Swallowing, the man reached for a call button.
Adrian crouched down, holding Max away from his body so he could inspect him. He tried to ignore the boy’s frost-covered clothes and the splatter of blood that had dried on the side of his face. It was the pallor of his skin that terrified him most, and the way Adrian could barely see his chest moving, until he couldn’t see it moving at all.
“What’s taking so long?” he screamed, just as a set of double doors burst open and a man and a woman in nursing scrubs appeared, pushing a gurney between them. Another woman followed, pulling latex gloves onto her hands. Her focus landed on Max, devoid of emotion as she took in the blood and ice.
“Let’s get him on the table,” she said. “Gently.”
Adrian ignored the nurses who seemed to want to take Max from him, and carried Max to the gurney himself, settling his body onto it as carefully as he could. It felt like handing over his heart.
The female nurse put a palm on the chest of Adrian’s suit, ignoring the smears of blood on the armor. Her gaze dipped to the red S. It had been an R when he had first designed the suit, but he’d changed it after Hawthorn had thrown him into the river. There was no longer any point in pretending that the Sentinel was a Renegade. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come back—”
The other nurse gasped. Something crashed. The doctor collapsed against the gurney, her breaths heavy as she pressed a gloved hand against her chest.
Adrian cursed and pushed the nurse away. “Not a prodigy!” he yelled. Grabbing the doctor, he pulled her back from the stretcher, dragging her to the opposite side of the waiting area before anyone could think to stop him. “It can’t be a prodigy healer. He needs a doctor—a regular doctor!”
The male nurse stood over Max’s unconscious body, stunned. They were all speechless—the nurses, the receptionists, the waiting patients and their families—all gawking at Adrian as if he’d lost his mind.
“Not a prodigy?” the nurse finally stammered. “What do you mean, you don’t want a prodigy healer?”
“Just do it!” Panic rattled inside his skull until he could barely see, barely think, barely breathe. “Don’t you have any civilian doctors?”
“Not in the ER!” the receptionist shouted back, as if such a request was the definition of inconceivable.
“Then get one from somewhere else!” Adrian shouted back. “Hurry!”
The weakened doctor was escorted away. Hot, furious tears blurred Adrian’s vision. Hurry, hurry, what was taking them so long—
His thoughts stilled. A realization struck him like a bullet.
They could use a prodigy doctor … if that doctor was immune. If Adrian had the Vitality Charm.
But he’d given it to Simon. It was at home, or Simon still had it, and though Adrian’s thoughts spun with desperation, he couldn’t fathom how he could find it and bring it back here in time to make any difference.
A new physician in a white coat burst through the doors, harried and breathless at having been called to the ER, which was clearly the domain of prodigy healers only.
The doctor approached the stretcher and began shouting orders. A second later, Max was being whisked away, back into the sterile yellow corridors of the hospital. Adrian could no longer detect his breathing at all.
“Save him,” he yelled after them, pleading. “Please. Whatever you have to do. Just save him.”
Maybe it was his tone, or maybe it was the sight of Max’s blood. Either way, the doctor’s frenzied expression gave way to something almost kind. Then he turned his back and the doors swung shut, rattling back and forth a few times before falling still.
Adrian spun toward the receptionist. He noticed for the first time how everyone in the room had moved away from him, crowding against the walls.
“Look,” he said, “that kid is a Renegade, and a ward of Captain Chromium and the Dread Warden. They have to save him.”
The receptionist inhaled deeply. “We are professionals, sir. They will do everything they can.”
Shoulders drooping, Adrian stepped away. All his strength left him at once and he slumped onto a nearby bench. It groaned beneath the weight of the suit.
Adrian knew he was being watched. Everyone in the waiting room was staring at him, trying to decide if they should be scared, or if they should alert the Renegades … if they hadn’t already.
He didn’t much care what they decided about him or who came to arrest him. He collapsed over his knees, gripping the sides of his helmet in both hands. The suit felt like a wall around him, separating him from the world. He had built this sanctuary for himself, and now he was alone with his thoughts, and his fears, and the jumbled, chaotic memories of all that had happened.
