Mariana and Serge might already be waiting in rooms of their own. “Thank you,” I reply. We walk past several doors, their long, rectangular windows revealing empty, blank rooms with portraits of Anden hanging on their walls. A couple look as if they have been reserved for high-ranking officials, while others appear to be holding people who must have caused trouble—detainees with sullen faces flanked by pairs of soldiers. One room that we pass by holds several people surrounded by guards.

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

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

“These are prisoners, Ms. Iparis,” the soldier replies, puzzled by our interest. “I don’t recommend—”

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

The soldier hesitates, glances around the room, and then nods reluctantly. “Of course,” she replies. She steps toward the door and opens it, then ushers us in. Lucy stays right outside with her hand tightly gripping Eden’s. The door closes behind us.

I find myself staring straight at Tess and a handful of Patriots.

WELL, DAMN. THE LAST TIME I SAW TESS, SHE WAS STANDING in the middle of the alley near where we were supposed to assassinate Anden, her fists clenched and her face a broken picture. She looks different now. Calmer. Older. She’s also gotten a good bit taller, and her once-round baby face has leaned out. Weird to see.

She and the others are all shackled to chairs. The sight doesn’t help my mood. I recognize one of her companions immediately—Pascao, the dark-skinned Runner with a head of short curls and those ridiculously pale gray eyes. He hasn’t changed much, although now that I’m close enough, I can see traces of a scar across his nose and another one near his right temple. He flashes me a brilliant white grin that drips sarcasm. “That you, Day?” he says, giving me a flirtatious wink. “Still as gorgeous as you’ve always been. Republic uniforms suit you.”

His words sting. I turn my glare on the 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 on his uniform, he must be the captain of this group or something. “They’re former Patriots,” he says, emphasizing his last word as if he’s trying to make a jab at me. “We caught them along the edge of the Armor, where they were attempting to disable our military equipment and aid the Colonies.”

Pascao shifts indignantly in his chair. “Bullshit, you blinder boy,” he snaps. “We were camped out along the Armor because we were trying to help your sorry soldiers out. Maybe we shouldn’t have bothered.”

Tess watches me with a wary look that she’s never used with me before. Her arms look so small and thin with those giant shackles clamped around her wrists. I clench my teeth; my gaze falls 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 notice that one of the others is bleeding from the shoulder. “Let them go,” I tell the soldier. “They’re not the enemy.”

The soldier glares at me with cold contempt. “Absolutely not. Our orders were to detain them until such time—”

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

The soldier’s bravado wavers a little. “Ms. Iparis, my orders came directly from the glorious Elector himself.” His cheeks flush when he sees June narrow her eyes, and then he starts blabbing something about their tour of duty around the Armor and how intense the battle’s been. I step closer to Tess and stoop down until we’re at the same eye level. The guards shift their guns, but June snaps a warning 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 gray eyes fully on me. “We came back,” he replies, “because Tess heard you calling for us.”

They’d heard me. All those radio transmissions I’d been sending out for months and months hadn’t ended up lost somewhere in the dark—somehow, they’d heard me. Tess swallows hard before she works up enough courage to speak. “Frankie first caught you on the airwaves a few months ago,” she says, nodding toward a curly-haired girl tied to one of the chairs. “She said you were trying to contact us.” Tess lowers her eyes. “I didn’t want to answer. But then I heard about your illness . . . and . . .”

So. The news has definitely gotten around.

“Hey now,” Pascao interrupts when he catches my expression. “We didn’t come back to the Republic just because we felt sorry for you. We’ve been listening to the news coming from both you and the Colonies. Heard about the threat of war.”

“And you decided to come to our aid?” June pipes up. Her eyes are suspicious. “Why so generous all of a sudden?”

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 to greet June in a more formal way, but June just nods.

“So you’re the one who sabotaged our plans and split up our crew.” Pascao shrugs. “No hard feelings—not that, you know, I was a big fan of Razor or anything.”

