frommy days at Drake, a stream of maneuversthat run through my head at the speed oflight. I gauge them carefully. A small teamsent up here to accomplish some specifictask. Other teams must be swarming each ofthe floors, but I know these soldiers musthave been sent up to us for something in par-ticular. I brace myself, ready for a fight. It’sme they’re after.

As if he read my mind, Mikhael nodsonce at the soldiers. His arms stay up high inthe air. “What do you want?”

The soldier answers, “A boy named EdenBataar Wing.”

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I know better than to suck in my breathand thus give away that Eden’s on thisfloor—but a tidal wave of fear washes overme. I was wrong. They’re not after me. Theywant Day’s brother. If Day’s forced to givehis announcement on board the Chancellor’sairship, alone, he’ll be helpless if the Chan-cellor decides to take him hostage—and if hegets his hands on Eden, he’ll be able to con-trol Day at his every whim. My thoughts rusheven further. If the Colonies truly succeed intaking over the Republic today, then theChancellor could use Day indefinitely as hisown weapon, as a manipulator of the Repub-lic’s people, for as long as the people contin-ue to believe in Day as their hero.

I open my mouth before Mikhael can.“This floor just houses plague victims,” I sayto the soldier. “If you’re looking for Day’sbrother, he’ll be on a higher floor.”

The soldier’s gun swivels to me. He nar-rows his eyes in recognition. “You’re the

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Princeps-Elect,” he says. “Aren’t you? JuneIparis.”

I lift my chin. “One of the Princeps-Elects, yes.”

For a moment, I think he might believewhat I said about Eden. Some of his meneven start shifting back toward the stairs.The soldier watches me for a long time,studying my eyes, and then looks down thehallway behind me, where Eden’s room lies.I don’t dare flinch.

He frowns at me. “I know your reputa-tion.” Before I can think of anything else tosay in order to throw him off, he tilts hishead at his troops and uses his gun to ges-ture at the hall. “Do a thorough search. Theboy should be on this floor.”

Too late to lie now. If I owe Day anything,I owe him this. I shift into the space betweenthe soldiers and the hallway. Calculationsrush through my head. (The hallway is alittle over four feet wide—if I move into it, I

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can prevent the soldiers from attacking meall at once and break up my opponents intotwo smaller waves instead of one large one.)“Your Chancellor won’t want me dead,” I lie.My heart pounds furiously. Beside me, thelab tech looks on with stricken eyes, unsureof what to do. “He’ll want me alive, and tried.You know this.”

“Such big lies out of such a small mouth.”The soldier hoists his gun. I hold my breath.“Move out of the way, or I shoot.”

If I didn’t see the hint of hesitation on hisface, I would’ve done as he asked. No use toDay or Eden if I’m just dead and gunneddown. But the soldier’s flash of uncertainty isall I need. I hold my arms up slowly andcarefully. My eyes stay fixed on him. “Youdon’t want to shoot me,” I say. I’m shockedat how firm my voice sounds—not a ripple offear in it, despite the adrenaline rushingthrough my veins. My legs sway a little, still atouch unsteady from the experiments. “Your

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Chancellor doesn’t sound like a forgivingman.”

The soldier hesitates again. He doesn’tknow what the Chancellor has in mind forme. He has to give me the benefit of thedoubt.

We hold our standoff for several longseconds.

Finally he spits out a curse and lowers hisgun. “Get her,” he snaps at his soldiers.“Don’t shoot.”

The world zooms in at me—everythingfades, except for the enemy. My instinctskick into overdrive.

Let’s play. You have no idea who you’redealing with.

I crouch into a fighting stance as the sol-diers rush at me all at once. The narrownessof the hallway works instantly to my advant-age—instead of dealing with five soldiers atthe same time, I only deal with two. I duckthe first soldier’s swing, rip my knife out

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from my boot, and slash his calf as viciouslyas I can. The blade tears effortlessly throughboth his pant leg and his tendon. He shrieks.Instantly his leg buckles, taking him to thefloor in a thrashing heap. The second soldierrushing at me trips right over his fallingcomrade. I kick out at the second soldier’sface, knocking him out, and step off from hisback to lunge at the third soldier. He tries topunch me. I block his blow with onearm—my other hand shoots up toward hisface and smashes into his nose so hard that Ifeel the crunch of breaking bone. The soldierstaggers backward once and falls, clutchinghis face in agony.

Three down.My advantage of surprise vanishes—the

last two soldiers take me on more warily.One of them shouts into his mike for backup.Behind them, Mikhael starts sneaking away.Even though I don’t dare glance in his direc-tion, I know that he must be moving to lock

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down the corridors in the stairwell, making itimpossible for more Colonies soldiers tocome swarming up. One of the remainingsoldiers lifts his gun and points it at my legs.I kick out at him. My boot hits the barrel ofhis gun right as he fires it, sending a bulletricocheting wildly over my shoulder. Analarm blares across the entire building’s in-tercoms—the stairwells are locked down, analert’s been sent out. I kick the gun again sothat it arcs backward, hitting the soldier hardin the face. It stuns him momentarily. I spinand strike him hard in the jaw with myelbow—

—but then something hits me hard in theback of my head. Stars explode across myvision. I stumble, falling to one knee, andstruggle to swim up through my blindness.The second soldier must’ve struck me frombehind. I swing out again, trying my best toguess at where the soldier is, but I miss andfall again. Through my hazy vision, I see the

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soldier raise the butt of his gun to strike meagain in the face. The blow will knock meunconscious. I try in vain to roll away.

The strike doesn’t come. I blink, strug-gling to my feet. What happened? When myvision clears a bit, I notice the last soldier ly-ing on the ground and lab techs rushing overto tie their hands and feet. Suddenly thereare people everywhere. Standing over me isTess, pale and sickly and breathing hard,clutching a rifle from one of the other fallensoldiers. I had not noticed her leaving herroom.

She manages a weak smile. “You’re wel-come,” she says, extending a hand to help meup.

I smile back. She pulls me, trembling, tomy feet. When I sway on uncertain legs, sheoffers me her shoulder to lean on. Neither ofus is very steady, but we don’t fall.

“Ms. Iparis,” Mikhael gasps out as hehurries over to us. “We’ve managed to reach

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the Elector—we’ve told him about the cure.But we also just received a warning to evacu-ate the Bank Tower. They say the fake sur-render will end very soon and that one of theColonies’ first targets of retaliation will be—”

A shudder shakes the hospital. We allfreeze where we are. I glance at the hori-zon—at first the shudder felt a bit like anearthquake, or the rumble of a passing air-ship, but the shaking is set off in short, regu-lar intervals instead of the sharp roll of aseismic wave or the low, steady hum of air-ships—and an instant later, I realize that theairship bases’ bombs must have begun goingoff. I run to the window with Tess, where welook on as bright plumes of orange and graybillow up from the bases lining the horizon.Panic takes hold of me. Day must have madehis announcement. Whether or not he sur-vived it, I have no idea.

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The phony surrender’s over; the ceasefirehas ended. The final fight for the Republichas begun.

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WHEN I WAS FIFTEEN, I BROKEINTO A BANK IN LOS ANGELES afterguards standing at its back entrancedidn’t believe I could do it in tenseconds. The night before, I had madea detailed mental checklist of the lay-out of that bank, noting every footholdand window and ledge, and guesstim-ated every floor inside. I waited untilits guards rotated at midnight, andthen I snuck into the building’s base-ment. There, I set a tiny explosive onthe vault’s lock. There was no way Icould break in at night without trig-gering their alarms . . . but the nextmorning, when guards headed downto the vault to check on the inventory,

most of the laser-guided alarmsthroughout the building would be off. Itimed my entrance the next day to co-incide. As I taunted the guards at thebank’s back entrance, the guards in-side the bank were opening the vaultdoor. And the explosive went off. Atthe same time, I leaped through thebank’s second floor window, thendown the steps, then into the vaultthrough smoke and dust, and mademy way out of the building by hookingthe bank’s waiting line chains to my-self and swinging out of the top floor.You should’ve seen me.

Now, as I walk straight up the innerramps of a pyramid dock and towardthe entrance of my very first Coloniesairship, flanked on both sides by Co-lonies soldiers, I run through my oldbank stunt and feel an overwhelmingurge to flee. To swing onto the side of

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the ship, lose the troops tailing me,and weave into its vents. My eyessweep the ship and try to map out thebest escape routes, the closest hidingplaces, and most convenientfootholds. Walking straight up to itlike this leaves me feeling way tooopen and vulnerable. Still, I don’tshow it on my face. When I reach theentrance and a pair of lieutenants ush-ers me inside, then pats me downthoroughly for any weapons, I justsmile politely at them. If the Chancel-lor wants to see me intimidated, hemight be disappointed.

The soldiers don’t catch the tiny,coin-size round discs sewn into myboots. One is a recorder. If there’s anyconversation I want to have to useagainst the Colonies, it’s this one, to beshown to the entire public. The othersare tiny explosives. Outside,

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somewhere beyond the airship baseand hidden in the buildings’ shadows,are Pascao and several other Patriots.

I hope the people are ready for mysignal. I hope they’re listening for myfinal step, watching and waiting.

It’s the first time I’ve been in an air-ship that has no portraits of the Elect-or hanging on its walls. Instead, inter-spersed between swallowtail-shapedblue-and-gold flags are ads, screens ashigh as the walls that advertiseeverything from food to electronics tohouses. I get an uncomfortable senseof déjà vu, recalling the time June andI had stumbled into the Colonies, butwhen the lieutenants glance my way, Ijust shrug at them and keep my eyesdown. We make our way through thecorridors and up two flights of stairsbefore they finally usher me into alarge chamber. I stand there for a

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moment, unsure of what to do next.This looks like some sort of observa-tion deck, with a long glass windowthat gives me a view of Los Angeles.

A lone man stands by the window,the city’s light painting his silhouetteblack. He waves me over. “Ah, you’refinally here!” he exclaims. Instantly Irecognize the smooth, coaxing voice ofthe Chancellor. He looks nothing likehow I pictured him: He’s short andsmall, frail, his hair receded and gray,his voice way too big for his body.There’s a slight hunch to hisshoulders, and his skin looks thin andtranslucent in some areas, like it’smade of paper and might crumple if Iwere to touch it. I can’t keep the sur-prise off my face. This is the man whorules over corps like DesCon, whothreatens and bullies an entire nationand negotiates with manipulative

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precision? A little anticlimactic, to behonest. I almost write him off before Iget a good look at his eyes.

And that’s where I recognize theChancellor I’ve spoken to before. Hiseyes calculate, analyze, and deduce mein a way that chills me to the bone. So-mething is incredibly wrong aboutthem.

Then I realize why. His eyes aremechanical.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” hesays. “Come on over. Enjoy the viewwith me, son. This is where we’ll haveyou make your announcement. A nicevantage point, isn’t it?”

A retort—“The view’s probably bet-ter without all the Colonies airships inthe way”—is on the tip of my tongue,but I swallow it with some effort anddo as he says. He smiles as I stop

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beside him, and I do my best not tolook into his false eyes.

“Well, look at you, all young andfresh faced.” He claps me on the back.“You did the right thing, you know,coming here.” He gazes back at LosAngeles. “Do you see all that? What’sthe point of staying loyal to that?You’re a Colonian now, and you won’thave to put up with the Republic’stwisted laws anymore. We’ll treat youand your brother so well that you’llsoon wonder why you ever hesitated tojoin us.”

