Screwing up his face, Adrian forced himself to take off the wristband. He tossed it onto his bed, then flopped down beside it, burying his face into his pillow with a frustrated groan.
He told himself to let them deal with it.
He tried to persuade himself that going after them, after Hawthorn, wasn’t worth the risk.
His fingers dug into his blankets.
Hawthorn would be captured. She would be brought into custody. The stolen drugs that hadn’t yet made their way to the black market would be confiscated.
Frostbite would get the glory, but that shouldn’t matter to Adrian. The point was that justice would be served, and a wrong would be made right. As right as could be at this point, anyway.
But for every logical reason to stay put, his brain threw back an excuse to go after them.
What if Frostbite’s team failed? What if Hawthorn got away again? They could use an extra hand. A backup, just in case.
He turned his head to the side. The light on his wristband was still blinking.
Adrian gnawed on the inside of his cheek, feeling the strain of the internal debate tugging at him.
Stay safe. Stay hidden. Let the Sentinel rest in peace.
But somewhere deep inside, he knew it wasn’t going to happen. He knew from the moment his dad had confessed that her team had been chosen over Adrian’s.
He would go after Hawthorn. He had to.
“Just to make sure,” he said, snatching up the wristband and bending it around his wrist again. “You won’t reveal yourself unless it’s absolutely, positively necessary.”
It wasn’t because he had something to prove. Not to himself or his dads or … or even Nova.
No, this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about the Sentinel.
This was about justice being served.
* * *
IT WAS ALMOST NOON when Adrian reached the port, the signals from his wristband guiding him from rooftop to rooftop. His heavy boots thumped loudly as he landed on the cabin of an old crane that years ago would have been used to lift the shipping containers from arriving barges. Judging from the film of dirt on the cabin’s windows, he doubted anyone had used it for years. Frostbite’s tracking signal was coming from a stack of shipping containers that had long ago been left to rust once international trading had been halted. The industry had picked up significantly over the past decade, but a lot of the infrastructure that was in place before the rise of Ace Anarchy had been left to slowly deteriorate.
Beyond a fence on the other side of the storage yard, he spotted the patrol vehicle with the red R painted on its hood—a van large enough that even Gargoyle would have been able to fit inside.
Adrian climbed halfway down the crane’s tower before dropping to the ground. He landed hard, sending up a thick cloud of dust. He approached the shipping containers from behind, making his way through the rusting labyrinth in the storage yard.
A crash made him freeze. It was followed by the roar of splitting earth. The ground trembled beneath Adrian’s feet, and dust was knocked from the towering containers, raining onto his helmet.
That had to be Mack Baxter—Aftershock.
A second later, he heard an enraged scream, and then the back of a container was blown across the path, not thirty paces in front of him. Hawthorn’s brambled tentacles emerged first, slithering out from the container like a giant octopus.
Adrian crouched, then launched himself into the air before Hawthorn could spot him. He landed on the roof of the nearest container with a tooth-rattling clang, but the sound was disguised beneath Frostbite’s shrill scream. “Stingray! Gargoyle!”
Hawthorn roped her extra limbs around the nearest stack of crates and hauled herself up them, lithe and quick. Seconds later, she was speeding across their rooftops, heading toward the water.
She was getting away.
Again.
Growling, Adrian fisted his right hand and thrust his arm toward her. The cylinder on the forearm of the armor rose out of his skin and began to glow white-hot as the laser prepared to fire. He was a better shot with the laser than he’d ever been with a gun, and she wasn’t too far away yet. He could hit her. He could—
Somewhere below, he heard Gargoyle roar, then Hawthorn screamed in surprise as the tower of crates she was running across swayed and toppled to one side. She yelped and reached out with two of the tentacles, grappling for the next container. The extra limbs caught, the thorns puncturing the metal with a shriek that made Adrian wince.
Hawthorn dangled for a moment, caught her breath, then with a loud groan hauled herself up to the roof.
She had just flopped onto her stomach when Stingray appeared at the other end of her crate, smirking. He said something Adrian couldn’t hear, and Hawthorn looked up, her expression frenzied.