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

“Okay, fine. We got kicked out of Canada.” Pascao takes a deep breath. “We were hiding out there after everything fell apart during the”—he pauses to glance at the soldiers around them—“the, ah, you know. Our playdate with Anden. But then the Canadians figured out that we weren’t supposed to be in their country, and we had to flee back south. A lot of us scattered to the winds. I don’t know where half our original group is now—chances are that some of them are still in Canada. When the news about Day broke, little Tess here asked if she could leave us and head back to Denver on her own. I didn’t want her to, well, die—so we came along.” Pascao looks down for a moment. He doesn’t stop talking, but I can tell that he’s just babbling at this point, trying to give us any reason but their main one. “With the Colonies invading, I thought that if we tried helping out your war effort, then maybe we could get a pardon and permission to stay in the country, but I know your Elector probably isn’t our biggest—”

“What is all this?”

All of us turn around at the voice, right as the soldiers in the room snap into salutes. I get up from my crouch to see Anden standing in the doorway with a group of bodyguards behind him, his eyes dark and ominous, his stare fixed first on June and me and then on the Patriots. Even though it hasn’t been that long since we left him behind to talk with his generals, he has a fine layer of dust on the shoulders of his uniform, and his face looks bleak. The captain who’d been talking to us earlier now clears his throat nervously. “My apologies, Elector,” he begins, “but we detained these criminals near the Armor—”

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

Anden regards the scene. Our argument from the car ride over is probably still stewing in his mind, but he doesn’t bother looking in my direction. Well, good. Maybe I’ve given him something to think about. Finally, he nods 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 official, “my commanding officer—”

But Anden has already turned his attention away from the lying captain and starts to leave the room. “Take those shackles off them,” he says without turning back around. “Keep them in here for now, and then evacuate them with the final group. Watch them carefully.” He motions for us to follow him. “Ms. Iparis. Mr. Wing. If you please.”

I look back one more time at Tess, who’s watching the soldiers unclip the shackles from her wrists. Then I head out with June. Eden rushes over to me, nearly colliding with me in his hurry, and I take his hand back in mine.

Anden stops us before a group of Republic soldiers. I frown at the sight. Four of the soldiers are kneeling on the ground with their hands on their heads. Their eyes stay downcast. One weeps silently.

The remaining soldiers in the group have their guns pointed at the kneeling soldiers. The soldier in charge addresses Anden. “These are the guards who were in charge of Commander Jameson and Captain Bryant. We found a suspicious communication between one of them and the Colonies.”

No wonder he brought us out here, to see the faces of our potential traitors. I look back at the captured guards. The crying one looks up at Anden with pleading eyes. “Please, Elector,” he begs. “I had nothing to do with their escape. I—I don’t know how it happened. I—” His words cut off as a gun barrel cuffs him in the head.

Anden’s face, normally thoughtful and reserved, has turned ice-cold. I look from the kneeling soldiers back to him. He’s silent for a moment. Then he nods at his men. “Interrogate them. If they don’t cooperate, shoot them. Spread the word to the rest of the troops. Let it be a lesson to any other traitors within our ranks. Let them know we will root them out.”

The soldiers with the guns click their heels. “Yes, sir.” They haul the accused traitors to their feet. A sick feeling hits my stomach. But Anden doesn’t take back his words—instead, he looks on as the soldiers are dragged, shouting and pleading, out of the bunker. June looks stricken. Her eyes follow the prisoners.

Anden turns on us with a grave expression. “The Colonies have help.”

A dull thud echoes from somewhere above us, and the ground and ceiling tremble in response. June peers closer at Anden, as if analyzing him. “What kind of help?”

“I saw their squadrons in the air, right beyond the Armor. They’re not all Colonies jets. Some of them have African stars painted on their sides. My generals tell me that the Colonies are confident enough to have parked an airship and a squadron of jets less than a half mile from our Armor, setting up makeshift airfields as they go. They are ramping up for another assault.”

My hand tightens around Eden’s. He squints at the swarms of evacuees crowded near the subway, but he probably can’t see anything more than a mass of moving blurs. I wish I could take that frightened look off his face. “How long is Denver gonna hold?” I ask.