It’s hard to decide which I prefer, really: watch my brother grow up under the Colonies’ rule, or watch him taken back for experimentation by the Republic?

“Yeah, they’ll be on the lookout,” I agree. Then I turn away from the Armor’s edge and start making my way down the wall. Along the Armor’s outer edge, Republic jets lie parked, manned, and ready. “But we’re not Republic soldiers. If they can hit us with a surprise attack, then so can we.”

Pascao and I are dressed exactly alike, in black from head to toe, with masks pulled over our faces. If it weren’t for a little height difference, I don’t think anyone would be able to tell us apart.

“You two ready?” Pascao mutters into his mike to our Hackers. Then he glances at me and gives a thumbs-up signal. If they’re in place, then that means Tess is in place too. Stay safe.

We make our way down to the ground and then let several Republic soldiers guide us around to a small, discreet underground passage. It leads outside the Armor and into dangerous territory. The soldiers nod a silent “good luck” to us before retreating back inside. I hope to hell this all works.

I look out at the field where Colonies jets are parked. When I first turned fifteen, I had set fire to a series of ten brand-new F-472 Republic fighter jets parked at the Burbank air force base in Los Angeles. It was the first stunt that landed me at the top of the most wanted list, and one of the crimes June herself actually made me confess to when I’d been arrested. I did it by first stealing gallons of highly explosive blue nitroglide from air force bases, then pouring the liquid into the jets’ exhaust nozzles and across the tail end of the jets. The instant their engines turned on, their tails exploded into flames.

The memory comes back to me in sharp focus. The design of the Colonies jets looks different, with their strange, forward-swept wings, but at the end of the day they’re still just machines. And this time, I’m not working alone. I’ve got the Republic’s support. Most importantly, I’ve got their explosives.

“Ready to make your move?” I whisper to Pascao. “Got your bombs?”

“You think I’d forget to bring bombs? You should know me better than that.” Pascao’s voice turns taunting. “Day—no bull this time. Got it, pretty boy? If you suddenly think you wanna go rogue, you sure as hell better tell me first. Then at least I’ll have time to sock you in the face.”

I smile a little at the jab. “Yes, sir.”

Our outfits blend us into the shadows. We creep forward without a sound, until we’re past the short distance where the Armor’s guns could protect us from the ground. Now we’re out of range, and the Colonies’ makeshift airfield looks within reach. Their soldiers stand guard along the edges of the field. Not far away are a couple rows of tanks. Their airships might not be here, but there sure as hell are enough war machines to start up another battle.

Pascao and I crouch behind a pile of rubble near the airfield. All I can see in this light is his silhouette. He nods his head once before whispering something into his mike.

We wait for a few tense seconds. Then the JumboTrons that line the outer edges of the Armor light up in unison. Displayed across the screens is a Republic flag, and over the city’s loudspeakers, the pledge blares out across the night. The whole thing looks exactly like one of the Republic’s typical propaganda reels—the JumboTrons start displaying generic videos of patriotic soldiers and civilians, war victories and prosperous streets. At the airfield, the soldiers’ attention shifts to the JumboTrons’ feed. At first they look alert and wary, but as the reel continues for a few seconds longer, the Colonies soldiers relax.

Good. They think the Republic’s just broadcasting morale-boosting video. Nothing weird enough to put the Colonies on high alert, but something entertaining enough to hold their interest. I pick out an area where the soldiers are all watching the JumboTrons, then nod at Pascao. He motions at me. My turn to head out.

I squint harder to see where I can squeeze onto the airfield. There are four Colonies soldiers here, all of them focused on the broadcast; a soldier dressed like a pilot is the farthest away and has his back to me, and from here it looks like he’s making fun of the broadcast with a pal of his. I wait until all of the guards are looking away from where I am. Then I scamper over the edge without a sound and hide behind the closest jet’s back landing wheel. I tuck myself into a tight ball, letting my black outfit blend me in with the shadows.

One of the guards looks casually over his shoulder toward the jet. When he doesn’t see anything interesting, though, he returns to surveying the Armor.

I wait for a few more seconds. Then I adjust my backpack and climb up inside the jet’s exhaust nozzle. My heart pounds with anticipation at the déjà vu this gives me. I waste no time now—I pull a small metal cube out of my pack and attach it firmly to the inside of the nozzle. Its display panel gives off a very faint red glow, so dim I can barely see it. I make sure it’s secure, and then shift to the edge of the nozzle. We won’t have much longer before the guards lose interest in our little propaganda distraction. When the coast’s clear, I hop out of the nozzle. My cushioned boots land without a sound. I melt back into the shadows cast by the jet’s landing gear, watch for guards, and move to the next row of jets. Pascao should be doing the exact same work on the other side of the field. If this all goes down as planned, then one explosive per row should do plenty of damage.

