THE ELECTOR PRIMO IS DEAD.

This whole display seems pretty anticlimactic, doesn’t it? You’d think the Elector’s death would be accompanied by a goddy funeral march of some sort, panic in the streets, national mourning, marching soldiers firing off salutes into the sky. An enormous banquet, flags flying low, white banners hanging over every building. Something cracked like that. But I haven’t lived long enough to see an Elector die. Outside of the promotion of the late Elector’s desired successor and some fake national election for show, I wouldn’t know how it goes.

I guess the Republic just pretends it never happened and skips right ahead to the next Elector. Now I remember reading about this in one of my grade school classes. When the time comes for a new Elector Primo, the country must remind the people to focus on the positive. Mourning brings weakness and chaos. Moving forward is the only way. Yeah. The government’s that scared of showing uncertainty to their civilians.

But I only have a second to dwell on this.

We’ve barely finished the new pledge when a rush of pain hits my leg. Before I can stop myself, I double over and collapse down onto my good knee. A couple of soldiers turn their heads in our direction. I laugh as loud as I can, pretending the tears in my eyes are from amusement. June plays along, but I can see the fear on her face. “Come on,” she whispers frantically. One of her slender arms wraps around my waist, and I try to take the hand she offers me. All around the sidewalk, people are noticing us for the first time. “You have to get up. Come on. ”

It takes all my strength to keep a smile on my face. Focus on June. I try to stand—then fall again. Damn. The pain is too much. White light stabs at the back of my eyes. Breathe, I tell myself. You can’t faint in the middle of the Vegas strip.

“What’s the matter, soldier?”

A young, hazel-eyed corporal is standing in front of us with his arms crossed. I can tell he’s kind of in a hurry, but apparently it’s not urgent enough to keep him from checking on us. He raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you all right? You’re pale as porcelain, kid.”

Run. I feel an urge to scream at June. Get out of here—there’s still time. But she saves me from speaking. “You’ll have to forgive him, sir,” she says. “I’ve never seen a Bellagio patron drink so much in one sitting.” She shakes her head regretfully and waves him back with one hand. “You might want to step away,” she continues. “I think he needs to throw up.” I find myself amazed—yet again—at how smoothly she can become another person. The same way she fooled me on the streets of Lake.

The corporal gives her an ambivalent frown before turning back to me. His eyes focus on my injured leg. Even though it’s hidden under a thick layer of pants, he studies it. “I’m not sure your escort knows what she’s talking about. Seems like you could use a trip to the hospital.” He raises a hand to wave down a passing medic truck.

I shake my head. “No, thank you, sir,” I manage to say with a weak laugh. “This darling’s telling me too many jokes. Gotta catch my breath is all—then gotta go sleep it off. We’re—”

But he’s not paying attention to what I’m saying. I curse silently. If we go to the hospital, they’ll fingerprint us, and then they’ll know exactly who we are—the Republic’s two most wanted fugitives. I don’t dare glance at June, but I know she’s trying to find a way out too.

Then someone pokes her head out from behind the corporal.

She’s a girl both June and I recognize right away, although I’ve never seen her in a freshly polished Republic uniform before. A pair of pilot goggles hangs around her neck. She walks around the corporal and stands in front of me, smiling indulgently. “Hey!” she says. “I thought that was you—I saw you stumbling around like a madman all the way down the street!”

The corporal watches as she drags me to my feet and claps me hard on the back. I wince, but give her a grin that says I’ve known her all my life. “Missed you,” I decide to say.

The corporal gestures impatiently at the new girl. “You know him?”

The girl flips her black, bobbed hair and gives him the most flirtatious grin I’ve ever seen in my life. “ Know him, sir? We were in the same squadron our first year.” She winks at me. “Seems like he’s been up to no good in the clubs again.”

The corporal snorts in disinterest and rolls his eyes. “Air force kids, eh? Well, make sure he doesn’t cause another public scene. I’ve half a mind to call your commander.” Then he seems to remember what he’d been rushing to do and hurries away.

I exhale. Could we have pulled any closer of a call?