From the corner of my eyes, I makenote of possible escape routes.“What’ll happen to the people in theRepublic?”

The Chancellor taps his lips in adisplay of thoughtfulness. “The Senat-ors, unfortunately, might be lesshappy about the whole thing—and as

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for the Elector himself . . . well, youcan only have one real ruler for onecountry, and I am already here.” Heoffers me a smile that borders onkindness, a startling contrast to his ac-tual words. “He and I are more alikethan you might think. We are notcruel. We are simply practical. Andyou know how tricky it can be to dealwith traitors.”

A shiver runs down my spine. “Andthe Princeps-Elects?” I repeat. “Whatabout the Patriots? This was part ofour deal, remember?”

The Chancellor nods. “Of course Iremember. Day, there are things you’lllearn about people and society whenyou get older. Sometimes, you justhave to do things the hard way. Now,before you work yourself up into apanic, know that Ms. Iparis will be un-harmed. We already have plans to

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pardon her for your sake, given thatyou’ll be helping us out. Part of ourdeal, just like you said, and I do not goback on my word. The other Princeps-Elects will be executed along with theElector.”

Executed. So easy, just like that. Iget a nauseous feeling in my stomachat the memory of Anden’s botched as-sassination. This time he might not beso lucky. “As long as you spare June,”I manage to choke out, “and as long asyou don’t hurt the Patriots or mybrother. But you still haven’tanswered my first question. What willhappen to the people of the Republic?”

The Chancellor eyes me, then leanscloser. “Tell me, Day, do you think themasses have the right to make de-cisions for an entire nation?”

I turn to stare at the city. It’s a longdrop from here to the bottom of the

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naval base; I’ll have to find a way toslow myself down. “The laws that af-fect an entire nation will also affectthat nation’s individuals, yeah?” Ireply, goading him. I hope my record-er’s picking all this up. “So of coursethe people have a right to contribute tothose decisions.”

The Chancellor nods. “A fair an-swer. But fairness does not power na-tions, Day, does it? I have read histor-ies about nations where every personis given an equal start in life, whereeveryone contributes to the greatergood and no one is richer or poorerthan anyone else. Do you think thatsystem worked?” He shakes his head.“Not with people, Day. That’ssomething you’ll learn when you growup. People by nature are unjust, un-fair, and conniving. You have to becareful with them—you have to find a

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way to make them think that you arecatering to their every whim. Themasses can’t function on their own.They need help. They don’t knowwhat’s good for them. And as for whatwill happen to the people of the Re-public? Well, Day, I’ll tell you. Thepeople as a whole will be thrilled to beintegrated into our system. They willknow everything that they need toknow, and we will make sure they areall put to good use. It will be a well-oiled machine.”

“Everything they need to know?”“Yes.” He folds his hands behind

his back and sticks his chin up. “Doyou really believe that the people canmake all of their own decisions? Whata frightening world. People don’t al-ways know what they really want. Youshould know that better than anyone,Day, what with your announcement so

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long ago in favor of the Elector, andwith the announcement you’ll give ustoday.” He tilts his head a little as hetalks. “You do what you need to do.”

You do what you need to do.Echoes of the philosophy of the Re-public’s own former Elector—echoesof something that, no matter whatcountry I’m in, never seems to change.On the surface, I just nod, but inside, Ifeel a sudden hesitation to go throughwith my plan. He’s baiting you, I re-mind myself, lost in the struggle. Youare not like the Chancellor. You fightfor the people.

You are fighting for somethingreal. Aren’t you?

I’ve got to get out of here, before heworks his way deeper into my mind.My muscles tense up, ready for the an-nouncement. I study the room from

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my peripheral vision. “Well,” I saystiffly, “let’s get this over with.”

“More enthusiasm, my boy,” theChancellor says, clicking his tongue inmock disapproval, and then gives me aserious look. “We thoroughly expectyou to sell your point to the people.”

I nod. I step forward toward thewindow, then let two soldiers hook mymike up to broadcast from the airship.A transparent, live video of me sud-denly appears on the glass. Shiversrun down my entire body. There areColonies soldiers all over the place,and they’ve ensured that if I don’tmake my move just right, I’ll have sen-tenced myself and most likely all of myloved ones to death. This is it. There isno turning back from here.

“People of the Republic,” I begin.“Today, I stand here with the Chancel-lor of the Colonies, on board his very

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own airship. I have a message for all ofyou.” My voice sounds hoarse, and Ihave to clear my throat before con-tinuing. When I shift my toes, I canfeel the bump of the two tiny explos-ives on the bottom of my boots’ soles,ready for my next move. I hope to hellthat the markers that Pascao, the oth-er Runners, and I left across the cityhave done their work, and that thepeople are prepared.

“We’ve been through a lot togeth-er,” I continue. “But few things havebeen more trying than the last fewmonths in the Republic. Believe me, Iknow. Adjusting to a new Elector, see-ing the changes that have comearound . . . and as you all know bynow, I haven’t been doing so well my-self.” My headache throbs as if in re-sponse. Outside the airship, my voiceechoes across the city from the video

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feed playing from dozens of Coloniesairships and hundreds of Los AngelesJumboTrons. I take a deep breath, asif this might be the last time I everspeak to the people. “You and I willprobably never get a chance to meet.But I know you. You have taught meabout all the good things in my life,and why I’ve fought for my family allthese years. I hope for great things foryour own loved ones, that they can gothrough life without suffering the waymine have.” I pause here. My eyes turnto face the Chancellor, and he nodsonce, coaxing me on. My heart is beat-ing so loudly that I can barely hear myown voice.

“The Colonies have much to offeryou,” I say, my voice growing stronger.“Their ships are now in our skies. Itwill not be long before you see Colon-ies banners flying above your

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children’s schools and over yourhomes. People of the Republic, I haveone final message for you, before youand I say farewell to each other.”

It’s time. My legs tense, and my feetshift ever so slightly. The Chancellorlooks on.

“The Republic is weak and broken.”I narrow my eyes. “But it is still yourcountry. Fight for it. This is yourhome, not theirs.”

In the same moment that I see theChancellor’s enraged expression, Ispring from where I’m standing andkick at the glass as hard as I can. Co-lonies soldiers rush toward me. Myboots hit the window—the explosivesembedded in my soles give two briefpops, sending tremors through myfeet. The glass shatters.

And now I’m midair, sailingthrough the open space. My arms whip

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up and grab the top edge of the brokenwindowpane. A bullet zips by. TheChancellor’s furious shout rises upfrom inside. Guess they’re not going totry keeping me alive after that. All myadrenaline rushes forward in a floodof heat.

I shimmy up and out into the even-ing air. No time to waste. My capthreatens to blow off—I hang out thewindow for a second and try to adjustit more snugly onto my head. Lastthing I need right now is to have myhair blowing around like a beacon foranyone on the ground to see. Whenthe gusts die down a bit, I pull myselfcompletely out and cling to the win-dow frame. I look up, gauging the dis-tance to the next window. Then Ijump. My hands grab on to the bottomledge of the frame, and with difficulty,I manage to pull myself up. I grunt

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from the effort. Never would’ve had aproblem with this a year ago.

When I’ve hopped to a fourth win-dow, I hear the faint sound ofsomething popping. Then, the firstexplosion.

A tremor runs deep through the en-tire airship, nearly shaking loose mygrip, and when I glance down, I see aball of orange and gray explode fromwhere the airship is docked to its pyr-amid base. The Patriots are makingtheir move. A second explosion fol-lows—this time the airship creaksslightly, tilting to the east. Gritting myteeth, I pick up speed. One of my feetslips against a window frame at thesame time a gust of wind blows by—Ialmost lose my balance. For a secondmy leg dangles precariously. “C’mon,”I scold myself. “You call this a run?”Then I throw one arm up as far as I

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can and manage to catch the next win-dow before my legs give way com-pletely. The effort triggers a dull flashof pain at the back of my head. I wince.No, not now. Anytime but now. But it’sno use. I feel the headache coming. If Iget hit with it right now, I’ll be in somuch pain that I’ll plummet to mydeath for sure. Desperately, I climbfaster. My feet slip again on the top-most window. I manage to catch my-self at the last second, then grab theledge of the upper deck as my head-ache explodes in full force.

Blinding white pain. I dangle there,clinging on for dear life, fightingagainst the agony that threatens topull me under. Two more explosionsfollow the first couple in rapid succes-sion, and now the airship creaks andgroans. It tries to launch, firing awayfrom the base, but all it manages to do

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is shudder. If the Chancellor gets hishands on me now, he’ll kill me him-self. Somewhere far away, I hear asiren sound—soldiers on the upperdeck must know by now that I’m head-ing there, and they’ll be ready for me.

My breaths come in short gasps.Open your eyes, I command myself.You have to open them. Through ablurry veil of tears, I see a glimpse ofthe upper deck and soldiers running.Their shouts ring out across the deck.For an instant, I lose my memoryagain of where I am, what I’m doing,what my mission is. The unfamiliaritymakes my stomach heave, and I haveto keep myself from throwing up.Think, Day. You’ve been in bad situ-ations before. My memory blurs. Whatdid I need up here again? Finally Iclear my mind—I need some way toswing down to the bottom of the ship.

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Then I remember the sleek metalchain railings lining the edge of thedeck, and my original plan—my eyesswivel up to the nearest chain. Withenormous effort, I reach out and grabat it. I miss the first time. The soldierssee me now, and several of them runin my direction. I grit my teeth and tryagain.

This time I reach the chain. I grab itwith both hands, then yank down. Thechain pops free from its hooks. I throwmyself off the side of the ship—and letmyself fall. I hope to hell this chaincan support my weight. There’s a chor-us of pops as the chain snaps free ofhooks on both sides, sending me downat dizzying speed. The pain in my headthreatens to weaken my grip. I hangon with every shred of strength that Ihave. My hair billows around me, andI realize my cap must’ve fallen off.

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Down, down, down I fall. The worldzips past me at the speed of light.Through the rushing wind, my headslowly clears.

Suddenly one side of the chainsnaps loose right as I reach the bottomof the ship. A lungful of air escapes meas I’m vaulted to one side. I manage tograb the remaining chain with bothhands and hang on tightly as I swingalong the bottom side of the ship. Thepyramid base is almost close enoughunder my feet for me to jump, but I’mgoing way too fast. I swing closer tothe side of the ship, then scrape theheels of my boots hard against thesteel. There’s a loud, long screech. Myboots finally find traction—the forcespins me from my swing and sends metwirling. I fight to steady myself. Be-fore I can, though, the chain finally

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breaks and I tumble onto the outsideof the pyramid base.

The impact knocks all the wind outof me. I skid against the smooth,slanted walls for a few seconds, untilmy boots catch against the surface andI stop there, bruised and limp, con-vinced soldiers are going to fill mewith bullets as I lie vulnerable againstthe pyramid. Pascao and the otherswill know by now that I’ve made mymove, and they’ll be setting off thebombs all along the naval bases. I bet-ter get off this thing before I’m burntto a crisp. That thought fills my mindand gives me the strength to pull my-self up. I slide down the side as fast asI can—below, I can already see Colon-ies soldiers rushing to stop me. Asense of hopelessness stabs me.There’s no way in hell I’ll get past all ofthem in time. Still, I keep moving. I

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have to get away from the explosionsite.

I’m several dozen yards from thebottom. Soldiers are clambering up toseize me. I tense up, push myself upinto a crouch, and quickly move side-ways against the slanted base. I’m notgoing to make it.