By the time I make my way to the third row of jets and finish my work there, I’m soaked in sweat. Off in the distance, the JumboTrons’ propaganda keeps running, but I can tell that some of the guards have already lost interest. Time to get out of here. I lower myself silently toward the ground again, dangle there in the shadows, and then pick the right moment to drop and rush toward the darkness.

Except it wasn’t really the right moment. One of my hands slips and the metal edge of the exhaust nozzle slices my palm open. My weakened body doesn’t land perfectly—I let out a grunt of pain and move too slowly into the landing gear’s shadows. A guard spots me. Before I can stop him, his eyes widen and he lifts his gun at me.

He hasn’t even had a chance to shout out when a shining knife comes flying out of the darkness and sinks itself in the soldier’s neck. I watch for an instant, horrified. Pascao. I know it was him, saving my ass while drawing attention to himself. Already a couple of shouts have gone up on the other side of the airfield. He’s pulling their focus away from me. I seize the opportunity, racing into the relative safety of the land outside the airfield.

I click my mike on and call Pascao. “Are you safe?” I whisper urgently.

“Safe as you, pretty boy,” he hisses back, the sounds of heavy breathing and footsteps loud in my earpiece. “Just got out of the airfield’s range. Give Frankie the okay—I gotta shake two more off my tail.” He hangs up.

I contact Frankie. “We’re ready,” I tell her. “Let ’em go.”

“You got it,” Frankie answers. The JumboTrons suddenly stop their reel and go dark—the sound blasting across the city cuts short, plunging us all into an eerie silence. Colonies soldiers who’d probably been pursuing Pascao now look up at the blank JumboTrons in bewilderment, along with the others.

A few seconds of silence pass.

Then a bright, blinding explosion rips apart the center of the airfield. I steady myself. When I look back at the first line of soldiers on the street, I see them knocked off their feet and picking themselves slowly up in a daze. Sparks of electricity fill the air, jumping frantically back and forth between the jets. Soldiers farther down the street point their guns up at the buildings, firing randomly—but the ones along the front line discover that their guns no longer work. I keep running back toward the Armor.

Another explosion rocks the same area and an enormous golden haze engulfs everything in sight. Shouts of panic rise from the Colonies troops. They can’t see what’s happening, but I know that right now each bomb we’d planted is destroying the rows of jets, both crippling them and temporarily disabling the magnets in their guns. Some of them pull out their guns and fire randomly into the darkness, as if Republic soldiers are lying in wait. I guess they’re not entirely wrong. Right on cue, the Republic jets along the Armor take off into the sky. Their roars deafen me.

I switch my mike back to Frankie. “How are the evacuations going?”

“As smoothly as possible,” she replies. “Probably two more waves of people left. Ready for your big moment?”

“Go for it,” I whisper back.

The JumboTrons flare to life. This time, though, they’re displaying my painted face on all of their screens. A prerecorded video we made. I smile widely for the Colonies, even as they scramble to what jets they still have, and in this instant, I feel like I’m looking into the face of a stranger, a face that’s unfamiliar and terrifying behind its wide black stripe. For a moment, I can’t even remember recording this video in the first place. The thought makes me scramble for the memory in a panic, until I finally recall it and breathe a sigh of relief. “My name is Day,” my JumboTron video self says, “and I’m fighting for the Republic’s people. If I were you, I’d be a little more careful.”

Frankie cuts my feed again. Overhead, the Republic’s jets scream across the sky—I see orange fireballs light up the airfield. With our stunt and half their jets gone, and the advantage of surprise, the Colonies soldiers scramble for a retreat. I bet the calls going back to their command are flying fast and furious now.

Frankie comes back online. She sounds elated. “The Republic’s troops have gotten wind of our success,” she says. In the background, I hear—to my relief—Pascao’s line click on too. “Nice job, Runners. Gioro and Baxter are already on their way.” She sounds distracted. “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 says through the white noise. “Did she go offline for you too?”

“Yeah.” I scramble onward, trying not to think the worst. The safety of the Armor isn’t far away—I can make out the tiny side entrance we’re supposed to return through—and here, in the midst of all the chaos, I see several Republic soldiers rushing through the dust to face off against any Colonies troops that might have followed us. Just a few yards from the door now.

A bullet sparks past me, narrowly missing my ear. Then I hear a scream that makes my blood run cold. When I whirl around, I see Tess and Frankie running behind me. They’re leaning on each other. Behind them must be five or six Colonies soldiers. I freeze, then quickly change course. I yank a knife from my belt and throw it at the soldiers as hard as I can. It catches one of them clean in the side—he drops to his knees. The others notice me. Tess and Frankie barely make it to the door. I dash toward them. Behind me, the soldiers hoist their guns.