After he leaves, the girl smiles winsomely at me. Even under a sleeve, I can tell that one of her arms is in a cast. “My barracks are close by,” she suggests. Her voice has an edge to it that tells me she’s not happy to see us. “How about you rest there for a while? You can even bring your new plaything.” The girl nods at June as she says this.

Kaede. She hasn’t changed a bit since the afternoon I met her, when I thought she was just a bartender with a vine tattoo. Back before I knew she was a Patriot.

“Lead the way,” I reply.

Kaede helps June guide me down another block. She stops us at the elaborately carved front doors of Venezia, a high-rise set of barracks, then ushers us past a bored entrance guard and through the building’s main hall. The ceiling is high enough to make me dizzy, and I catch glimpses of Republic flags and Elector portraits hanging between each stone pillar that lines the walls. Guards are already rushing to replace the portraits with updated ones. Kaede guides us along while blabbing a nonstop stream of random small talk. Her black hair’s even shorter now, cut straight and even with her chin, and her smooth-lidded eyes are smudged with deep navy eye shadow. I never noticed that she and I are pretty much the same height. Soldiers swarm back and forth, and I keep expecting one of them to recognize me from my wanted ads and sound the alarm. They’ll notice June behind her disguise. Or realize that Kaede isn’t a real soldier. Then they’ll all be on top of us, and we won’t even have a chance.

But no one questions us, and my limp actually helps us blend in here; I can see several other soldiers with arm and leg casts. Kaede guides us onto the elevators—I’ve never ridden one, because I’ve never been in a building with full electricity. We get off on the eighth floor. Fewer soldiers are up here. In fact, we pass through a completely empty section of hallway.

Here, she finally drops her perky façade. “You two look about as good as gutter rats,” Kaede mutters as she taps softly against one of the doors. “That leg still buggin’ you, yeah? You’re pretty stubborn if y ou came all the way out here to find us.” She sneers at June. “Those goddy obnoxious lights strung on your dress nearly blinded me.”

June exchanges a glance with me. I know exactly what she’s thinking. How in the world can a group of criminals be living in one of Vegas’s largest military barracks?

Something clicks behind the door. Kaede throws it open, then walks in with her arms outstretched. “Welcome to our humble home,” she declares with a grand sweep of her hands. “At least for the next few days. Not too shabby, yeah?”

I don’t know what I expected to see. A group of teens, maybe, or some low-budget operation.

Instead we enter a room where only two other people are waiting for us. I look around in surprise. I’ve never been inside a real Republic barrack before, but this one must be reserved for officers—there’s no way they’d use this to house regular soldiers. First off, it’s not a long room with rows of bunk beds. It could be an upscale apartment for one or two officials. There are electric lights on the ceiling and in the lamps. Marble tiles of silver and cream cover the floor, the walls are painted in alternating shades of off-white and a deep wine color, and the couches and tables have thick red rugs cushioning their legs. A small monitor sits flush against one of the walls, mutely showing the same newsreel that’s playing on the JumboTrons outside.

I let out a low whistle. “Not shabby at all.” I smile, but it fades away when I glance over at June. Her face is tense beneath her phoenix tattoo. Even though her eyes stay neutral, she’s definitely unhappy and not as impressed as I am. Well, why should she be? I bet her own apartment had been just as nice as this. Her eyes wander around the room in an organized sweep, noticing things that I’d probably never see. Sharp and calculating like any good Republic soldier. One of her hands lingers near her waist, where she keeps a pair of knives.

An instant later, my attention turns to a girl standing behind the center couch. She locks her eyes onto mine and squints as if to make sure she’s really seeing me. Her mouth opens in shock, small pink lips formed into an O. Her hair is too short to braid now—it drapes to the middle of her neck in a messy bob. Wait a sec. My heart skips a beat. I hadn’t recognized her because of that hair.

Tess.

“You’re here!” she exclaims. Before I can reply, Tess runs over to me and throws her arms around my neck. I hobble backward, struggling to keep my balance. “It’s really you—I can’t believe it, you’re here! You’re okay!”

