Even from a distance, Donny could see her scarring. Percy had grown up dodging bullets, and had the right instincts when her fight for political change turned into a shooting war. The transformation from radical lawyer to elected official to rebel leader was hardwired into the history of democratic revolution, and made perfect sense, after it happened. It suited her. Even with the blanching on the left side of her face that she earned the hard way.

It definitely gave her credibility with her people. You could see it as she stepped up onto a little platform made from salvaged wood, the way they encircled her and suddenly quieted as they waited to hear her speak again. Percy’s mother had been a preacher, and it showed. But her dad had been a fighter, and that showed too. She was their prosecutor, now—the enforcer of the new rights they had fought so hard to obtain, and the protector of those who couldn’t stand up for themselves. Some of them because they weren’t even human.

But Donny couldn’t help but talk to her like his old employee.

“Percy!” he yelled. “Get me down from here and give me my phone!”

The crowd turned on him. “Respect for the Defender!” they yelled. Whoever held the tether attached to Donny’s cage shook it.

“Congresswoman,” said Donny, trying to change his tone despite his panic. “I need to speak with you. Please.”

Percy held a finger in the air while she listened to the voice at the other end of the phone. “Okay, that sounds bad,” she said. “He’s not available now but I will let him know.”

She handed his phone to one of the other women.

“She says you need to call her,” said Percy. “Something about some guys coming by the house to take pictures.”

Donny imagined that scene. It scared him even more than the one before his eyes.

“Why are you doing this, Percy?”

“You may only speak in response to our questions,” said the gray-haired woman holding the phone. Donny realized he recognized her, too, across the distance—Claude Darjine, one of the only members of the revolutionary committee who had been there since the very beginning, when the people first took control of the city in the aftermath of Superstorm Zelda. “And no one wants your help.”

“Fine,” he said, steadying himself with his hands on the bars and looking out through the open door. “What do you want to know?”

Donny tried to size Percy up. To see if she was really all-in on the new program. The last time they communicated, it was in a letter: the expulsion order she signed in her official capacity. He couldn’t tell.

“What are you doing here, Donny Kimoe?”

“I came to help her,” he said, pointing at Heather, still curled up in her cage.