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“People show up in this city every day with the same aspirations as me. But thenyoubarged into my life and made me a part of this—” I struggle for the right words. “Machine,” I spit out. “A cog in this wheel, but I’m not metal or wood, Temperance. I’m a woman. And I’m not going to follow orders from that man. Ever.” I’m breathing heavily, my chest heaving. Temperance doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at me, keeping his eyes fixed on the red wine in his cup. “Say something,” I demand.

His lips tighten before opening. “Thismachineis about keeping our population safe. What matters are the lives of the American people.”

I slam my glass down onto the coffee table so hard that wine spills over the rim and Archie jumps off Temperance’s lap. I lean over, getting right in Temperance’s face, force those tiger eyes to meet mine. “That’s bullshit, Temperance. A war criminal’s excuse. I’m not going to work for a corrupt, power-hungry,insaneman.I’mgoing to keep the American people safe by resisting.”

“Yes, but quietly.”

“Women have been quiet far too long.” My voice trembles but sounds strong anyway.

“We can’t expose him, for all the same reasons I explained before.”

“Why can’t we kill him? Make it look like a heart attack—like we planned.”

Temperance shakes his head. “Look, we have to play the long game here. There will be an investigation. There are proper channels to deal with this sort of thing.”

“You wanted to kill him a few weeks ago.”

“That was before he won.” Temperance’s voice is quiet; it sounds almost betrayed.

“You were promised he’d lose,” I remind him. Temperance eyes meet mine, and I see the truth in them.This wasn’t supposed to happen.Fear ripples through me.

“I need you to be in—one hundred percent in,” Temperance says quietly. “We can fight this, but we have to do it quietly. This is a long game.”

“As long as it ends with him dead or in prison, I’m in,” I answer, the conviction in my voice vibrating straight from my chest.

Temperance nods. “Good.”

“I’ll take it,”I say, turning away from the spectacular view—the city, the Hollywood sign, and the sparkling ocean all on display for me—to the real estate agent.

His eyes glow with success. “Do you want the furniture too?” he asks.

“No, thank you.”

He nods. “I can recommend a fabulous interior designer.”

Mary walks out onto the patio, the clip-clop of her heels mixing with the pleasant rushing sound of the water feature of the infinity pool.

“It’s perfect,” she decrees. “I love everything about it. You should take the furniture too.”

I look back into the modern home behind her—three bedrooms, two baths, a long drive with a big security gate. “No,” I reiterate.I’m making this into my home.

She shrugs. “You start shooting next week. You’re not going to have time to decorate. At least take the bed and some kitchen stuff.” She makes it all sound so reasonable, but that’s not what this decision is—I need something that ismine. Where I feel safe. Where I can be myself, all the disjointed, dangerous parts of me.

I’ve found my citadel.I am a queen. I am a girl. And I’m going to run this world.