I can’t think straight. For a second, I can’t even feel the pain in my leg. All I can do is wrap my arms tight around Tess’s waist, bury my head in her shoulder, and close my eyes. The weight on my mind lifts and leaves me weak with relief. I take a deep breath, taking comfort in her warmth and the sweet scent of her hair. I’d seen her every single day since I was twelve years old—but after only a few weeks apart, I can suddenly see that she’s not that ten-year-old kid I’d met in a back alley. She seems different. Older. I feel something stir in my chest.

“Glad to see you, cousin,” I whisper. “You look good.”

Tess just squeezes me tighter. I realize that she’s holding her breath; she’s trying hard not to cry.

Kaede is the one who interrupts the moment. “Enough,” she says. “This isn’t the damn opera.” We break apart to laugh awkwardly at each other, and Tess wipes her eyes with the back of a hand. She exchanges an uncomfortable smile with June. Finally, she turns away and hurries back to where another person, a man, is waiting.

Kaede opens her mouth to say something else, but the man stops her with a gloved hand. This surprises me. Judging from how bossy she is, I would’ve assumed that Kaede’s in charge of the group. Can’t imagine this girl taking orders from anyone. But now she just purses her lips and flops onto the couch as the man rises to address us. He’s tall, probably in his early forties, and built with a bit of strength in his shoulders. His skin is light brown and his curly hair is pulled back into a short, frizzy tail. A pair of thin, black-rimmed glasses rest on his nose.

“So. You must be the one we’ve all heard so much about,” he says. “Pleased to meet you, Day.”

I wish I could do better than standing hunched over with pain. “Likewise. Thank you for seeing us.”

“Please forgive us for not escorting you both to Vegas ourselves,” he says apologetically, adjusting his glasses. “It seems cold, but I don’t like risking my rebels needlessly.” His eyes swivel to June. “And I’m guessing you’re the Republic’s prodigy.”

June inclines her head in a gesture that oozes high class.

“Your escort costume is so convincing, though. Let’s just conduct a quick test to prove your identity. Please close your eyes.”

June hesitates for a second, then obliges.

The man waves a hand toward the front of the room. “Now hit the target on the wall with one of your knives.”

I blink, then study the walls. Target? I hadn’t even noticed that a dartboard with a three-ring target is on one of the walls near the door we came through. But June doesn’t miss a beat. She flips out a knife from her waist, turns, and throws it straight toward the dartboard without opening her eyes.

It slams deep into the board, just a few inches shy of the bull’s-eye.

The man claps his hands. Even Kaede utters a grunt of approval, followed by a roll of her eyes. “Oh, for chrissake,” I hear her mutter. June turns back to us and waits for the man’s response. I’m stunned into silence. Never in my life have I seen anyone handle a blade like that. And even though I’ve seen plenty of amazing things from June, this is the first time I’ve witnessed her using a weapon. The sight sends both a thrill and a shiver through me, bringing memories that I’ve forced into a closet in my mind, thoughts I need to keep buried if I want to stay focused, keep going.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Iparis,” the man says, tucking his hands behind his back. “Now, tell me. What brings you here?”

June nods at me, so I speak up instead. “We need your help,” I say. “Please. I came for Tess, but I’m also trying to find my brother Eden. I don’t know what the Republic’s using him for or where they’re keeping him. We figured you were the only people outside the military who might be able to get information. And finally, it seems like my leg needs to be operated on.” I suck in my breath as another spasm of agony sears my wound. The man glances down at the leg; his eyebrows furrow in concern.

“That’s quite a list,” he says. “You should sit. You seem a bit unsteady on your feet.” He waits patiently for me to move, but when I don’t budge, he clears his throat. “Well, you’ve introduced yourselves—it’s only fair for me to do the same. My name is Razor, and I currently head the Patriots. I’ve been leading the organization for quite a few years, longer than you’ve been causing trouble on the streets of Lake. You want our help, Day, but I seem to remember your declining our invitations to join us. Several times.”