The instant this crosses my mind,the two final explosions go off underthe airship.

A huge roar above me shakes theearth, and when I glance behind me, Isee an enormous fireball rise up fromwhere the airship is docked with thetop of the base. All along the navalbase, orange flames burst from everysingle pyramid dock. They’ve gone offin unison. The result is absolutely jaw-dropping. Quickly I glance back to thesoldiers who were chasing me—they’vepaused, shocked by what they’re

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witnessing. Another deafening burstof flame erupts above us and thetremors knock everyone off their feet.I struggle to stabilize myself againstthe slanted wall. Move, move, move! Istagger down the last few yards of thebase’s wall and fall to my knees on theground. The world spins. All I canhear are the shouts of soldiers and theroar of the infernos lighting up thenaval bases.

Hands grab me. I struggle, but Ihave no more strength left. Suddenlythey drop me and I hear a familiarvoice at my side. I turn in surprise.Who is this? Pascao. His name isPascao.

His bright gray eyes crinkle atme—he grabs my hand and urges meto run. “Nice to see you alive. Let’skeep it that way.”

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FROM THE BANK TOWER IN DOWNTOWN LA, ICAN SEE the giant plumes of orange flamelighting up the naval bases along the coast.The blasts are enormous, illuminating theedge of the sky with blinding light and echo-ing through the air, the force shaking theglass windows of the tower as I look on. Hos-pital staff mill around me in a scene of com-motion. The lab teams are prepping bothTess and Eden for evacuation.

A call comes in from Pascao. “I’ve gotDay,” he shouts. “Meet us outside.”

My knees turn weak with relief. He’salive. He made it. I peek inside Tess’s room,where she’s being secured to a wheelchair,and give her a thumbs-up. She brightens,even in her weakened state. Outside the

tower, I see the shadow engulfing our build-ing begin to move—the Colonies airship hov-ering overhead is heading away from us tojoin into battle. As if our explosions have un-settled a nest of wasps, dozens of Coloniesfighter jets are taking off from its deck aswell as the decks of the distant, crippled air-ships, their shapes forming squadrons in thesky. Republic jets meet them in midair.

Hurry, Antarctica. Please.I rush off the lab floor and down the

stairs to the lobby of the Bank Tower. There’schaos everywhere. Republic soldiers hurrypast me in a blur of motion, while severalgather at the front doors to prevent anyoneelse from getting inside. “This hospital is offlimits!” one barks. “Bring the injured acrossthe street—we are evacuating!” The screenslining the hall show scenes of Republic sol-diers clashing with Colonies troops in thestreets—and, to my surprise, Republic civil-ians wielding whatever weapons they can

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find and joining in to push the Coloniesback. Fires burn along the roads. At the bot-tom of every screen in bold, menacing lettersis the scrolling text: ALL REPUBLIC SOLDIERS TO

BREAK SURRENDER. ALL REPUBLIC SOLDIERS TO

BREAK SURRENDER. I cringe at the scene, eventhough this is exactly what we had plannedfor.

Outside, the noise of battle deafens me.Fighter jets roar past us overhead, while oth-ers hover directly over the Bank Tower, pre-pared to defend the tallest building in LAif—when—the Colonies try to attack. I seesimilar formations over other prominentdowntown buildings. “Come on, Day,” I mut-ter, scanning the streets nearby for signs ofhis bright hair, or of Pascao’s pale eyes. Adeep tremor shakes the ground. Another ballof orange flame explodes behind severalrows of buildings, then a pair of Colonies jetszoom by, followed closely by a Republic

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plane. The sound is so loud that I press bothhands to my ears until they’ve passed.

“June?” Pascao’s voice comes over mymike, but I can barely hear him. “We’re al-most here. Where are you?”

“In front of the Bank Tower,” I shout overthe noise.

“We’ve gotta evacuate,” he replies imme-diately. “Getting some feedback from ourHackers—the Colonies are aiming to attackthe building within the hour—”

As if on cue, a Colonies jet screams by,and an instant later, an enormous explosiongoes off at the very top of the Bank Tower.Soldiers all around me let out shouts ofwarning as glass falls from the highest floors.I jump backward into the safety of the build-ing’s entrance. Debris rains down in a thun-derous storm, crushing jeeps and shatteringinto a million pieces.

“June?” Pascao’s voice comes back on,clearly alarmed now. “June—are you okay?”

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“I’m fine!” I shout back. “I’ll help withevacuations once I see you. See you soon!”Then I hang up.

Three minutes later, I finally spot Dayand Pascao staggering toward the BankTower against the tide of civilians escapingthe area and soldiers rushing to defend thestreets. They stumble through the debris. Irush from the entrance toward Day, who’sleaning heavily against Pascao’s goodshoulder.

“Are either of you injured?” I ask.“I’m fine,” Pascao replies, nodding at

Day. “Not sure about this guy. I think he’smore exhausted than anything.”

I swing Day’s other arm around myshoulder. Pascao and I help him inside thelobby of a building several blocks from theBank Tower, where we still have a directview of the tower and the chaotic, debris-filled square that sits between the two build-ings. Inside, rows of injured soldiers are

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already camped out, with medics runningfrantically between them. “We’re clearing outthe tower,” I explain as we gently help Daydown to the ground. He grimaces in pain,even though I can’t find any specific woundson him. “Don’t worry,” I reassure him whenhe glances up at me in alarm. “Eden and Tessare being evacuated right now.”

“And so should you,” he adds. “The fight’sjust beginning.”

“If I tell you to stop worrying, will you?”My reply gets a wry smile from him. “Are

the Antarcticans coming to help us?” Dayasks. “Did you tell Anden about the cure—”

“Calm down,” I interrupt him, then standup and put a hand on Pascao’s shoulder.“Watch out for him. I’m going back to thetower to help with the evacuations. I’ll tellthem to bring his brother here.” Pascao nodsquickly, and I cast one last glance towardDay before running out of the building.

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A stream of people is making its way outof the tower, with Republic soldiers flankingthem on either side. Some are on crutches orin wheelchairs, while others are strapped togurneys and being wheeled out by a team ofmedics. Republic soldiers bark orders atthem, their guns hoisted and their bodiestense. I hurry past them and toward the en-trance, then push my way inside to the stairs.I hop up the steps two at a time until I finallyreach the lab floor, where the door’s proppedopen and a nurse is directing people towardthe elevator.

I reach the nurse and grab her arm. Sheturns to look at me, startled. “Princeps-Elect,” she manages to blurt out, hastily bow-ing her head. “What are you—”

“Eden Bataar Wing,” I say breathlessly.“Is he ready to go yet?”

“Day’s brother?” she replies. “Yes—yes,he’s in his room. We’re preparing to move

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him comfortably. He still needs to be in awheelchair, but—”

“And Tess? The girl who was underquarantine?”

“She’s already on her way downstairs—”I don’t wait for the nurse to finish before

rushing into the main lab room and towardthe corridor. At the very end, I see a pair ofdoctors wheeling Eden out. He looks like he’sunconscious, resting on a small pillowpropped between his head and the chair’sback, his forehead damp with sweat.

I give the doctors instructions on whereto take him as we all hurry together towardthe elevator. “You’ll see Day there. Keep himwith his brother.”

Another explosion rips through the build-ing, forcing half of us to our knees. Some ofthe medics scream. Dust rains down fromthe ceiling, making my eyes water—I unbut-ton my coat, then shrug out of it and throw itacross Eden to shield him. “No elevator,” I

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gasp out, heading toward the stairs instead.“Can we carry him down?”

One of the nurses gingerly picks Eden upand holds him tight in her arms. We hurrydown the stairs as more dust showers us andmuffled sounds of shouts, guns, and explo-sions echo from outside.

We rush out into a lengthening eveninglit completely by the fire of battle. Still nocall from Anden. My eyes sweep the roofs aswe pause underneath the entrance, otherevacuees streaming around us and betweenRepublic guards. One of the guards recog-nizes me and hurries over, throwing a quicksalute before he speaks. “Princeps-Elect!” heshouts. “Get to the adjacent shelter, as quickas you can—we’ll send a jeep to take you tothe Elector.”

I shake my head right away. “No. I’mstaying here.” A spark from the roofs makesme look up, and instantly we all cringe whena bullet hits the overhang in front of the

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main entrance. There are Colonies gunmenon the roofs. Several of the Republic soldierspoint their guns and open fire. The guardwho had spoken to me puts a hand on myshoulder. “Then move out,” he yells, gestur-ing wildly for us.

The nurse holding Eden takes severalsteps forward, her eyes still fixed in terror onthe rooftops. I put a hand out to stop her.“Not yet,” I say. “Stay here a moment.” Nottwo seconds after the words leave my mouth,I see a bullet hit one of the evacuees—bloodsprays, and instantly the people around himflee, screams reverberating in the air. Myheart pounds as I scan the roofs again. Oneof the Republic soldiers finally catches a gun-man, and I see somebody in a Colonies uni-form fall from the top of a nearby building. Ilook away before the body hits the ground,but I’m still struck by a violent wave of naus-ea. How do we get Eden to safety?

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“Stay here,” I command the nurse hold-ing Eden. Then I tap four of the Republic sol-diers. “Cover me. I’m heading up there.” Igesture for one of the guards to hand me thegun at his belt, and he passes it over withouthesitation.

I move into the crowds and make my waytoward the buildings. I try to imitate the ef-fortless grace that Day and Pascao have inthis urban jungle. As the chaotic evacuationscontinue and soldiers from both sides faceoff against one another, I hurry into theshadows of a narrow, nearby alley and startmaking my way up the side of the building.I’m small, dressed in dark clothes, and alone.They won’t expect me to head up here. Mymind runs through all of my sharpshootinglessons. If I can throw them off, it’ll give theevacuees that much more of a chance tomake it out in one piece. Even as I think this,another Colonies jet zooms overhead and ahuge plume of bright red flame erupts on the

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Bank Tower. A Republic jet tails close behindit, firing as it goes—as I look on, it managesto hit the Colonies plane and ignite one of itsengines, sending it careening wildly to oneside and leaving a trail of dark smoke behindit. A deafening roar follows; it must havecrashed several blocks down. I look back upat the burning tower. We don’t have muchtime. This building is going to come down. Igrit my teeth and make my way up as fast asI can. If only I were as good a Runner as Dayand Pascao.

I finally reach the top floor’s ledge. Fromhere, I get a good view of the battle zone be-low me. The Bank Tower is under siege fromthe sky and the ground, where hundreds ofRepublic troops are pushing back in thestreets against a steady tide of enemy sol-diers. Patients and medics alike still streamfrom the tower and down the street towardthe makeshift shelter, along with govern-ment officials from the higher floors, many

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of them covered completely in white dustand blood. I peer over the top ledge.

No gunmen here. I pull myself up ontothe roof, careful to stay in the shadows. Myhand grips the gun so tightly that I canbarely feel my fingers. I scan the roofs in thedanger zone leading up to the shelter, untilfinally I see several Colonies soldierscrouched on top of the neighboring build-ings, taking aim at the Republic troops head-ing up the evacuation. I make my way si-lently toward them.

I take the first one down quickly, aimingat him from behind as I peer over the build-ing’s top ledge. It’s as if I can feel Metiasguiding my gun, making sure I hit him some-where that isn’t fatal. As he collapses with amuffled shriek that’s lost in all the chaos, Irush over and grab his gun, then fling it overthe side of the roof. Then I hit him in the facehard enough to knock him out. My eyes

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settle on the next soldier. I press one handagainst my earpiece and click my mike on.

