The fate of the entire Republic rests on the shoulders of my kid brother. If Mom, John, or Dad were here, they’d probably laugh at how ridiculous this whole thing is.

“He’s going to be okay,” the lab tech standing next to me mutters in reassurance. He doesn’t sound very convincing. “Today’s procedures shouldn’t cause him any pain. We’re just going to take some blood samples and then give him a few medications. We’ve sent some samples to Antarctica’s lab teams for analysis too.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I snap at him. “Today’s procedures shouldn’t cause him any pain? What about tomorrow’s?”

The lab tech holds his hands up defensively. “I’m sorry,” he stammers. “It came out wrong—I didn’t mean it like that. Your brother won’t be in any pain, I promise. Some discomfort, perhaps, from the medicine, but we’re taking every precaution we can. I, er, I hope you won’t report this negatively to our glorious Elector.”

So, that’s what he’s worried about. That if I’m upset, I’m going to run to Anden and whine. I narrow my eyes at him. “If you don’t give me a reason to report anything bad, then I won’t.”

The lab tech apologizes again, but I’m not paying attention to him anymore. My eyes go back to Eden. He’s asking one of the technicians something, although he’s speaking quietly enough that I can’t hear. The lab tech shakes his head at my brother. Eden swallows, looks back nervously in my direction, and then squeezes his eyes shut. One of the lab techs takes out a syringe, then carefully injects it into the vein of Eden’s arm. Eden clenches his jaw tight, but he doesn’t utter a sound. A familiar dull pain throbs at the base of my neck. I try to calm myself down. Stressing myself out and triggering one of my headaches at a time like this is not going to help Eden.

He chose to do this, I remind myself. I swell with sudden pride. When had Eden grown up? I feel like I blinked and missed it.

The lab tech finally removes the syringe, which is now filled with blood. They dab something on Eden’s arm, then bandage it. The second technician then drops a handful of pills into Eden’s open palm.

“Swallow them together,” he tells my brother. Eden does as he says. “They’re a bit bitter—best to get it all over with at once.”

Eden grimaces and gags a little, but manages to wash the pills down with some water. Then he lies down on the bed. The technicians wheel him over to a cylindrical machine. I can’t remember what the machine’s called, even though they told me less than an hour ago. They slowly roll him inside it, until all I can see of Eden are the balls of his bare feet. I slowly peel my hands off the window. My skin leaves prints on the glass. A minute later, my heart twists in my chest as I hear Eden crying from inside the machine. Something about it must be painful. I clench my teeth so hard that I think my jaw might break.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, one of the lab techs motions for me to come inside. I immediately shove past them and enter the glass chamber to lean over Eden’s side. He’s sitting on the edge of the white bed again. When he hears me approach, he breaks into a smile.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he says to me in a weak voice.

I just take his hand and squeeze it in my own. “You did good,” I reply. “I’m proud of you.” And I am. I’m prouder of him than I’ve ever been of myself—I’m proud of him for standing up to me.

One of the lab techs shows me a screen with what looks like a magnified view of Eden’s blood cells. “A good start,” he tells us. “We’ll work with this and try injecting Tess with a cure tonight. If we’re lucky, she’ll hang in there for another five or six days and give us some time to work with.” The tech’s eyes are grim, even though his words are pretty hopeful. The weird combination makes a chill run down my spine. I grip Eden’s hand tighter.

“We don’t have a lot of time left,” Eden whispers to me when the lab techs leave us to talk in peace. “If they can’t find a cure, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. It’s not something I really want to think about, because it leaves me feeling more helpless than I like. If we don’t find a cure, there won’t be any international military aid. If there’s no aid, then we’ll have no way to win against the Colonies. And if the Colonies overrun us . . . I recall what I saw when I was over there, and remember what the Chancellor had offered me. If you choose, we can work together. The people don’t know what’s best for them. Sometimes you just have to help them along. Isn’t that right?

I need to find a way to stall them while we work on a cure. Anything to slow the Colonies down, to give the Antarcticans a chance to come to our aid. “We’ll just have to fight back,” I tell Eden, ruffling his hair. “Until we can’t fight back anymore. That’s the way it always seems to be, yeah?”

“Why can’t the Republic win?” Eden asks. “I always thought their military was the strongest in the world. This is the first time I actually wish they were right.”

I smile sadly at Eden’s naïveté. “The Colonies have allies,” I reply. “We don’t.” How the hell do I explain it all? How do I tell him exactly how helpless I feel, standing by like a broken puppet while Anden leads his army in a battle they just can’t win? “They have a better army, and we just don’t have enough soldiers to go around.”