He turns to tinted windows that face the pyramid-shaped landing docks lining the strip. The view from here is amazing. Airships glide back and forth in the night sky, covered in lights, several of them docking right over the pyramids’ tops like puzzle pieces. Occasionally we see formations of fighter jets, black eaglelike shapes, taking off from and landing on the airship decks. It’s a never-ending stream of activity. My eyes dart from building to building; the pyramid docks in particular would be the easiest to run, with grooves cut into each side and steplike ridges lining their edges.

I realize that Razor is waiting again for me to respond. “I wasn’t entirely comfortable with your organization’s body count,” I offer.

“But now apparently you are,” Razor says. His words are scolding, but his tone is sympathetic as he puts his palms together and presses the fingertips to his lips. “Because you need us. Correct?”

Well, I can’t argue with that. “I’m sorry,” I say. “We’re running out of options. But believe me, I’ll understand if you turn us away. Just don’t turn us in to the Republic, please.” I force a smile.

He chuckles at my sarcasm. I focus on the crooked bump of his nose and wonder if he’d broken it before. “At first, I was tempted to let you both wander Vegas until you were caught,” he continues. His voice has the smoothness of an aristocrat, cultured and charismatic. “I’ll be blunt with you. Your skills are not as valuable to me as they used to be, Day. Over the years, we’ve recruited other Runners—and now, with all due respect, adding another one to our team isn’t a priority. Your friend already knows”—he pauses to nod at June—“that the Patriots are not a charity. You’re asking us for a great deal of help. What will you give us in return? You can’t be carrying much money.”

June gives me a pointed look. She may have warned me about this on our train ride, but I can’t give up now. If the Patriots turn us down, we’ll really be on our own. “We don’t have a lot of money,” I admit. “I’m not going to speak for June, but if there is anything I can do in exchange for your help, just say the word.”

Razor crosses his arms, then walks to the apartment’s bar, an elaborate granite counter embedded into the wall and shelving dozens of glass bottles of all shapes and sizes. He takes his time pouring a drink; we wait. When he finishes preparing it, he takes the glass in one hand and wanders back to us. “There is something you can offer,” he starts. “Fortunately, you’ve arrived on a very interesting night.” He takes a sip of the drink and sits down on the couch. “As you probably learned while down on the street, the former Elector Primo died today—something many in the Republic’s elite circles have seen coming. At any rate, his son, Anden, is now the Republic’s new Elector. Practically a boy, and greatly disliked by his father’s Senators.” He leans forward, saying each word carefully and with weight. “Rarely has the Republic been as vulnerable as it is now. There will never be a better time to spark a revolution. Your physical skills might be expendable to us, but there are two things you can give us that our other Runners can’t. One: your fame, your status as the people’s champion. And two”—he points his drink at June—“your lovely friend.”

I stiffen at that, but Razor’s eyes are warm as honey and I find myself waiting to hear the rest of his proposal.

“I’d be happy to take you in, and you’ll both be well cared for. Day, we can get you an excellent doctor, and pay for an operation that’ll make your leg better than new. I don’t know the whereabouts of your brother, but we can help you find him, and eventually, we can help you both escape into the Colonies if that’s what you want. In return, we’d ask for your help with a new project. No questions asked. But you’ll both need to pledge your allegiance to the Patriots before I’ll reveal any details about what you’ll be doing. These are my terms. What do you think?”

June looks from me to Razor. Then she lifts her chin higher. “I’m in. I’ll pledge allegiance to the Patriots.”

There’s a slight falter in her words, like she knows she’s truly turned her back on the Republic. I swallow hard. I hadn’t expected her to agree so quickly—I’d thought she would need some persuading before she committed herself to a group that she so obviously hated just a few weeks ago. The fact that she said yes tugs at my heart. If June is giving herself to the Patriots, then she must realize that we have no better choice. And she’s doing this for my sake. I raise my own voice. “Me too.”

Razor smiles, rises from the couch, and holds up his drink as if to toast us. Then he sets it down on the coffee table and comes over to give each of us a firm handshake. “It’s official, then. You’re going to help us assassinate the new Elector Primo.” Ot1oAVMlECeU4WVQSoMAB3JOExengdv3Y3oQuF8t3B9Lh1E//MeFghljXgPuC5bs