The Rule of One (The Rule of One #1)(74)

His thin lips move, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. He motions to his wife and the empty chair beside her. A hologram of Halton, idealized and glorified in his noble Strake uniform, fills the seat where his grandson should be. I spot Halton’s former Gala date, Mckinley Ruiz, hovering behind his chair, making a show of her fake sorrow.

Roth moves his hand over his heart. A sharp buzz emanates from speakers in the ceiling above us, and Roth’s voice suddenly comes blaring through.

“Today is a celebration of the power of one.”

His eyes bore into mine. But I feel no fear. Only resilience. Grit. Strength.

“One Child, One Nation. One people.”

“Save the twins!” rings out from somewhere in the crowd of ritzy guests, an unexpected intrusion.

A perfect introduction.

“Now!” Ava calls out, sharp and strong.

The camera flashes red. Emery nods. Pawel flicks a switch, and it’s show time.

“My name is Ava Goodwin,” my sister begins steadily.

I see our outlawed faces displayed and magnified on every monitor across from us. Every jumbotron inside the Anniversary Gala has been hijacked. From Pawel’s command panel, I see videos of our twin image towering over the streets of Denver, Chicago, and Seattle, the skyscrapers blasting out our message.

“My name is Mira Goodwin,” I announce, my voice finding power. “We are the twin daughters of Darren and Lynn Goodwin.”

I stare straight into the lens, trying to see the people behind it. Millions are watching. Millions are listening. The entire country. Hell, maybe the world.

“Tonight our country celebrates seventy-five years of the Rule of One,” Ava declares. “Seventy-five years of oppression.”

The president, the governors, the Guard. All of the nation’s most important leaders watch in horrified silence.

“We speak to you now, on this symbolic day, to affirm that we exist. We went against the system”—Ava grabs my hand—“and we survived.”

Dwarfed by our identical faces, Governor Roth glares up at his screens. A captain runs to his side. “Turn off the power, you half-wit filth,” our speakers betray Roth’s rabid whisper.

He can’t. He’s powerless.

Defeated.

“We are the rank and file, the discontent, the Common. We are labeled Gluts, marked rebels. And we are many.” I repeat the last words as a threat. As a summons.

“Revive the rebellion,” Ava tells our country, echoing Father’s appeal. “And the Common will rise.”

Ava stands. I stand. We hold down our wrists, fists clenched, exposing the tattoos that smother our microchips.

“Resist much.”

“Obey little.”

The screens go black, and the camera turns off. I exhale.

“Was it enough?” Ava asks.

The question hangs in the air, then sinks into an extended silence. It sits there, waiting for someone to pick it up.

To answer the call.