He was shaking, and his mind returned to anger, because it was the easiest emotion to embrace at the moment. Anger at himself, for not being faster. Anger at Nightmare for daring to attack a kid. Just a kid. Anger at the hospital for not being prepared, for taking too long to get a doctor to help. Even more anger at himself for not having the medallion with him so that first healer could have done something.
His thoughts spun to Nova, and how she believed that society was too reliant on prodigies. People expected a Renegade to be around to help them whenever they needed it. To solve all their problems for them.
Maybe she was right. Maybe they depended too much on superheroes. And what if that dependence cost Max his life?
The memory returned to him, agonizing and sharp. Nightmare crouched over Max’s body, her hands covered in his blood.
Adrian’s fingers curled into fists.
Why hadn’t she been weakened by his power? It didn’t make sense.
He would find out. He would uncover her secrets, once and for all. About Max. About the helmet. About her knowledge of his mother’s murder.
And then he would find her and annihilate her.
He heard a commotion outside and leaped to his feet. Sirens were wailing, the familiar sound of Renegade patrols on the move.
He glanced at a nearby door that led to a stairwell.
Simon and Hugh would be there for Max, and Simon could give his medallion to any healer who needed it. They could explain its significance and the nature of Max’s ability.
Max didn’t need Adrian to be there anymore, and he wasn’t ready for this confrontation.
He caught sight of flashing lights through the broken glass door, and then Captain Chromium and the Dread Warden were barreling toward him. The rest of the Council was absent, and through a fog, Adrian remembered Ace Anarchy, unconscious in the catacombs.
Clenching his fists, Adrian bolted through the nearest door and launched himself up the stairwell, heading for the roof.
He couldn’t hold on to his secret for much longer. There would be consequences for all the choices he had made, the rules he had broken.
But for now, the Sentinel still had a job to do.
Nightmare was alive and she needed to be stopped.
He would not give up the Sentinel until she was destroyed.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
PHOBIA WAS WAITING for them outside the row house on Wallowridge. And all the cheering and euphoria that had overtaken them during their drive vanished with four simple words.
The Renegades took Ace.
Nova’s heart squeezed. She didn’t—couldn’t—believe it. Phobia told them everything, and all celebration ceased.
Leroy turned on the car radio and they all stood there, listening, unwilling to believe.
The journalists were beyond themselves, talking a million miles per minute as they repeated every tiny, trivial detail of the capture. The fact that Ace Anarchy was still alive at all was a shock to them, and to know that he had been found and brought into custody … not by the Renegades, though a patrol unit had arrived to take the villain to headquarters.
No. Ace had been captured by the Sentinel.
Even thinking his name made Nova’s skin crawl with loathing.
Finally, when they
could no longer deny the truth of the reports, they trudged through the front door, full of disbelief.
Honey brushed past Nova and headed up the groaning, angry steps. The bedroom door slammed and, seconds later, Nova could hear the start of her wails. For the first time, Nova couldn’t write them off as Honey’s knack for melodrama.
“You did well tonight, little Nightmare,” Leroy said, settling a hand on Nova’s shoulder.
She didn’t respond, and soon he, too, clopped up the steps to his room. The door closed on squeaking hinges.
Phobia lingered a minute longer, his presence haunting the corners of the room. He didn’t say anything. For once, Nova had no fears that he could possibly comment on.
All her worst fears had come true.
The Renegades had Ace. Despite everything, she had failed.
Finally, he too vanished, transforming into a colony of bats and soaring out through the door. It slammed shut in his wake, rattling the weary house.
Nova stood a few paces in from the entryway and stared.
At the garish paisley wallpaper.
At the moth-eaten furniture.
At the nothingness that was supposed to be her home.
The helmet hung from one hand, her fingers punctured through the eye holes like a bowling ball. It no longer felt light and unobtrusive, and as the shadows slowly gave way to the dusty light of early morning, Nova let the helmet fall.
It thumped anticlimactically against the carpet and rolled beneath the coffee table.
Nova let out a shaking breath.
She had failed.
Ace was captured. Ace was gone.
A chime echoed through the silent house, startling Nova from her thoughts. Her communication band. She found it in the kitchen. Her hand was shaking as she picked it up and scrolled through countless messages from Adrian and the rest of the team, and even a global communication sent out from the Council, confirming the truth of the media reports.