“Tell the nurse to keep waiting,” I hiss ur-gently at the guard by the Bank Tower. “I’llsend a signal when it’s—”

I never get a chance to finish my sen-tence. An explosion throws me down flatonto the roof. When I open my eyes and lookdown, the entire street is completely coveredin ash and dust. Dust bombs? Through theveil of smoke and dirt, evacuees are runningin panic toward the shelter and breakingthrough the lines of Republic soldiers flank-ing them, completely ignoring their shouts.The Colonies gunmen have visors on. Theymust be able to see through all this smoke.They fire down at the crowds, scatteringthem in all directions. I look frantically to-ward the tower. Where’s Eden? I hurry to mynext target, taking him down in the sameway as the last. Another gunman down. Ilock on to my third target, then spit out a

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curse as I realize that my gun has just runout of bullets.

I’m about to make my way off the roofwhen something bright glints from a rooftop.I freeze in my tracks.

Not far from me on a higher building,Commander Jameson crouches on a roof. Achill shakes me from head to toe when I seethat she has a gun in her hand. No. No.

She’s picking off Republic soldiers, onebullet at a time. Then, my heart stops as shecatches sight of something that piques herinterest. She takes aim at a new target on theground. My eyes follow the line of her gun.And that’s when I see a boy with bright blondhair pushing his way against the stream ofthe crowd and toward the Bank Tower.

She’s aiming at Day.

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TESS GETS EVACUATED FIRST—ISEE HER LIMP FORM BEING carriedin the arms of a nurse as they exit theBank Tower. I take her from thenurse’s arms as soon as they reachground level, then carry her alongsidethe stream of other evacuees. Sheseems only half conscious, unaware ofmy presence, her head lolling to oneside. Halfway to the shelter, I slowdown. Damn, I’m so exhausted and inso much pain.

Pascao takes Tess from my arms.He hoists her up to his chest. On theroofs, sparks fly—signs of gunfire.“Get back to the Bank Tower en-trance,” he yells at me before turning

his back. “I’ll get her over!” And thenhe’s off before I can argue.

I watch them go for a while, unwill-ing to look away until I’m sure Tess issafely across the square. When theyreach the shelter, I turn my attentionback to the tower. Eden should bedown by now. I crane my neck, squint-ing through the crowds for a head ofblond curls. Has June come backdownstairs yet? I don’t see her in thepanicking masses either and her ab-sence sends a jolt of worry throughme.

Then, an explosion. I’m thrown tothe ground.

Dust. A dust bomb, I manage tothink through the pounding in myhead. At first I can’t see anythingthrough all the smoke—there’s chaoseverywhere, sparks flying, and the oc-casional muffled sound of gunfire;

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through the floating white dust, I see ablur of people running toward thesafety of the Republic barricades, theirlegs moving as if in slow motion, theirmouths open in silent shouts. I shakemy head wearily. My own limbs feellike they’re dragging through the mud,and the back of my head throbs,threatening to drown me in pain. Iblink against it, trying to keep mysenses straight. Desperately I call outagain for Eden, but I can’t even hearmy own voice. If I can’t hear it, howcan he?

The people thin out for a moment.And then I see him. It’s Eden. He’s

unconscious in the arms of a terrifiedRepublic nurse, one who seems to bestumbling blindly through the dust,headed in the wrong direc-tion—straight toward the Coloniestroops lining the left side of the

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square, opposite of where the shelteris. I don’t stop to think or shout athim, I don’t hesitate or wait for a goodinterval in the gunfire. I just start run-ning toward him.

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COMMANDER JAMESON’S GOING TO SHOOT

HIM—THE direction she’s aiming her gun isunmistakable.

Day’s sprinting through the dust thatblankets the street. Day, what are you do-ing? He stumbles in his dash, and even fromthe roofs I can tell that he’s struggling tomake his body move, that every last inch ofhim is screaming from exhaustion. He’s go-ing to push himself too far. I glance in thedirection he’s going, searching out what hasdrawn his attention.

Eden. Of course. The nurse holding Edentrips and falls in the midst of all the billow-ing smoke, and when she gets up, fear getsthe best of her because she just starts run-ning away. Fury rises up inside me. Left

behind is Eden, slowly stirring and com-pletely vulnerable in the open street, blind,separated from the group, and coughing un-controllably from the smoke.

I jump to my feet. With the way Day’srunning opposite of everyone else, he’ll soonbe in an area where he’s an open target.

My hand flies to my waist—and then I re-member that my own gun is out of bullets. Isprint back across the rooftop toward my lasttarget, where I hadn’t yet dropped his gun offthe roof. When I glance toward CommanderJameson again, I see her tense and aim. No.No! She fires a shot.

The bullet misses Day by a couple of feet.He stumbles in his rush, throwing an armbriefly over his head out of instinct, but pickshimself up and continues doggedly on. Myheart thuds frantically against my chest.Faster. I take a flying leap from one roof tothe next. Down below, I see Day nearingEden. Then he’s there, he’s reached him, he’s

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skidding to a halt next to Eden and throwinghis arms protectively around his little broth-er. The dust around them makes them hardto focus on, as if they’re both ghosts in fadedcolors. My breath comes in shallow gasps asI draw closer to the fallen soldiers. I hope thedust is throwing Commander Jameson’s aimoff.

I reach the downed soldier. I grab hisgun. One bullet left.

Below, Day picks up Eden, puts one handprotectively against the back of his brother’shead, and then starts staggering back towardthe shelter as fast as his broken body will al-low him. Commander Jameson takes aimagain—I scream in my head and push myselfto go faster. All of my adrenaline, every fiberof my attention and concentration, is now fo-cused like an arrow on her. She fires. Thistime the bullet misses the brothers, but itsparks barely a foot away from Day. Hedoesn’t even bother to look up. He only

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clutches Eden tighter, then stumblesonward.

I finally near the roof where she is. I leaponto it, landing on its flat concrete surface.From here, I can see both the roof I’m on andthe street below. Three dozen yards ahead ofme, partially obscured by chimneys andvents, Commander Jameson crouches withher back turned to me, her focus on thestreets.

She fires again. Down below, I hear ahoarse shriek of pain from a voice I know alltoo well. All my breath escapes me. I glancequickly to the street to see Day fall to hisknees, dropping Eden for a moment. Thesounds around me dull.

He’s been shot.He shudders, then picks himself up

again. Hoists Eden into his arms again. Stag-gers onward. Commander Jameson fires onemore time. The bullet makes impact. I hoistthe gun in my hands, then point it straight at

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her. I’m close enough now, close enough tosee the ridges of her bulletproof vest liningher back. My hands shake. I have a perfectvantage, a straight shot right at CommanderJameson’s head. She’s getting ready to fireagain.

I aim.As if the world has suddenly slowed to a

million frames a second, CommanderJameson spins around. She senses my pres-ence. Her eyes narrow—and then she swivelsher gun toward me, taking her focus off Day.Thoughts flash through my mind at thespeed of light. I pull my gun’s trigger, firingmy last bullet straight at her head.

And I miss.I never miss.No time to dwell on this—Commander

Jameson has her gun pointed at me, and asmy bullet whizzes past her face, I see hersmile and fire. I throw myself to the ground,then roll. Something sparks barely an inch

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from my arm. I dart behind a nearby chim-ney and press myself as tightly against thewall as I can. Somewhere behind me, thesound of heavy boots approaches. Breathe.Breathe. Our last confrontation flashesthrough my mind. Why can I face everythingin the world except Commander Jameson?

“Come out and play, Little Iparis,” shecalls out. When I stay silent, she laughs.“Come out, so you can see your pretty boybleeding to death on the street.”

She knows exactly how to slice right intomy heart. But I grit my teeth and force theimage of a bleeding, dying Day out of myhead. I don’t have time for this bullshit.What I need to do is disarm her—and at thatthought, I look down at my useless gun.Time to play a game of pretend.

She’s silent now. All I can hear is the softtap of approaching boots, the steady nearingof my brother’s killer. My hands tighten onmy gun.

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She’s close enough. I shut my eyes for aninstant, mutter a quick whisper for goodluck—and then whirl out from my hidingplace. I point my gun up at CommanderJameson as if I’m about to fire. She doeswhat I hope—she flinches to the side, but thistime I’m ready, and I lunge straight for her. Ijump, then kick her face as hard as I can. Myboots make a satisfying sound on impact.Her head snaps backward. Her grip on hergun loosens, and I take the opportunity tokick it right out of her hands. She collapsesonto the roof with a thud—her gun flies off toone side, then falls right off the roof and tothe smoke-filled streets below.

I don’t dare stop my momentum. Whileshe’s still down, I swing my elbow at her facein an effort to knock her unconscious. Myfirst blow hits—but my second one doesn’t.Commander Jameson grabs my elbow, snapsher other hand on my wrist like a shackle,and then twists. I flip with it. Pain shoots up

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my arm as it bends in her grasp. Before shecan break it, I twist around and stomp on herarm with the sharp heel of my boot. Shewinces, but doesn’t let go. I stomp again,harder.

Her grip loosens by a hair, and I finallymanage to slip out of her grasp.

She hops to her feet right as I put somedistance between us and turn again to faceher. We start to circle each other, both of usbreathing heavily, my arm still screaming inpain and her face marred by a trickle ofblood coming from her temple. I alreadyknow I can’t win against her in an all-outbrawl. She’s taller and stronger, equippedwith years of training that my talents can’tmatch. My only hope is to catch her by sur-prise again, to find a way to turn her ownforce against her. As I continue to circle,waiting and watching for an opening, theworld around us fades away. I draw on all my

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anger, letting it replace my fear and give mestrength.

It’s just you and me now. This is the wayit was always meant to be, this is the mo-ment I’ve been waiting for since it all began.We’ll face each other at the very end withour bare hands.

Commander Jameson strikes first. Herspeed terrifies me. One second she’s beforeme, and the next she’s at my side, her fist fly-ing toward my face. I don’t have time tododge. All I manage to do is jerk my shoulderup at the last second, and her fist hits me in-stead as a glancing blow. Stars explodeacross my eyes. I stumble backward. I man-age to dodge her next blow—barely. I rollaway from her, fighting to clear my vision,and pop back onto my feet. When she lungesagain, I jump up and kick at her head. Itcatches her, but she’s too fast for it to behead-on. I dart away again. This time I backup slowly toward the edge of the roof, my

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eyes terrified to leave her. Good, I remindmyself. Look as frightened as you can. Fin-ally, the back of my boot hits the roof’s ledge.I glance down, then back up at CommanderJameson. Despite a slight unsteadiness, shelooks undaunted. It isn’t hard for me to fakethe fear in my wide eyes.

She stalks toward me like a predator. Shedoesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t needto—everything she’s ever wanted to tell mehas already been said before. It runs throughmy head like a poison. Little Iparis, howmuch you remind me of myself at your age.Adorable. Someday, you’ll learn that lifeisn’t always what you want it to be. Thatyou won’t always get what you want. Andthat there are forces out of your control thatwill shape you into who you are. Too badyour time ends here. It would’ve been fun tosee what you grow up to become.

Her eyes hypnotize me. In this moment, Ican imagine no worse sight.

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She lunges forward.I have only one chance. I duck, grab her

arm, and flip her right over my head. Hermomentum sends her sailing over the edgeof the roof.