Eden sighs. His little shoulders slump in a way that chokes me up. I close my eyes and force myself to calm down. Crying in front of Eden at a time like this is way too embarrassing. “Too bad everyone in the Republic isn’t a soldier,” he mutters.

I open my eyes. Too bad everyone in the Republic isn’t a soldier.

And just like that, I know what I need to do. I know how to answer the Chancellor’s blackmail, and how to stall the Colonies. I’m dying, I don’t have many days left—my mind is slowly falling apart, and so is my strength. But I do have enough strength for one thing. I have enough time to take one final step.

“Maybe everyone in the Republic can be a soldier,” I reply quietly.

LAST NIGHT FEELS LIKE A DREAM, EVERY LAST DETAIL of it. But this morning stands in stark contrast—there is no mistaking the flinch I felt from Day when I touched his arm, the violent shudder that went through him at just a brush of my hand. My heart still hurts as I leave my apartment, headed for a parked jeep that will be waiting for me. A morning spent with the Senate. I try in vain to clear Day from my mind, but it’s impossible. A Senate meeting feels so trivial right now—the Colonies are gradually pushing our country back with the help of strong allies, Antarctica still refuses to help us, and Commander Jameson is at large. And here I’ll sit, talking politics when I could be—should be—out in the field, doing what I’m trained to do. What am I going to say to all of them, anyway? Are any 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 negotiate with the Colonies’ Chancellor and CEOs and generals. We both know that it won’t get us anywhere. . . . The only thing that will make them budge is a cure. And even then, it might not be enough to hold the Colonies back. But still. We have to try. And perhaps he’ll be up for helping the Patriots with their plans, especially if he knows how much Day will be involved in them.

The mere thought of Day brings back memories of last night. My cheeks turn hot, and I know it’s not because of the warm Los Angeles weather. Stupid timing, I chide myself, and push last night from my thoughts. All around me, the usually busy streets of Lake are eerily empty, as if we’re preparing for an oncoming storm. I suppose that’s not so inaccurate.

A prickling sensation suddenly travels up my spine. I stop for a moment, then frown. What was that? The streets still look deserted, but a strange premonition makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Someone is watching me. Immediately the idea feels too far-fetched, but as I walk, I tighten my jaw and let my hand rest on my gun. Maybe I’m being ridiculous. Perhaps the warning that Day had given me—that the Colonies might use me against him or that they might have me in their sights—is starting to play tricks on my mind. Still, no reason to throw caution to the winds. I lean against the closest building so that my back is protected, and call Anden. The sooner this jeep 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 only by first-year soldiers, which means she looks unremarkable and easily missed; a soldier’s cap pulled low over her face, with only a few dark red strands poking out from underneath it.) But even from this distance, I recognize her face—cold and hard.

Commander Jameson.

I look casually away and pretend to dig around in my pockets for something, but inside, my heart pounds at a furious pace. She’s here in Los Angeles, which means she somehow managed to escape the fighting in Denver and avoided the Republic’s clutches. Is it too big a coincidence that she is where I am? Perhaps she is here because she knew that I would be here? The Colonies. There must be other eyes here. My hands shake as she passes me by on the other side of the street. She gives no indication of seeing me, but I know that she’s noticed. On such an empty block, I should be impossible to miss—and I’m not in disguise.

When her back is finally turned to me, I cross my arms, tilt my head slightly downward, and call Anden on my earpiece again. “I see her. She’s here. Commander Jameson is in Los Angeles.”

My voice sounds so quiet and mumbled that Anden has trouble making it out. “You see her?” he asks in disbelief. “She’s on the same block as you?”

“Yes,” I whisper. I’m careful to keep an eye on Commander Jameson’s disappearing figure. “She might be here intentionally, looking for where my jeep will take me or perhaps trying to locate you.” As she pulls farther away, an overwhelming desire rises up in me to tag along. For the first time in a long time, my agent skills are calling out to me. Gone are politics; suddenly I’ve been thrust back in the field. When she turns a corner, I immediately abandon my spot and start heading after her. Where is she going? “She’s at Lake and Colorado,” I whisper urgently to Anden. “Turning north. Get some soldiers out here, but don’t let her know you’re following along. I want to see where she’s going.” Before Anden can say anything else, I end the call.

I trail along the side of the buildings, careful to stay in the shadows as much as I can, and take a shortcut through one alley toward the street where I think Commander Jameson had gone. Instead of peering around the corner and potentially giving myself away, I instead huddle in the alley and calculate how much time has passed. If she kept up the same pace, and she stayed on this street, then she should have walked past this alley at least one minute ago. Carefully, I lean out until I can catch a quick glimpse of the street. Sure enough, she’s already walked past me, and I can see the back of her figure hurrying away. This quick glimpse is also enough to tell me something else—she’s talking into her own mike.