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keeping vigil for your return,” Sasha says. “For
all
of you.”
    Having to tell the story just tears me up all over again. And looking around at everyone makes it worse. The ragamuffin crew’s
     light of hope seems extinguished. I’m even sorry for Sasha, whom I don’t particularly trust because he lied through his teeth
     to us once. But he and Margo hadthe same fire of resistance in their blood. They would do anything for the cause.
    And Janine—well, she and Margo were like sisters. Her green eyes, which had shone so brightly for Whit, were glazed over with
     shock and grief. Whit was stroking her hair comfortingly. Finally, she buried her head in the crook of his neck. “We grew
     up together,” she moaned. “Best friends since preschool, you believe that?”
    “Sure I do,” whispers Whit. “Everybody loved Margo.”
    Emmet, my best bud here, comes over to me and puts his arm around me. Normally it would make me beyond happy—because, let’s
     face it, Emmet is extremely wicked cute—but right now, strangely, it almost annoys me.
    I’ve had it with falling apart. If Margo walked in here right now, she would probably revolt against all this pitiful weeping
     and feeling sorry for her.
    A revolt. Not a bad idea actually.
    “Look!” I say, sliding away from Emmet’s arm and climbing on top of a glass makeup counter. “The hankie festival is over.
     The last thing Margo would want is to see us sitting around moping.” Sasha nods. “We have to keep moving; we have to stay
     ready. The New Order is just getting stronger.”
    Jamilla, our “team mother” shaman, dries the tears on her cheeks. Even Feffer shows a little more of the steely glint she
     usually has in her eyes.
    “The One Who Is The One wants to crush our spirit!” I yell. “Would Margo have let her spirit be crushed?”
    “No!” Sasha yells back. “Absolutely not.”
    “The One Who Is The One wants us to stop, to turn ourselves in, to quit!” I shout. “Did Margo ever stop resisting?”
    “No!”
a group of us says in unison.
    “The One Who Is The One doesn’t want us to execute our next mission. And the one after that. Would Margo have told us to execute
     our next mission?”
    “Yes!”
Almost the whole room’s on board now.
    Then Emmet—who’s looking maybe even cuter than usual—stands up with his fist in the air. The volume in the room grows, and
     I’m definitely feeling giddy. Maybe there really is something to this leadership stuff.
    But then something happens to let all the wind out of my sails.
    The person I detest the most in the whole world has just entered the room.
    Well, maybe not quite the
most.
But darn close.

Chapter 14

    Wisty
    BYRON TRAITOR SUCK-UP P. Weasel Swain skulks into the room, bobbing his head like an animal trying to pick up a scent, and then makes a beeline for
     me. Byron was a know-it-all snob in high school and then a New Order puppet who was complicit in our capture—and who, by the
     way, I actually turned into a weasel once. He has supposedly left the N.O., but that doesn’t mean I have to like him.
    “Hey, everybody!” he yells in his permanently annoying, ratty little voice. Then he climbs up next to me on the counter. I
     should turn him back into a weasel so I can put him in a box, wrap it in duct tape, and mail it to the General Bowen State
     Psychiatric Hospital.
Without
a supply of his icky hair product.
    “I guess you haven’t heard the bad news, Byron,” Jamilla begins tentatively.
    “Oh, indeed I have,” he says.
Who talks like that?
“Seen it with my own eyes.” Everyone gasps. “On this.”
    He pulls out a top-of-the-line smartphone that he’s gotten from who knows where, swipes it a few times, then holds up the
     device with the screen facing the group.
    Oh God, it’s the Courtyard of Justice, where Margo’s hooded figure is seen kneeling before The One.
    “Put it away,” I snap at him, reaching for the phone. “That’s a snuff film.”
    “Absolutely