But her hand clamps down on my arm.I’m yanked halfway over the ledge—my leftshoulder pops out of its socket. I scream. Myheels dig in against the ledge, fighting tokeep me from falling over. CommanderJameson flattens herself against the side ofthe building, grappling for footholds. Hernails dig so deep into my flesh that I can feelmy skin ripping. Tears spring to my eyes.Down below, Republic soldiers are still herd-ing evacuees, firing on enemy soldiers onother roofs, shouting orders into their mikes.

I scream at them with everything I haveleft. “Shoot her!” I shout. “Shoot her! ”

Two Republic soldiers snap their heads inmy direction. They recognize me. As they lifttheir guns in my direction, Commander

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Jameson looks up into my eyes and grins. “Iknew you couldn’t do it yourself.”

Then the soldiers open fire, CommanderJameson’s body convulses, her grip suddenlyloosens, and she plummets like a woundedbird to the street. I turn away so I don’t haveto look, but I still hear the sickening sound ofher body against pavement. She’s gone. Justlike that. I’m left with her words and my ownringing through my ears.

Shoot her. Shoot her.Metias’s words flash through my mind.

Few people ever kill for the right reasons.I hurriedly wipe the tears from my face.

What did I just do? Her blood stains myhands—I rub my good hand against myclothes, but I can’t get it off. I don’t know ifI’ll ever be able to. “This is the right reason,”I whisper repeatedly.

Perhaps she destroyed herself, and I onlyhelped. But even this thought seems hollow.

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The agony of my dislocated shouldermakes me light-headed. I lift my right arm,grip my wounded left arm, grit my teeth, andpush hard. I scream again. The bone resistsfor an instant—and then I feel my shoulderpop back into place. Fresh tears course downmy face. My hands tremble uncontrollably,and my ears ring, blocking out any soundaround me except the beating of my heart.

How long has it been? Hours? A fewseconds?

The pulsing light of logic seeps into mymind, cutting through the pain. As always, itsaves me. Day needs your help, it whispers.Go to him.

I search for Day. He has reached the oth-er side of the street and the safer areasaround the shelter, where Republic soldiershave set up their barricades . . . but even as Istart rushing to the edge of the roof, I noticethat others have pulled Eden’s unconsciousform away from Day and are taking him to

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safety. A few hover over Day as he lies on theground, momentarily obscuring him frommy view. I scramble down the building asfast as I can, until I reach a fire escape andrush down the metal steps. Fear and adren-aline numb my injuries.

Please, I beg silently. Please let him beokay.

By the time I reach him, a crowd hasformed. I can hear one of them shouting,“Move it! Get back, give us some room! Tellthem to hurry up!” A lump in my throatchokes me, leaving me short of breath. Myboots pound against the ground, keepingrhythm with my heart. I shove people asideand drop to my knees at Day’s side. The per-son shouting was Pascao. He gives me afrantic look.

“Stay with him,” he tells me. “I’m goingfor the medics.” I nod once, and he dashesoff.

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I barely notice all the people crowdedaround us in a ring. All I can do is look downat Day. He’s trembling from head to toe, hiseyes wide open in shock, his hair clinging tohis face. When I look closer at his body, I no-tice two wounds spilling dark blood acrosshis shirt, one wound in his chest and the oth-er near his hip. A strangled cry comes fromsomeone. Maybe it’s from me. As if in adream, I bend over him and touch his face.

“Day, it’s me. It’s June. I’m right here.”He looks at me. “June?” he manages to

gasp out. He tries to lift a hand to my face,but he’s shaking so hard that he can’t. I reachout and cradle his face with both of myhands. His eyes are full of tears. “I—Ithink—I’ve been shot—” Two people from thecrowd place their hands over his wounds,pressing down hard enough to force a painfulsob from his mouth. He tries to look down atthem, but has no strength to lift his head.

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“Medics are on their way,” I tell himfirmly, leaning close enough to press my lipsagainst his cheek. “Hang on. Okay? Staywith me. Keep looking at me. You’ll be okay.”

“I don’t—think so,” Day stammers. Heblinks rapidly, spilling tears down the sidesof his face. They wet the tips of my fingers.“Eden—is he safe—?”

“He’s safe,” I whisper. “Your brother issafe and sound and you’ll get to see him verysoon.”

Day starts to reply, but can’t. His skinlooks so ashen. Please, no. I refuse to let my-self think the worst, but it hangs over us likea black shadow. I feel the heaviness of deathlooming over my shoulder, his sightless eyesstaring down into Day’s soul, waiting pa-tiently to overwhelm his light.

“I don’t want—to go—” Day finally man-ages to say. “I don’t want—to leaveyou—Eden—”

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I shush him by touching my lips to histrembling ones. “Nothing bad will ever hap-pen to Eden,” I reply gently, desperate tokeep him with me. “Stay focused, Day. You’regoing to the hospital. They’re coming backfor you; it won’t be long now.”

It won’t be long now.Day just smiles at me, an expression so

sad that it breaks through my numbness, andI begin to cry. Those bright blue eyes. Beforeme is the boy who has bandaged my woundson the streets of Lake, who has guarded hisfamily with every bone in his body, who hasstayed by my side in spite of everything, theboy of light and laughter and life, of grief andfury and passion, the boy whose fate is inter-twined with mine, forever and always.

“I love you,” he whispers. “Can you stayawhile?” He says something else, but hisvoice trails off so quietly that I can’t makeout what it is. No. No. You can’t. His breath-ing grows shallower. I can tell that he is

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fighting to stay conscious, that with everypassing second, his eyes have more and moretrouble focusing on me. For a moment, Daytries to look at something behind me, butwhen I glance over my shoulder, there’snothing there but open sky. I kiss him againand then lean my head against his.

“I love you,” I whisper over and overagain. “Don’t go.” I close my eyes. My tearsfall on his cheeks.

As I crouch there against him, feeling hislife slowly ebb away, I’m consumed withgrief and rage. I have never been a religiousperson. But right now, as I see medics in thedistance hurrying toward us, I send a desper-ate prayer to some higher power. To what, Idon’t know. But I hope that Someone,Anyone, hears me. That It’ll lift us both intoIts arms and take pity on us. I throw thisprayer into the sky with every shred ofstrength I have left.

Let him live.

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Please don’t take him away from thisworld. Please don’t let him die here in myarms, not after everything we’ve beenthrough together, not after You’ve taken somany others. Please, I beg You, let him live.I am willing to sacrifice anything to makethis happen—I’m willing to do anything Youask. Maybe You’ll laugh at me for such anaïve promise, but I mean it in earnest, andI don’t care if it makes no sense or seems im-possible. Let him live. Please. I can’t bearthis a second time.

I look desperately around us, my visionblurred with tears, and everything is a smearof blood and smoke, light and ash, and all Ican hear is screaming and gunfire andhatred, and I am so tired of the fighting, sofrustrated, angry, helpless.

Tell me there is still good in the world.Tell me there is still hope for all of us.

Through an underwater veil, I feel handson my arms pull me away from Day. I

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struggle stubbornly against them. Painlances up my injured shoulder. Medics benddown over his body. His eyes are closed now,and I can’t see him breathing. Images of Me-tias’s body flash back to me. When the med-ics try again to pull me from Day, I shovethem roughly away and scream. I scream foreverything that has gone wrong. I scream foreverything broken in our lives.

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I THINK JUNE IS LEANING OVERME, BUT I HAVE TROUBLE makingout the details of her face. When I trytoo hard, the edges of my vision filterout into blinding white. The pain, atfirst excruciating, is nothing now.Memories fade in and out—memoriesof my first days frightened and aloneon the streets, with my bleeding kneeand hollow stomach; of young Tess,and then of John when he first learnedthat I was still alive; of my mother’shome, my father’s smile, of Eden as ababy. I remember the first time I metJune on the streets. Her defiantstance, her fierce eyes. Then,

gradually, I have trouble rememberinganything.

I always knew, on some level, that Iwouldn’t live long. It’s simply not writ-ten in my stars.

Something bright hovering behindJune’s shoulder catches my attention.I turn my head as much as I can to seeit. At first it looks like some glowingorb of light. As I keep staring, though,I realize that it’s my mother.

Mom, I whisper. I stand and take astep toward her. My feet feel so light.

My mother smiles at me. She looksyoung and healthy and whole, herhands no longer wrapped in bandages,her hair the color of wheat and snow.When I reach her, she gently cups myface between her smooth, uninjuredpalms. My heart stops beating; it fillswith warmth and light and I want tostay here forever, locked in this

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moment. I falter in my steps. Momcatches me before I can fall, and wekneel there, together again. “My littlelost boy,” she murmurs.

My voice comes out as a brokenwhisper. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Hush, my baby.” I bow my head asshe kneels over me. She kisses myforehead, and I am a child again, help-less and hopeful, bursting with love.Past the blurry, golden line of her arm,I can look down at my pale, brokenbody lying on the ground. There’s agirl crouched over me, her hands onmy face, her long dark hair drapedover her shoulder. She’s crying.

“Are John and Dad . . . ?” I begin tosay.

Mom just smiles. Her eyes are soincredibly blue, like I can see the en-tire world inside them—the sky andthe clouds and everything beyond.

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“Don’t worry,” she replies. “Theyare well, and they love you verymuch.”

I feel an overwhelming need to fol-low my mother wherever she’s going,wherever that might take us. “I missyou guys,” I finally say to her. “It hurtsevery day, the absence of someonewho was once there.”

Mom combs a gentle hand throughmy hair, the way she used to when Iwas little. “My darling, there’s no needto miss us. We never left.” She lifts herhead and nods at the street, past thecrowds of people who have gatheredaround my body. Now a team of med-ics is lifting me onto a stretcher. “Goback to Eden. He’s waiting for you.”

“I know,” I whisper. I crane myneck to see if I can catch a glimpse ofmy brother in the crowds, but I don’tsee him there.

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Mom rises; her hands leave myface, and I find myself struggling tobreathe. No. Please don’t leave me. Ireach out a hand to her, but some in-visible barrier stops it. The light growsbrighter. “Where are you going? Can Icome with you?”

Mom smiles, but shakes her head.“You still belong on the other side ofthe looking glass. Someday, whenyou’re ready to take the step over toour side, I’ll come see you again. Livewell, Daniel. Make that final stepcount.”

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FOR THE FIRST THREE WEEKS THAT DAY IS IN

THE HOSPITAL, I never leave. The samepeople come and go—Tess, of course, who’sin the waiting room as much as I am, waitingfor Day to come out of his coma; Eden, whostays as long as Lucy allows him to; the otherremaining Patriots, especially Pascao; anendless assortment of doctors and medicswho I begin to recognize and know by nameafter the first week; and Anden, who has re-turned from the warfront with his own scars.Hordes of people continue to stay campedout around the hospital, but Anden doesn’thave the heart to tell them to disperse, evenwhen they continue to stake out the groundsfor weeks and then months. Many of themhave the familiar scarlet streaks painted into

their hair. For the most part, they stay silent.Sometimes they chant. I’ve grown used totheir presence now, to the point where it’scomforting. They remind me that Day is stillalive. Still fighting.

The war between the Republic and theColonies, at least for now, is over. TheAntarcticans finally came to our rescue,bringing with them their fearsome techno-logy and weapons that intimidated Africaand the Colonies into returning to our cease-fire agreement, bringing both Anden and theChancellor before the international court,imposing the proper sanctions against usand them and finally, finally beginning theprocess for a permanent peace treaty. Theashes of our battlegrounds are still here,though, along with a lingering hostility. Iknow it will take time to close the wounds. Ihave no idea how long this ceasefire will last,or when the Republic and the Colonies will

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find true peace. Maybe we never will. But fornow, this is good enough.

