“The red tent,” I bark at my friends. “That’s where she’s being prepped?” I address Jago and Theodora.

“I’m certain of it,” Jago responds.

Jago, Theodora, and Ansel take the lead while the rest of us squeeze through the increasingly dense crowd. I have to punch a sign out of my way and end up stepping on more than one foot to burrow through the crowd. Sweat’s settling on my brow. As Levi makes an opening for me to pass through, I hear him tell me not to panic. Maybe we aren’t too late.

But Jaeger. We’re too late to save him. He’s already been replaced.

In minutes we make it to the red tent. Maude has switched on her best version of a Texas accent and is acting offended that the guards don’t know who she is—Madison Huxley.

“You’d better let me in to see my mom,” she lilts. “It’s an emergency. I don’t want to have to tell her you got in the way of official campaign business.”

“Sorry, kid. No ID, no entry,” the guard answers.

Maude knees him in the groin. Theodora, Pippa, Ansel, and Jago surprise elbow the other two guards, knocking them sideways so they can enter the tent. Levi, Pru, and I follow.

When we get inside, several more guards instantly grab us, holding us by our wrists, even as we struggle to get away.

But that’s not the worst of it. There, across the room, shackled to a chair, is Jaeger—our Jaeger. The real one. His mouth is bound with duct tape. His eyes reach mine, pleading.

Next to him is Bianca, also bound to a chair, her mouth muzzled.

A second Bianca—Duplicate Bianca—sits on a high stool as a hair and makeup crew put the finishing touches on her look. She studies the note cards she’ll refer to in her speech.

I shout to one of the stylists. “You’ve got it all wrong. She’s not Bianca!”

“Of course she is,” the stylist answers, running a flat iron through Duplicate Bianca’s hair. “That other one’s the imposter,” she tuts.

I bite the hand of the guard holding me by the neck, wondering if that stylist’s been paid off by Gravelle. The guard yelps but doesn’t let go.

“I’m ready,” Duplicate Bianca tells her prep team. She hands them the note cards. “You can take these. I don’t need them. My message to the world is simple, really. I am the best candidate to run this country. A vote for Bianca is a vote for humanity. For decency. For America’s core values.” She checks herself in the mirror, smiles at her reflection, and steps down from the stool she’d been sitting on.