“He wanted three million, at 19 percent, to—get this—build a blimp to take tourists from AmFed to Louisiana without crossing UCS territory. And I’m like, first of all, I can name a hundred boat charters that do the same thing, and second…”

Sasha tuned most of it out and tried to focus on eating. But knowing Alexander was out there, facing death for his faith, killed any appetite she otherwise might’ve had. She ate mechanically, without really tasting it, until her plate was almost clean. Sasha was already planning her exit when her mother spoke up.

“By the way, the school called today and said you still haven’t been by to get sized for your graduation robes. They need at least forty-eight hours to print them out. You’re running out of time.”

“Sorry, Mom,” she said, “I know that’s important. I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately. The FST was last week.”

Sasha had gotten very good at telling her parents what they needed to hear without actually lying. The Federation Standardized Test had been last week, and she’d certainly had a lot on her mind lately, but the FST hadn’t been keeping her up at night. It was little more than a ­rubber-stamp for a student like Sasha.

“That’s OK, sweetie,” Gwendolyn said. “I know how important your school work is to you. I just want you to have a fun graduation experience. That’s important.”

There’s a war going on a few hundred miles from your door. Men are dying for God’s Kingdom, and you think school matters to me?

But Sasha just smiled, told her mom she loved her, and went back upstairs to her room as soon as it was politic to do so. She re-activated her VPN and popped her deck into “stealth” mode, which displayed a curated selection of websites and chat apps for her mom and dad, in case they came by. She drew a new private window about two feet in front of her face and split it in half, between a face-comm with ­Alexander and a newsfeed full of her favorite militia press offices.

Her jaw dropped.

Voice of the Prophets’ main headline was, “Republic of Texas Forces Clash With Martyrs!”

“Judgement day is here!” she read in a social media post from one of her favorite sources in the area, a twenty-something mechanic who lived on the fringe of the Republic and supported the Heavenly Kingdom. He’d posted a picture of the Governor’s Mansion in Plano. It was burnt around several of the windows and riddled with holes. Gone was the Republic’s flag, replaced by a white banner with a burning black cross in the center. Sasha sent out another call request to Alexander and switched over to Al-Jazeera’s feed to learn more.