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“This may be your only chance,” I cut in. We need her to attend, or Elon and I won’t make it past the gates. “Do you want to wait another eight years for an opportunity to get her out?”

I leave the rest unspoken. If Imogene stays in Serendee for another eight years she’ll spend that either locked up with the Fallen or as Anex’s mate. She’ll never get away from him, which also means, we’ll never get to see her again.

Camille has proven herself to be resilient and tough. Determined. But now she stands in front of us, twisting her fingers in the dress.

She looks nervous.

“Are you worried about Anex?” I ask. “Because other than petty control methods like the clothing, he won’t try anything on a day like this. He’ll want everything to go over perfectly.”

“It’s not Anex I’m worried about,” she admits. “I’m kind of eager to face him again after all this time.”

Elon glances at me and says, “If you’re concerned about seeing Imogene, don’t be. She’ll be happy to see you.”

“Are you sure?” she asks. “Don’t pretend that Anex hasn’t tainted her view of me.”

“I won’t.” He meets her eye to eye. “He did do that. You were an example to all of us—”

“Which is why his invitation is a big deal,” I cut in. “He’s trying to prove he’s not keeping your child from you or holding grudges.”

Camille sighs and sits at the table. “You know, I tried to get her to come with me, but she wouldn’t, and maybe that makes me a bad mother for leaving anyway.”

“I don’t think he gave you much of a choice,” Elon says.

“I had a choice. Be his new wife, take the place of his dead wife—my best friend—or run. I chose to run—even if that meant leaving Imogene behind.” She looks up, eyes shiny, looking more vulnerable than I’ve seen her before. “She has to resent me for that.”

“I was with Imogene when we located the information about your whereabouts and this program. She wasn’t angry. She was scared. She knew that if Anex found out that she’d found you—how she’d found you—there would be severe consequences,” Elon explains. “I got the information for her, because I knew then that she was going to need you one day. I just didn’t know when or under what circumstances. She’s not going to resent you—she’s going to be thankful that you’re here.”

She sniffs quietly, then stands, grabbing her dress out of the box. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. I think I need some time to prepare myself.” She looks between us. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

“Just be ready,” Elon says. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Neither of us speak until she’s upstairs, then Elon turns to me and asks, “Do you think we can really pull this off? Get Imogene and Rex out while saving ourselves?”

I want to tell him with confidence that we will, but there are a lot of balls in the air with this one. My plan with Elon. My plan with Anex. Our plans with Camille. It’s ever evolving—constantly moving—but my goal is singularly focused:

Getting back to Imogene.

The car rideto Serendee is quiet. There’s something about an armed guard that makes conversation seem prohibited. Add in the fact that there are no pockets in our clothes, no way to discreetly hide a weapon. We’re managed, contained, restrained, all without putting a finger on us.

Anex is always one step ahead.

Unfortunately, for him, he kicked out one of the more powerful people in his inner circle. Due to Elon’s position in security he’s aware of hidden weapon caches all over Serendee. “Anex’s paranoia will be his doom,” he’d told me, when we started laying out the idea. “He was terrified of an ambush or raid by the feds. Expected it, really. So unless he moved them—”

“He may have,” I countered. One step ahead. “He should have.”

“I agree,” he admitted, “but he didn’t monitor where the caches were located. Not all of them.”

Then he drew a map.

From there the plan is vague. Get to the weapons. Get to Imogene and Rex. Get everyone out alive. I don’t like it, but we’re walking into a familiar world that follows only their own rules. Rules that change on the whim of a narcissistic leader.

“Look,” Elon says, breaking the silence. The car drives toward the front gate—a driveway never used. Residents either walk to town on the path or vehicles are taken out the back entrance, carrying products. The gate has always been purely ornamental. But today it’s wide open and not flanked by guards. Instead, two young women and two men stand at the entrance, each dressed in fall colors, holding a basket of flowers. They wave as we pass. “What the fuck?”

Anex agreed to transparency, at least a sense of it, and I guess this welcome group is part of it.

The car stops near a field near the front of the property, and we’re escorted down the drive. There are no vehicles inside Serendee—it’s one of the primary tenants. Elon instantly shifts into security mode—eyes peeled, looking for threats. Between us Camille’s breath comes out short and uneven.

“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching out to steady her arm when she stumbles over an uneven spot in the road.