One of the first things the doctors had todo for Day, after stitching up the horrific bul-let wounds, was to operate on his brain. Thetrauma he’d suffered meant he couldn’t re-ceive the full course of medications neededto properly prep him for the surgery . . . butthey went ahead with it. Whether or not hewas ready was irrelevant at that point; if theydidn’t, he would’ve died anyway. Yet, still.This keeps me awake nights. No one reallyknows whether he’ll wake up at all, or wheth-er he’ll be an altogether different person if hedoes.

Two months pass, and then three.Gradually, we all start to do our waiting

at home. The hospital’s crowds finally beginto thin.

Five months. Winter passes.At 0728 hours on an early spring

Thursday in March, I arrive at the hospital’s

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waiting room for my usual check-in. As ex-pected at this hour, I’m the only one here.Eden’s at home with Lucy, getting someneeded sleep. He continues to grow, and ifDay were awake to see him now, I know he’dcomment on how his brother is starting tolean out, losing the baby fat on his face andtaking the early steps into adulthood.

Even Tess isn’t here yet. She tends tocome in the late morning to work as a medicassistant, shadowing the doctors, and when Icatch her on her breaks, we huddle togetherand exchange conversation in hushed voices.Sometimes she even makes me laugh. “Heloves you, really he does,” she told me yester-day. “He’d love you even if it destroyed him.He matches you. I guess it’s kind of cute.”She said this with a shy, grudging smile onher face. Somehow, she had managed to re-turn to the place where I’d first known her,but now as someone older, taller, and wiser.

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I nudged her affectionately. “You guyshave a bond I could never touch,” I replied.“Even when we’re at our worst.”

She blushed at that, and I couldn’t helpopening my heart to her. A loving Tess is oneof the sweetest sights in the world. “Just begood to him,” she whispered. “Promise?”

Now I greet the nurse at the waitingroom’s window, then settle down into myusual chair and look around. So empty thismorning. I find myself missing Tess’s com-panionship. I try to distract myself with thenews headlines running on the monitor.

ANTARCTICAN PRESIDENT IKARI, UNITEDNATIONS, SHOW APPROVAL FOR NEW PEACETREATY BETWEEN REPUBLIC AND COLONIES

ELECTOR PRIMO ANNOUNCES START OF NEW

RANKING SYSTEM TOREPLACE FORMER TRIALS

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NEW BORDER CITIES BETWEEN REPUBLIC ANDCOLONIES TO BE RENAMED THE UNITEDCITIES, TO BEGIN ALLOWING IMMIGRATIONFROM BOTH NATIONS STARTING LATE NEXTYEAR

SENATOR MARIANA DUPREE OFFICIALLYINDUCTED AS PRINCEPS OF THE SENATE

The news headlines bring a faint smile tomy face. Last night, Anden had stopped bymy apartment to tell me in person aboutMariana. I’d told him that I would extend mycongratulations to her directly. “She’s verygood at what she does,” I said. “More so thanI was. I’m happy for her.”

Anden bowed his head. “You would havebeen better in the long run, I think,” hereplied with a gentle smile. “You understandthe people. But I’m happy that you’re backwhere you feel the most comfortable. Ourtroops are lucky to have you.” He hesitatedthen, and for a moment he took my hand inhis. I remember the soft neoprene lining of

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his gloves, the silver shine of his cufflinks. “Imight not get to see much of you now. Maybeit’s best that way, isn’t it? Still, please dodrop by now and then. It’ll be nice to hearfrom you.”

“Likewise,” I replied, squeezing his handin return.

My thoughts snap back to the present.One of the doctors has emerged from thehallway near Day’s room. He catches sight ofme, takes a deep breath, and approaches. Istraighten, tensing. It’s been a long timesince I’ve heard any real updates on Day’scondition from Dr. Kann. A part of me wantsto jump up in excitement, because perhapsthe news is good; another part of me cringesin fear, in case the news is bad. My eyes scanthe doctor’s face, searching for clues. (Pupilsslightly dilated, face anxious, but not in themanner of one who is about to break theworst news. There are hints of joy on hisface.) My pulse quickens. What is he going to

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tell me? Or perhaps it’s no news at all—per-haps he’s simply going to tell me what heusually does. Not much change today, I’mafraid, but at least he’s still stable. I’vegrown so used to hearing that.

Dr. Kann pauses before me. He adjustshis glasses and scratches unconsciously athis trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. “Goodmorning, Ms. Iparis,” he says.

“How is he?” I ask, my usual greeting.Dr. Kann smiles, but hesitates (another

oddity; the news must be significant). “Won-derful news.” My heart stops for a second.“Day has woken up. Less than an hour ago.”

“He’s awake?” I breathe. He’s awake.Suddenly the news is too overwhelming, andI’m not sure whether I can bear it. I study hisface carefully. “There’s more to it than that,though. Isn’t there?”

Dr. Kann puts both hands on myshoulders. “I don’t want to worry you, Ms.Iparis, not at all. Day has pulled through his

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surgery remarkably well—when he woke up,he asked for water and then for his brother.He seems quite alert and coherent. We ran aquick scan of his brain.” His voice turnsmore excited. “We’ll need to do a more thor-ough check, of course, but upon first glanceit seems everything has normalized. His hip-pocampus looks healthy, and signals seem tobe firing normally. In almost every aspect,the Day that we know is back.”

Tears prickle at the edges of my eyes. TheDay that we know is back. After five monthsof waiting, the news is so sudden. Oneminute he was lying unconscious in bed,hanging on to life night by night, and nowhe’s awake. Just like that. I break into asmile with the doctor, and before I can stopmyself, I hug him. He laughs, patting myhead awkwardly, but I don’t care. I want tosee Day. “Can he have visitors?” I ask. Then,abruptly, I realize what the doctor actuallysaid. “Why do you say ‘almost’?”

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The doctor’s smile wavers. He adjusts hisglasses again. “It’s nothing we can’t fix overthe course of extended therapy. You see, thehippocampus region affects memories, bothshort- and long-term. It seems that Day’slong-term memories—his family, his brotherEden, his friend Tess, and so on—are intact.After a few questions, however, it seems likehe has very little recollection of both peopleand events from the last year or two. We callit retrograde amnesia. He remembers hisfamily’s deaths, for instance . . .” Dr. Kann’svoice trails off uncomfortably here. “But hedoes not seem familiar with CommanderJameson’s name, or the recent Colonies’ in-vasion. He also doesn’t seem to recall you.”

My smile fades. “He . . . doesn’t remem-ber me?”

“Of course, this is something that canheal over time, with proper therapy,” Dr.Kann again reassures me. “His short-termmemory abilities are working well. He

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remembers most things I tell him, and formsnew memories without too much issue. I justwanted to warn you before you see him.Don’t be startled that he might not remem-ber you. Take your time and reintroduceyourself to him. Gradually, perhaps in a fewyears’ time, his old memories might comeback.”

I nod at the doctor as if in a dream.“Okay,” I whisper.

“You can see him now, if you’d like.” Hesmiles at me, as if he’s delivering the greatestnews in the world. And he is.

But when he leaves me, I just stand therefor a moment. My mind in a haze. Thinking.Lost. Then I take slow steps toward the hall-way where Day’s hospital room is, the cor-ridor closing in around me like a foggy,blurry tunnel. The only thing runningthrough my head is the memory of my des-perate prayer over Day’s wounded body, the

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promise I had offered up to the heavens inexchange for his life.

Let him live. I am willing to sacrificeanything to make this happen.

My heart sinks, turns gray. I understandnow. I know that something has answeredmy prayer, and at the same time has also toldme what my sacrifice must be. I have beenoffered a chance to never hurt Day again.

I step into the hospital room. Day is alert,propped up on pillows and startlingly health-ier than the times I’ve seen him lying uncon-scious and wan over the past few months.But something is different now. Day’s eyesfollow me without a hint of familiarity inthem; he’s watching me with the polite, warydistance of a stranger, the way he looked atme when we first met.

He doesn’t know who I am.My heart aches, pulling at me as I draw

closer to his bedside. I know what I have todo.

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“Hi,” he says when I sit on his bed. Hiseyes wander curiously across my face.

“Hi,” I reply softly. “Do you know who Iam?”

Day looks guilty, which only digs theknife in deeper. “Should I?”

It takes all of my effort not to cry, to bearthe thought that Day has forgotteneverything between us—our night together,the ordeals we’ve been through, all thatwe’ve shared and lost. We have been erasedfrom his memory, leaving nothing behind.The Day that I knew is not here.

I could tell him right now, of course. Icould remind him of who I am, that I’m JuneIparis, the girl he had once saved on thestreets and fallen in love with. I could tellhim everything, just like Dr. Kann said, andit could possibly trigger his old memories.Tell him, June. Just tell him. You’ll be sohappy. It’d be so easy.

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But I open my mouth and no soundcomes out. I can’t do it.

Be good to him, Tess had told me.Promise.

So long as I remain in Day’s life, I willhurt him. Any other alternative is im-possible. I think of the way he had crouched,sobbing, at his family’s kitchen table, mourn-ing what I had taken away from him. Nowfate has handed the solution to me on a silverplatter—Day survived his ordeal, and in re-turn, I need to step out of his life. Eventhough he looks at me now like a stranger, heno longer has the look of pain and tragedythat always seemed to come with the passionand love he gazed at me with. Now he is free.

He is free of us, leaving me as the onlybearer of our past’s burden.

So I swallow hard, smile, and bow myhead to him. “Day,” I force myself to say, “it’sgood to meet you. I was sent by the Republicto see how you’re doing. It’s wonderful to see

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you awake again. The country is going to re-joice when they hear the good news.”

Day nods politely in return, his tensenessunmistakable. “Thank you,” he says warily.“The doctors tell me that I’ve been out forfive months. What happened?”

“You were injured during a battlebetween the Republic and the Colonies,” Ireply. Everything I’m saying sounds like it’scoming from someone else’s mouth. “Yousaved your brother Eden.”

“Is Eden here?” Day’s eyes light up withrecognition, and a beautiful smile blossomson his face. The sight of it brings me paineven as I am happy that he remembers hisbrother. I want so much to see that look offamiliarity on his face when he’s talkingabout me.

“Eden will be so happy to see you. Thedoctors are sending for him, so he’ll arriveshortly.” I return his smile, and this time it’sa genuine one, if bittersweet. When Day

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studies my face again, I close my eyes andbow slightly to him.

It’s time to let go.“Day,” I say, carefully choosing what my

final words to him should be. “It has beensuch a privilege and honor to fight by yourside. You’ve saved many more of us thanyou’ll ever know.” For a small moment, I fixmy eyes on his, telling him silentlyeverything that I’ll never say to him aloud.“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”

Day looks puzzled by the emotion in myvoice, but he bows his head in return. “Thehonor’s mine,” he replies. My heart breaks insorrow at the lack of warmth in his voice, thewarmth I know I would have heard had heremembered everything. I feel the absence ofthe aching love that I’ve come to yearn for,that I wanted so much to earn. It is gonenow.