One tentacle pulled back, preparing to lash out at Stingray, but she was too slow.
His tail whipped toward her, the barbed point jabbing her on the shoulder.
Hawthorn grunted and collapsed forward, sprawling face-first across the ridged top of the shipping container.
Swallowing, Adrian ducked into the shadows and dismissed the laser. The suit clunked as it sank back beneath its paneling.
The venom from Stingray’s tail acted quickly, immobilizing Hawthorn’s body and her extra limbs. Stingray jerked her arms behind her back and cuffed her wrists. He wasn’t particularly gentle as he shoved her body back over the side. Adrian expected her to smash hard onto the ground below—but Gargoyle was there, waiting for her. He caught her limp body, but dropped it just as fast.
Frostbite strode out from behind a container, and Aftershock appeared on the far side of the path, the ground rippling as he approached them.
“Nice work,” said Frostbite, tapping her palm against Hawthorn’s cheek. A glaze of frost was left behind when she pulled away. “Between arresting the mastermind behind the hospital theft and bringing in all the drugs from that laboratory, I’d say we’re nearly due for a promotion.”
Adrian shut his eyes, his heart sinking. He had come all this way for nothing. The fight had lasted only a couple of minutes, and the Sentinel clearly wasn’t needed. Maybe his fathers had been right to assign Frostbite to the case after all.
He sulked along the crate to avoid the telltale thumps of his footsteps on the metal. One of the containers he passed had windows roughly cut into the sides and covered with netting. He paused to peer inside and saw that the interior had been completely altered. From the outside it looked like an unassuming stack of abandoned shipping crates, but inside was an entire laboratory’s worth of tools and equipment. Bunsen burners and measuring cups, flasks and gallon-size buckets sporting various tubes and labels, and shelf after shelf of stolen pharmaceuticals.
They hadn’t just found Hawthorn. They had found her laboratory, the drugs, and the proof that they would need to not only show that she had stolen that medicine from the hospital, but also that she was using it to formulate illegal substances for sale on the black market.
Her trial would be a quick one.
Adrian backed away from the window. The disappointment he felt at having missed his chance to capture Hawthorn made it obvious that this really had been about wanting to prove himself. About wanting people to view the Sentinel differently. About wanting praise and admiration—from the public, yes, but from the Renegades too. From his peers and his dads.
Sighing, he prepared to jump down from the container when an odd noise made him hesitate.
He cocked his head, listening.
It was ticking.
Slow, steady ticking.
His pulse jumped and he swung around, his memory launching him straight back to the carnival and the Detonator’s glowing blue explosives set around the park.
A bomb. Hawthorn has a bomb.
He crept back to the window and peered inside, searching the laboratory. From his vantage point, he could see Frostbite standing just outside the far opening, and though the ticking must have been l
oud enough that they all heard it, she seemed as relaxed as ever.
Frostbite stooped and set something down on the ground. A triangular box of some sort.
Was that the bomb? Had Frostbite brought an explosive with them?
But … why?
Moving to the edge of the crate again, Adrian peered down into the valley between the containers. Frostbite, Gargoyle, Stingray, and Aftershock were standing around Hawthorn, who was on her knees, her hands latched behind her back and her six spiky limbs pooling beside her.
Adrian could see the device on the ground more clearly now, and the needle that swung steadily back and forth. Back and forth.
It was a metronome.
He was fairly certain it was Turmoil’s metronome. The Sound Deadener, which would keep any noise, no matter how loud, from traveling beyond the area in which the ticking of the metronome could be heard.
But what possible use could they have for—
“No,” Hawthorn whimpered, her voice slurred from the effects of Stingray’s poison, as Aftershock and Stingray grabbed the ends of her tentacles and stretched them away from her. “What are you doing?”
Frostbite spread her fingers and six streams of ice shot toward the appendages, freezing them to the ground and locking them in place. Hawthorn grunted and Adrian could see the muscles beneath her shirt undulating as she tried to retract the limbs into her body, but the ice held them as tight as handcuffs.
Adrian’s fingers curled around the edges of the crate.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” said Frostbite. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them. If you don’t…” She tipped her head.
