Governor Roth and our father have always had a give-and-take relationship, because they need each other. But the leash the governor has around Father’s neck is short, and he can only go so far without being pulled back. From the look in Mira’s eyes, I’m afraid tonight Father may have cut the cord entirely.

A memory flashes unbidden into my mind of my father and me strolling through the gardens at the Governor’s Mansion. In the middle of Father’s reelection ceremony, a beaming Governor Roth led an impromptu tour of his enormous renovated grounds. Mira could not attend the lavish high-security event, even though it was her day up. Too many Guards and chances for a microchip scan.

I imagine no one in the world has more luxurious personal gardens than Roth. He modeled them after Versailles in the classical French style: imposing order over nature. The precise symmetry and regality of his gardens scream wealth and power, especially when most things outside the mansion grow yellow or barren. I still remember the tight line of Father’s mouth that barely held in his disdain for such an arrogant display of riches, but he did hold it in. Afterward, he swore a solemn oath to protect and uplift Texas and its people, the governor adding the sixth Texas Public Health Service badge to Father’s uniform cordially, even affectionately.

The two men ended the ceremony with respectful salutes. Yet something in the way Roth’s stare lingered before he firmly turned on his heel was a silent threat: Remember who is really giving you this honor—the man with enough power to build an Eden in the middle of a wasteland. Why would Father risk breaking such a carefully constructed relationship?

I emerge from my musing to find Mira staring at the monitors. Still sensing nervousness, I eye her critically. “What are you thinking about, Mira?”

“Should we tell Father I pushed Halton?”

“Of course not. We are on a tight enough leash as it is,” I say without hesitation.

We don’t have much time left before she has to go upstairs and prepare for her day at school tomorrow, but a nagging feeling tells me I should ask again, “Did anything else happen in the greenhouse that I need to know?”

Mira looks straight into my eyes. “No.”

I give a confident nod. “Stop worrying about Halton. If he were going to tell his grandfather, he would have done so straight off. And he’d never admit weakness to the governor.”

I rejoin her at the piano, turning my back on the video surveillance. “But we should stay away from him.”

“What about the Gala?” Mira asks.

“Either Father will find a way to get us out of it, or I will.”

The bench emits a soft creak as I move closer to my sister, a wicked smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “Did you at least get a punch in?”

She manages a half smile but hides it by saying, “Teach me the new verse.”

“Right. The entire song must be memorized. Then we’ll go over our chemistry and Spanish before I finish detailing the day in our journal.”

I begin the first verse on the piano and both our faces gradually settle into concentration. Our unified voices blend together perfectly, singing to celebrate One Child, One Nation.

MIRA

My mind hangs in the space between consciousness and sleep. I toss fitfully in the large queen bed in Ava’s room, the covers entangling me like chains. Exhausted, I kick them off, giving up any hope of rest. I open my eyes and find the room as dark as my mind.

It did not happen. There’s no way he knows. Before I left the greenhouse, I repeated these words like a mantra. After the two-hundred-and-forty-fifth time, the words rolled easily off my tongue, and I reentered the dining room fully believing it. It was all just a miscommunication, a fabricated memory born from my own paranoia.

It did not happen. There’s no way he knows, I repeat to myself again now.

A layer of sweat coats my body, gluing the thin bottom sheet to my skin. I reach out for the nightstand and curl my fingers around a tall glass of water. I drip the water, still cold from the AC, onto my neck and wrists before taking long sips to soothe my raw throat. Light from the streetlamps—or maybe the moon—sneaks through the blinds, creating strange shapes on the ceiling. I concentrate on a pattern of mismatched polygons slanted just above the door and settle back onto the platform bed.

His fingers were on my wrist for just a second in time. A single moment.

I close my eyes and focus on breathing from my abdomen—my gut, which I keep alternately ignoring and fighting. I don’t know how much time goes by like this, but when I open my eyes again, still restless and on edge, the light has transformed and reshaped itself along the wall.

I sit up and throw my damp hair behind my ears, then into a messy bun. Dragging my hands over my face, I rest my forehead on my knees. Again I reach for the glass of water, and as I lift my heavy head, I see my reflection in the floor-length mirror across the room.

Alone, in the small hours of the morning, the truth stares me straight in the face.

He knows. I don’t know how, but he knows. It’s as clear as the empty glass in my hand.

I look at the clock. 1:26 a.m.

Filled with an overpowering urgency to tell Ava everything, to confess, I slide out of bed and walk to the door. I turn the handle but find it unwilling to budge. Father locked me in.

I quiet my rising temper and grab my tablet from the dresser. I enter a passcode and attempt the handle a second time, but the door remains firmly secured. Shit. Pressing my head against the door in exasperation, I will a solution. Think.

For every locked door, there is a window.

Rallying, I stride quickly to the line of casement windows, unlock one, and push the glass open. I pop my head out and find no obvious watchers. The sleepy streets are dark and empty.

Barefoot, I step onto the first-floor roof and carefully approach the ledge. A five-yard drop. Doable if I roll on my landing. I turn, then push my feet off with a small grunt and hang from the roof by my fingertips.

Suddenly, bright lights illuminate the far end of our street.

My body reacts instantly, and I fall to the ground like a rock. I swallow back a cry, taking in the pain of landing through clenched teeth.

The headlights from the approaching cars grow closer, and I hurl myself forward, limping and stumbling, to hide behind our neighbor’s fence. I reach it just as a black military SUV stops yards in front of me, glaring spotlights from its roof aimed directly on our house.

Oh my God.

Three Texas State Guards exit the first vehicle, head to toe in riot uniforms. With the sight of their raised guns, I become sickeningly aware of exactly what those fingers on my wrist, just a second in time, have done.

Hands trembling, I type a short passcode into my tablet to set off a warning and turn to sprint for the shadows.

Father. Ava. I’m sorry.

AVA

I wake violently from a deep hum vibrating the basement. It’s the emergency alarm that signals Mira to hide below ground.

I rush up the concrete steps to the security screens in the corner and see soldiers flooding the exterior of the house, spotlights engulfing the lawn from large military vehicles. “Oh my God,” I exclaim, breathless.

The vibrating cuts off all at once, and I hear the wall recede from the passageway. I charge through the narrow tunnel, up the stairs, and stop cold. It’s not Mira who faces me—it’s our father.