If he knew who I was, I would saysomething else to him now, something I

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should’ve said to him more often when I hadthe chance. Now I am sure of my feelings,and it’s too late. So I fold the three wordsback into my heart, for his sake, and risefrom his bed. I soak in every last, wonderfuldetail of his face and store it in my memory,hoping I can take him with me wherever I go.We exchange quiet salutes.

Then I turn away for the last time.

* * *

Two weeks later, what feels like the entirecity of Los Angeles turns out to see Day leavethe country for good. On the morning I leftDay’s bedside, Antarctica came calling forboth him and his brother. They’d taken noteof Eden’s gifted touch with engineering andoffered him a place in one of theiracademies. At the same time, they offeredDay the chance to go along.

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I don’t join the crowds. I stay in myapartment instead, watching the events un-fold while Ollie sleeps contentedly besideme. The streets around my complex areteeming with people, all jostling with one an-other to watch the JumboTrons. Theirmuffled chaos turns into white noise as Iwatch it unfold on my screen.

DANIEL ALTAN WING AND BROTHER TO LEAVETONIGHT FOR ROSS CITY, ANTARCTICA

That’s what the headlines say. On thescreen, Day waves at the people gatheredaround his apartment as he and Eden are es-corted to a jeep by a city patrol. I should callhim Daniel, like the screen does. Perhaps hetruly is just Daniel now, with no need for analias anymore. I look on as he lets his broth-er get into the vehicle, and then follows, lostcompletely from view. It’s so strange, I thinkto myself as my hand moves absently across

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Ollie’s fur. Not long ago, the city patrolswould have arrested him on sight. Now, he’sleaving the Republic as their champion, to becelebrated and remembered for a lifetime.

I turn the monitor off, then sit in thequiet darkness of my apartment, savoringthe silence. Outside on the streets, people arestill chanting his name. They chant it deepinto the night.

When the commotion finally dies down, Iget up from my couch. I pull on my bootsand a coat, then wrap a thin scarf around myneck and head out into the streets. My hairblows in the balmy night breeze, wisps catch-ing now and then on my lashes. For a while Iwander the quiet roads on my own. I’m notsure where I’m going. Maybe I’m trying tofind my way back to Day. But that’s illogical.He’s already gone, and his absence leaves ahollow, aching pain in my chest. My eyes wa-ter from the wind.

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I walk for an hour before I finally take ashort train ride to Lake sector. There, I strollalong the edge of the water, admiring thelights of downtown as well as the now-un-used, unlit Trial stadium, a haunting re-minder of events long gone. Giant waterwheels churn in the lake, the rhythm of theirmovement settling into a comforting back-ground symphony. I don’t know where I’mgoing. All I know is that, in this moment,Lake sector seems more like home to methan Ruby does. Here, I’m not so alone. Onthese streets, I can still feel the beating ofDay’s heart.

I begin to retrace my old steps, past thesame lakeside buildings and the same crum-bling homes, the steps I’d taken when I was acompletely different person, full of hate andconfusion, loss and ignorance. It’s an oddfeeling to wander these same streets as theperson I am now. At once familiar andstrange.

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An hour later, I pause alone before a non-descript alleyway that branches off an emptystreet. At the end of this alley, an abandonedhigh-rise towers twelve stories up, each of itswindows boarded up and its first floor justthe way I remember it, with missing win-dows and broken glass on the floor. I step in-to the shadows of the building, remember-ing. This is where Day had first reached hishand out to me in the midst of smoke anddust and saved me so long ago, before weeven discovered who the other was; this wasthe start of the few precious nights when wesimply knew each other as a boy on thestreets and a girl who needed help.

The memory comes into sharp focus.There’s a voice telling me to get up.

When I look to my side, I see a boy holdingout his hand to me. He has bright blue eyes,dirt on his face, and a beat-up old cap on,and at this moment, I think he might be themost beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.

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My wandering has led me to the begin-ning of our journey together. I suppose it’sonly fitting for me to be here at that jour-ney’s end.

I stand in the darkness for a long time,letting myself sink into the memories weonce shared. The silence wraps me in com-forting arms. One of my hands reaches overto my side and finds the old scar from whereKaede had wounded me. So many memories,so much joy and sadness.

Tears stream down my face. I wonderwhat Day is thinking at this moment whileon his way to a foreign land, and whether ornot some small part of him, even if it is bur-ied deep, holds slivers of me, pieces of whatwe once had.

The longer I stand here, the lighter theburden on my heart feels. Day will move onand live his life. So will I. We will be okay.Someday, perhaps in the far and distant fu-ture, we’ll find each other again. Until then, I

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will remember him. I reach out to touch oneof the walls, imagining that I can feel his lifeand warmth through it, and I look aroundagain, up toward the rooftops and then allthe way to the night sky where a few faintstars can be seen, and there I think I reallycan see him. I can feel his presence here inevery stone he has touched, every person hehas lifted up, every street and alley and citythat he has changed in the few years of hislife, because he is the Republic, he is ourlight, and I love you, I love you, until the daywe meet again I will hold you in my heartand protect you there, grieving what we nev-er had, cherishing what we did. I wish youwere here.

I love you, always.

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LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIAREPUBLIC OF AMERICA

TEN YEARS LATER

1836 HOURS, JULY 11.BATALLA SECTOR, LOS ANGELES.78° F.

TODAY IS MY TWENTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY.

I celebrate most of my birthdays withouttoo much trouble. On my eighteenth, I joinedAnden, a couple of Senators, Pascao andTess, and several former Drake classmatesfor a low-key dinner at a rooftop lounge inRuby sector. My nineteenth happened on aboat in New York City, the Colonies’ rebuiltversion of an old drowned city whose out-skirts now slope gently into the AtlanticOcean. I’d been invited to a party thrown forseveral international delegates from Africa,Canada, and Mexico. I spent my twentiethcomfortably alone, tucked into bed with Ollie

snoring on my lap, watching a brief newscastabout how Day’s brother Eden had gradu-ated early from his academy in Antarctica,trying to catch a glimpse of how Day lookedas a twenty-year-old, taking in the news thathe himself had been recruited by Antarctica’sintelligence agency. My twenty-first birthdaywas an elaborate affair in Vegas, whereAnden invited me to a summer festival andthen ended up kissing me in my hotel room.Twenty-second: the first birthday I celeb-rated with Anden as my official boyfriend.Twenty-third: spent at an induction cere-mony that placed me as the commander ofall squadrons in California, the youngest leadcommander in Republic history. Twenty-fourth: a birthday spent without Ollie.Twenty-fifth: dinner and dancing withAnden on board the RS Constellation.Twenty-sixth: spent with Pascao and Tess asI told them about being freshly broken upfrom Anden, how the young Elector and I

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came to a mutual agreement that I simplycouldn’t love him the way he wished I would.

Some of these years were spent in joy,others in sadness—but the saddest eventswere always tolerable. Far worse things havehappened, and nothing tragic during theselater years could compare with the eventsfrom my teenage years. But today is differ-ent. I’ve been dreading this particular birth-day for years, because it takes me back tosome of the events from my past that I’vetried so hard to keep buried.

I spend most of the day in a fairly quietmood. I rise early, follow my usual warm-uproutines at the track, and then head toBatalla sector to organize my captains fortheir various city operations. Today I’m lead-ing two of my best patrols to escort Andenduring a meeting with Colonies’ delegates.We may not share the same apartment any-more, but that doesn’t change how fiercely Iwatch over his safety. He will always be my

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Elector, and I intend to keep it that way.Today, he and the Colonies are deep in themiddle of discussions about the smooth im-migration status along our border, where theUnited Cities have turned into flourishingareas with both Colonies and Republic civil-ians. What was once a hard dividing linebetween us now looks like a gradient. I lookon from the sidelines as Anden shakes handswith the delegates and poses for photos. I’mproud of what he’s done. Slow steps, butsteps nonetheless. Metias would’ve beenhappy to see it. So would Day.

When late afternoon comes, I finallyleave Batalla Hall and head to a smooth,ivory-white building at the east end ofBatalla Square. There, I show my ID at theentrance and make my way up to the build-ing’s twelfth floor. I trace familiar stepsdown the hall, my boots echoing against themarble floors, until I stop in front of a four-square-inch tombstone marker with the

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name CAPTAIN METIAS IPARIS embedded in itscrystal-clear surface.

I stand there for a while, then sit cross-legged before it and bow my head. “Hi, Me-tias,” I say in a soft voice. “Today’s my birth-day. Do you know how old I am now?”

I close my eyes, and through the silencesurrounding me I think I can sense a ghostlyhand on my shoulder, my brother’s gentlepresence that I’m able to feel every now andthen, in these quiet moments. I imagine himsmiling down at me, his expression relaxedand free.

“I’m twenty-seven today,” I continue in awhisper. My voice catches for a moment.“We’re the same age now.”

For the first time in my life, I am nolonger his little sister. Next year I will stepacross the line and he will still be in the sameplace. From now on, I will be older than heever was.

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I try to move on to other thoughts, so Itell my brother’s ghost about my year, mystruggles and successes in commanding myown patrols, my hectic workweeks. I tell him,as I always do, that I miss him. And as al-ways, I can hear the whisper of his ghostagainst my ear, his gentle reply that hemisses me too. That he’s looking out for me,from wherever he is.

An hour later, when the sun has finallyset and the light streaming in from the win-dows fades away, I rise from my position andslowly make my way out of the building. Ilisten to some missed messages on myearpiece. Tess should be leaving her hospitalshift soon, most likely armed with a slew ofnew stories about her patients. In the firstyears after Day left, the two of them stayed inclose contact, and Tess would keep me con-stantly updated about how he was doing. Th-ings like Eden’s improving eyesight. Day’snew job. Antarctican games. But as the years

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went on, their chatter grew less frequent,Tess grew up and into her own life, andgradually, their conversations dwindled tobrief annual greetings. Sometimes none atall.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss her stor-ies about Day. But still, I find myself lookingforward to some dinner chatter with her andPascao, who should be heading over fromDrake University, probably eager to share hislatest adventures in training cadets. I smileas I think about what they might say. Myheart feels lighter now, a little freer after myconversation with my brother. My thoughtswander briefly to Day. I wonder where he is,who he’s with, whether he’s happy.

I really, sincerely, deeply hope that he is.The sector isn’t busy tonight (we haven’t

needed as many street police in the last fewyears), and aside from a few soldiers hereand there, I’m alone. Most of the streetlightshaven’t turned on yet, and in the gathering

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darkness I can see a handful of stars flicker-ing overhead. The glow from JumboTronscasts a kaleidoscope of colors across the graypavement of Batalla sector, and I catch my-self walking deliberately underneath them,holding a hand out to study the colors thatdance across my skin. I watch snippets ofnews on the screens with mild disinterestwhile skimming through my missed mes-sages. The epaulettes on my shoulders clinksoftly.

Then I pause on a message Tess had leftme earlier in the afternoon. Her voice fillsmy ears, full of warmth and playfulness.

“Hey. Check the news.”That’s all she says. I frown, then laugh a

little at Tess’s game. What’s going on in thenews? My eyes return to the screens, thistime with more curiosity. None of it catchesmy eye. I keep searching, looking for whatTess might have been talking about. Stillnothing. Then . . . one small, nondescript

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headline, so brief that I must have been skip-ping over it all day. I blink, as if I might havemisunderstood it, and read it again before itcycles out.

EDEN BATAAR WING IN LOS ANGELES TOINTERVIEW FOR BATALLA ENGINEERINGPOSITION

Eden? A ripple glides across the silencethat has stilled me all day. I read the head-line over and over again before I finally con-vince myself that they are indeed talkingabout Day’s younger brother. Eden is here tointerview for a potential job.