Gargoyle raised one fist, and it hardened into gray stone. His smile was hideous as he crouched beside one of Hawthorn’s tentacles and slammed the fist on top of it.
Adrian recoiled. Hawthorn’s scream tore through him, echoing shrilly across the shipyard.
Nausea roiled in his stomach as Gargoyle lifted his fist and Adrian could see the place where the limb had been crushed from its weight. One of the thorns had splintered and was oozing yellow-tinted blood.
“So,” said Frostbite, once Hawthorn’s scream had died into a trembling whimper. “Are you ready to begin?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“YOU—YOU CAN’T—” Hawthorn stammered through her clenched teeth. “I’m unarmed … immobilized … Your code doesn’t allow…”
“Oh, so you’re an expert on our code, are you?” Frostbite guffawed. “A thief, a producer, a dealer … I really don’t think anyone will be upset about what happens to you.”
Hawthorn snarled, tears wetting her face. “And when your precious Council sees that you tortured me?”
Frostbite laughed and unlatched a holster on her belt. “Oh, they’re not going to see anything.”
It was a handgun, exactly like those they had been training with lately. Adrian’s pulse thumped.
They had Agent N. That’s how Frostbite planned to get away with this. They could do whatever they wanted to Hawthorn’s extra limbs, because once she was neutralized, those limbs would no longer exist. All evidence of the Renegades’ abuse would disappear. And with the metronome steadily ticking away, no one would hear her screams beyond the shipyard.
It would be their word against hers—a known criminal and one that no one would be sorry to see stripped of her powers. Adrian wasn’t sure how or why Frostbite’s team had been allowed to arm themselves with the neutralizing agent, maybe they’d been given special permission for this high-profile case, but he did know it would be easy for them to claim they had neutralized Hawthorn out of self-defense.
Who would the Council believe?
His stomach was in knots.
“I know you’ve been selling your product on the black market,” said Frostbite, her voice haughty and cold. The sound of it made Adrian’s teeth grind. “I want the names and aliases of the dealers you’ve been selling to.”
There was a moment of silence, punctuated only with the tick-tick-tick of the metronome. Swallowing the bile in his mouth, Adrian peered over the ledge again.
“I don’t know any names,” Hawthorn growled. “They tell me where to drop the stuff and pick up the payment, and I do it.”
Frostbite signaled to Gargoyle.
He brought another fist down, crushing a second limb.
Hawthorn’s scream tore through Adrian like a physical assault.
He didn’t want to pity her. Hawthorn was a criminal. She had stolen medicine, used it to produce illegal substances. She had dealt it to teenagers. Her actions had likely resulted in numerous deaths.
He wouldn’t even have been sad to see her shot with Agent N right now.
But he also knew that this was wrong. To beat her when she was helpless. To torture her unnecessarily. They were supposed to take her to headquarters, let her be interrogated there. Any information spoken under duress was likely to be fallible, anyway.
But what if she says something useful? his brain countered. What if she gives up more names, or gives evidence that could lead to more arrests? What if they bring down a whole chain of dealers because of this … or an entire drug syndicate?
He turned his head away from the scene below, face screwed up tight. He could walk away. Pretend he never saw any of this. He could allow Frostbite and her team to break the rules and hope that it lead to further justice.
“I’ll ask the question again,” said Frostbite. “What are the names of your associates?”
Hawthorn’s voice was breaking, her gumption already buried beneath the pain. “I told you, I don’t know. We don’t share names.”
Frostbite made a doubtful sound. She surveyed her companions, and Adrian could picture her smug expression.
He may not always act within the confines of the Gatlon code authority, but this was beyond vigilantism and justice. This was abuse of power, pure and simple.
He couldn’t stand for it.
Adrian thrust his arm forward. The laser diode rose from his forearm plate and began to glow.
Gargoyle raised his fist.
Adrian fired. The bolt of light struck Gargoyle in his chest, blowing him back against the nearest crate. He hit the ground with a thud that shook the entire stack and left a sizable dent in the metal side.
Adrian leaped to the ground, centering himself between Hawthorn and Frostbite. “That’s enough. She’s captured. You’ve done your job. Now take this criminal back to headquarters and let the Council deal with her.”
Frostbite’s expression quickly turned from surprise to loathing. “Well, well. I had a feeling your death was too good to be true.” Long icicles began to form in her left hand. Her right still held the gun. “Are you going to try to tell me that the Council sent you? That your orders are to bring Hawthorn back too?” She spat into the dirt. “Sorry, but that lie’s not going to work a second time.”
“I don’t have to lie about anything. You’re acting outside of the code, and the Council is going to know about it. Now, are you going to arrest this criminal and confess your own crimes, or do I have to do it for you?”
“Better idea,” said Frostbite, one side of her mouth lifting. “I think we’re about to bring in two wanted criminals—already neutralized. Oh, won’t the Council be pleased.”
Something struck Adrian’s shoulder. He felt a tug on his armor. The barb of Stingray’s tail was latched beneath the shoulder plate, trying to rip it off him. Growling, Adrian grabbed the tail and yanked, pulling Stingray off his feet.
Frostbite yelled and hurled the icicle. Adrian blocked it with his forearm and the ice shattered, its shards skittering through the dust. He lifted his left palm toward Frostbite and a ball of fire began to curl around his hand, crackling orange and white.
Frostbite took a step back.
“No,” said Adrian. “I’m taking Hawthorn into my custody. I’ll deliver her to headquarters myself.”
He said it without really thinking about what a
terrible idea it would be for him to stroll into headquarters in full Sentinel armor, with Hawthorn draped across his shoulders—but he would figure out the details later.
Turning, he aimed the fire at the mounds of ice that had cemented Hawthorn’s limbs to the ground. She was watching him, wary and bleary-eyed, her cheeks wet with tears and her shattered limbs coated with yellow blood.
“Cute,” said Frostbite, “but that’s really not how this is going to play out. Aftershock!”
Adrian looked up in time to see Aftershock stomp one foot into the ground. A crack splintered the compact dirt, shooting straight between Adrian’s legs. He yelped in surprise and was thrown off balance, landing on his side. In the same moment, Stingray’s tail wrapped around Adrian’s neck, pinning him to the ground. Adrian tried to dig his fingers in between the tail and his armor but he couldn’t gain purchase.
“That was a nice try, with your gallant speech and everything,” said Frostbite. She stood over Adrian, one hand on her hip while the other tapped the gun against her thigh.
He glanced over at Hawthorn, who was still on her knees, her head hanging low. He had only managed to free one of her limbs from the ice and it was one of the broken ones.
“You know, I’m glad we had this meeting,” Frostbite continued. “You are a perfect reminder of everything it is we Renegades are fighting against.”
He glared up at her, though he knew his hatred couldn’t be seen through the visor. “I think you’re confused.”
“No, you’re confused,” she spat. “With your vigilante act, your claim to fight for justice. But there’s a reason you’re not a Renegade, and everyone knows it. If you really cared about the people of this world, if you really wanted to help the weak and the innocent, then you would have joined us a long time ago. But no—you think you can go it on your own. There’s a lot more glory that way, isn’t there? The fame, the publicity … You talk a good game, but we both know you’re in it for your own agenda. And here’s the problem with prodigies who go around flaunting their own agendas.” She crouched in front of Adrian, her gaze piercing the shield of his helmet. “It starts to give other prodigies all sorts of ideas. They start to think—who needs to become a Renegade? I can be more without them. Pretty soon, they’re more concerned with their own reputation than helping people. They don’t care about protecting the innocent. They don’t care about stopping crime. They’re above all that. And before you know it … there’s another villain in the world that we have to deal with.” She stood up again and aimed the barrel of the gun at Adrian’s face. He narrowed his eyes, though he knew an Agent N dart wouldn’t make it through his helmet. “Either you’re a Renegade, or you’re a villain. And yeah, we might bend the rules from time to time. We might even ignore the code completely when we can see a better way of doing things—a way that really will make this world a better place. But to go around pretending that you can be against us, and still be a hero?” She shook her head. “That just can’t be tolerated.”
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