He and Day are in town.I look around the streets instinctively.

They’re here, walking the same streets. He’shere. I shake my head at the little adolescentgirl who has suddenly woken up in my heart.Even after all this time, I hope. Calm down,June. But still, my heart sits in my throat.Tess’s message echoes in my mind. I return

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to walking down the street. Maybe I can findout where they’re staying, just get a glimpseof how he’s doing after all this time. I decideto call Tess back once I’ve reached the trainstation.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m at the outskirtsof Batalla sector; the train station leading toRuby appears around the corner. The dark-ness has lengthened enough for the street-lights to turn on, and a few soldiers are head-ing down the opposite sidewalk; aside fromthem, I’m the only one on this block.

But when I reach a slight curve in thestreet, I see two other people headed in mydirection. I stop in my tracks. Then I frownand peer closer at the street before me. I’mstill not sure of what I’m seeing.

A pair of young men. Details flit automat-ically through my mind, so familiar now thatI hardly think twice about them. Both are talland lean, with pale blond hair that standsout in the dimly lit night. Instantly I know

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that they must be related, with their similarfeatures and easy gaits. The one on the leftwears glasses and is talking animatedly,brushing golden curls out of his eyes as hegoes, his hands painting some sort of dia-gram in front of him. He keeps rolling hissleeves back up to his elbows, and his collarshirt is loose and rumpled. A carefree smilelights up his face.

The young man on the right seems morereserved, listening patiently to his curly-haired companion while he keeps his handstucked casually in his pockets. A small grintouches the corners of his lips. His hair isdifferent from what I remember, now shortand endearingly unruly, and as he walks heoccasionally runs a hand through it, leavingit even more wayward. His eyes are as blueas ever. Even though he’s older now, with theface of a young man instead of the teenagerI’d known so well, he still shows hints of thatold fire whenever he laughs at his brother’s

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words, moments of startling brightness andlife.

My heart begins to beat, cutting throughthe heaviness that weighs on my chest. Dayand Eden.

I keep my head down as they draw closer.But from the corner of my vision, I see Edennotice me first. He pauses for a second in themiddle of his sentence, and a quick smile ap-pears on his face. His eyes flicker to hisbrother.

Day casts me a look.The intensity of it catches me off guard—I

haven’t been subjected to his gaze in so longthat suddenly I can’t catch my breath. Istraighten and quicken my pace. I need toget out of here. Otherwise, I’m not surewhether I can keep my emotions from spill-ing onto my face.

We pass each other without a word. Mylungs feel like they might burst, and I take afew quick breaths to steady myself. I close

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my eyes. All I can hear is the rush of blood inmy ears, the steady thumping of my heart.Gradually I hear the sound of their footstepsfade behind me. A sinking feeling slowlysettles. I swallow hard, forcing a flood ofmemories out of my mind.

I’m heading toward the train station. I’mgoing home. I’m not going to look back.

I can’t.Then . . . I hear footsteps behind me

again. Hurried boots against pavement. Ipause, steel myself, and look over myshoulder.

It’s Day. He catches up to me. Some dis-tance behind him, Eden waits with his handsin his pockets. Day stares into my eyes with asoft, puzzled expression—it sends an electricshiver down my spine. “Excuse me,” he says.Oh, that voice. Deeper, gentler than I re-member, without the rawness of childhoodand with the new elegance of an adult. “Havewe met before?”

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For a moment, I’m at a loss for words.What do I say? I’ve spent so many years con-vincing myself that we no longer know eachother. “No,” I whisper. “Sorry.” In my mind,I beg myself to tell him otherwise.

Day frowns, confused for a moment. Heruns his hand through his hair. In that ges-ture, I catch a glimpse of something shiny onhis finger. It’s a ring made out of wires. Ofpaper clips. A breath escapes me in shock.

He is still wearing the paper clip ring I’donce given him.

“Oh,” he finally replies. “I’m sorry tobother you, then. I just . . . You look really fa-miliar. Are you sure we don’t know each oth-er from somewhere?”

I search his eyes in silence. I can’t sayanything. There is a secret emotion emergingon his face now, somewhere betweenstrangeness and familiarity, something thattells me he’s struggling to place me, to findwhere I belong. My heart protests, reaching

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out for him to discover it. Still, no wordscome out.

Day searches my face with his soft gaze.Then he shakes his head. “I have knownyou,” he murmurs. “A long time ago. I don’tknow where, but I think I know why.”

“Why, then?” I ask gently.He’s quiet for a moment. Then he takes a

step closer, close enough for me to see thattiny ripple of imperfection in his left eye. Helaughs a little, pink creeping onto his cheeks.“I’m sorry. This is going to sound sostrange.” I feel like I’m lost in a haze. Likethis is a dream I don’t dare wake from. “I . . .,” he begins, as if looking for the right words.“I’ve been searching a long time forsomething I think I lost.”

Something he lost. The words bring alump to my throat, a sudden surge of wildhope. “It’s not strange at all,” I hear myselfreply.

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Day smiles in return. Something sweetand yearning appears in his eyes. “I felt like Ifound something when I saw you back there.Are you sure . . . do you know me? Do I knowyou?”

I don’t know what to say. The part of methat had once decided to step out of his lifetells me to do it again, to protect him fromthis knowledge that had hurt him so longago. Ten years . . . has it really been thatlong? The other part of me, the girl who hadfirst met him on the streets, urges me to tellhim the truth. Finally, when I do manage toopen my mouth, I say, “I have to go meet upwith some friends.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Day clears his throat, unsureof himself. “I do too, actually. An old frienddown in Ruby.”

An old friend down in Ruby. My eyeswiden. Suddenly I know why Tess soundedso mischievous on her message, why she told

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me to watch the news tonight. “Is yourfriend’s name Tess?” I ask hesitantly.

It’s Day’s turn to look surprised. He givesme an intrigued, puzzled smile. “You knowher.”

What am I doing? What’s happening?This really is all a dream, and I’m terrified towake up from it. I’ve had this dream toomany times. I don’t want it taken away again.“Yes,” I murmur. “I’m having dinner withher tonight.”

We stare at each other in silence. Day’sface is serious now, and his gaze is so intensethat I can feel warmth running through everyinch of my body. We stand together like thisfor a long, long moment, and for once, I haveno idea how much time has passed. “I do re-member,” he finally says. I search his eyesfor that same aching sadness, the tormentand anguish that had always been therewhenever we were together. But I can nolonger see it. Instead, I find something

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else . . . I see a healed wound, a permanentscar that has nevertheless closed, somethingfrom a chapter of his life that he has finally,after all these years, made peace with. Isee . . . Can it be possible? Can this be true?

I see pieces of memories in his eyes.Pieces of us. They are broken, and scattered,but they are there, gradually coming togetheragain at the sight of me. They are there.

“It’s you,” he whispers. There is wonderin his voice.

“Is it?” I whisper back, my voice trem-bling with all the emotions I’ve kept hiddenfor so long.

Day is so close, and his eyes are so bright.“I hope,” he replies softly, “to get to knowyou again. If you are open to it. There is a fogaround you that I would like to clear away.”

His scars will never fade. I am certain ofthat much. But perhaps . . . perhaps . . . withtime, with age, we can be friends again. Wecan heal. Perhaps we can return to that same

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place we once stood, when we were bothyoung and innocent. Perhaps we really canmeet like other people do, on some streetone balmy evening, where we each catch theother’s eye and stop to introduce ourselves.Echoes of Day’s old wish come back to menow, emerging from the mist of our earlydays.

Perhaps there is such a thing as fate.Still I wait, too unsure of myself to an-

swer. I cannot take the first step. I shouldn’t.That step belongs to him.

For a moment, I think it won’t happen.Then Day reaches out and touches my

hand with his. He encloses it in a handshake.And just like that, I am linked with himagain, I feel the pulse of our bond and his-tory and love through our hands, like a waveof magic, the return of a long-lost friend. Ofsomething meant to be. The feeling bringstears to my eyes. Perhaps we can take a stepforward together.

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“Hi,” he says. “I’m Daniel.”“Hi,” I reply. “I’m June.”

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The end of the path is a strange and wistful place.For the past few years, I’ve breathed the world ofLegend; my life became the lives of Day and June,and through them I saw my own fears, hopes, andaspirations play out across their canvas. Now I’vereached the point where our stories diverge. Theyare off to live beyond the confines of the trilogy; Iam left waving to them from the sidelines. I don’tknow where they’ll go, but I think they’re going tobe okay.

I’m not alone on the sidelines, of course.With me are those I started with and those Imet along the way:

My inimitable literary agent, Kristin Nel-son, and Team NLA: Anita Mumm, SaraMegibow, Lori Bennett, and Angie Hodapp.Thank you, thank you, thank you for stand-ing with me on every hill.

My amazing editors, Jen Besser, Ari Lew-in, and Shauna Fay Rossano, who van-quished my Book 3 demons with stalwartbattle cries. We made it! I don’t know whatI’d do without you. Love you ladies.

Team Putnam Children’s, Team Speak,and Team Penguin: Don Weisberg, JenniferLoja, Marisa Russell, Laura Antonacci, AnnaJarzab, Jessica Schoffel, Elyse Marshall, JillBailey, Scottie Bowditch, Lori Thorn, LindaMcCarthy, Erin Dempsey, Shanta Newlin,Emily Romero, Erin Gallagher, Mia Garcia,Lisa Kelly, Courtney Wood, Marie Kent, SaraOrtiz, Elizabeth Zajac, Kristin Gilson, andEileen Kreit. You guys are the most epicteams a girl could have on her side.

The incredible people at CBS Films,Temple Hill, UTA, and ALF&L: WolfgangHammer, Grey Munford, Matt Gilhooley,Ally Mielnicki, Isaac Klausner, Wyck God-frey, Marty Bowen, Gina Martinez, WayneAlexander, and my fabulous film agent,

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Kassie Evashevski. Thank you all for con-tinuing to believe in this writer’s dreams.

Wicked Sweet Games: Matt Sherwood,Phil Harvey, Kole Hicks, Bobby Hernandez,and of course, the Elector Primo. Cities ofLegend is a game full of badassery, becauseyou guys are badass.

My incredible foreign publishers for tak-ing Legend above and beyond, and some-times even straight to Pasadena with fans intow! (I’m looking at you, marvelous Ruth.)

My irreplaceable writer friends: JJ, Ello,Andrea, Beth, Jess Spotswood, Jess Khoury,Leigh, Sandy, Amie, Ridley, Kami, Margie,Tahereh, Ransom, Cindy, Malinda, and thefabulous PubCrawl ladies. Finding one’stribe is a precious thing. I cannot properlyexpress what you all mean to me. Thank youfor your friendship.

The fam bam, my friends, Andre, my auntand uncle, my wonderful fiancé, and most of

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all, my mom. You are always there, no mat-ter what. Love you.

Finally, I need to give a special acknow-ledgment at the end of this path:

To my readers. It is because of you that Ican continue to do what I love. I am so grate-ful. To my young readers, in particular: thebooks I read as a child occupy a protected,golden space in my heart. It is a deeply hum-bling thought that Legend might have theprivilege of sitting in that golden space insome of your hearts. I am so touched by thee-mails and letters that you all have sent overthe years. You are a remarkable generationof young people, and you are all going to doamazing things with your lives.

Thank you for the honor of telling youstories.

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