Ace Anarchy is alive and he is in custody.
The Sentinel was responsible for his capture.
The Sentinel’s identity remains unknown.
The most recent messages were all about Nightmare, also confirmed alive, and the theft of Ace Anarchy’s helmet, and the destruction wrought upon headquarters.
The messages said nothing about Frostbite and her team.
They said nothing about Max.
Nova read the alerts about Nightmare more closely, trying to determine if she’d been discovered or not. She hadn’t been overly concerned with keeping her identity concealed tonight, believing that by the end of it, Ace would have his helmet back and her charade as a Renegade would be over.
Now she couldn’t fathom what would happen next. How long before they figured her out?
She thought of Danna’s butterfly, still trapped inside the jar upstairs. If it ever escaped, then Nova’s secret would be revealed for sure. And there were a thousand other little lies piling up all around her. A thousand signs pointing to Nova. To Nightmare.
How long did she have before they knew?
Before Adrian knew.
She dropped the wristband onto the table and braced her palms against the back of a chair. Eyes closed, she inhaled deeply. Counted to ten. Exhaled.
Then she went upstairs to change. Honey did not speak, so neither did she as she stripped out of Nightmare’s costume, covered in blood and sweat and small shards of glass.
She set her face mask on the vanity, right next to Danna’s butterfly.
She could barely look at either of them.
She had to get Ace out. That was all there was to it. The thought made her want to sob, but she bottled it deep inside. Because if that’s what had to be done, then that’s what she would do. She wouldn’t complain about all the work and planning that had gone into tonight. She wouldn’t think of how everything was wasted. She wouldn’t feel sorry for herself.
She would lift her chin. She would keep fighting.
She went back downstairs, leaving Honey to her solitude. They all wanted solitude. Nova sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the vase of dead flowers, her heart breaking.
It could not all be for nothing. She wouldn’t let the Renegades win. She wouldn’t let the Council get away with their lies, their broken promises.
And she would not be beaten by the Sentinel.
A knock made her jump. She stood and stared at the front door, choking on her heart. She waited for it to be blown in by the forces of an army of superheroes. She pictured Captain Chromium’s fist smashing through the door, leaving it in splinters, or Tsunami’s tidal wave bursting through the window and flooding the house.
But the only attack that came was a second pounding on the door, more determined this time.
Then, Adrian’s voice. “Nova—it’s me. I know you’re awake. Please, let me in.”
Her saliva became sticky inside her mouth.
Adrian.
Sweet, handsome, brilliant Adrian Everhart.
He knew. He must know. How could she face him? How could she stand to see the look in his eyes when he demanded she tell him the truth? When he dared her to lie to him again?
“Nova? Are you home?”
Her gaze landed on the helmet.
Crossing the living room floor, she stooped and picked it up from the dreary carpet and spent a few seconds turning in aimless circles, trying to determine where to hide it. She settled on the coat closet, jamming the helmet in amid Leroy’s trench coat and Honey’s furs.
Inhaling a deep breath, she crossed to the door and gripped the knob. Upstairs, Honey’s sobs had fallen quiet. The entire house felt deserted.
She pulled open the door.
Adrian was a wreck. His bow tie was gone, and his dress shirt was rumpled and covered in smudges of dirt. His gaze latched on to her, haunted and exhausted.
But not accusatory.
She didn’t dare hope.
“Can I come in?” he said, almost meek.
She licked her lips with her sandpaper tongue and stepped inside.
He moved past her and walked straight into the kitchen. Nova held her breath as he passed the closet. The latch, which never closed firmly, clicked. The door drifted open, just a few inches.
Adrian didn’t notice. His movements were sluggish as he pulled back a chair and collapsed into it.
“I’m sorry,” he said when Nova caught up to him. She stayed in the doorway, terrified. That Honey would make a sound. That some of her bees would fly down from the stairwell and start traipsing across the cabinets. That Adrian’s melancholy was an act, meant to lure her into false security. “I know I can’t just keep showing up here but … I needed to talk to someone, and I knew you would be awake, so…” His voice snagged and she noted the bruised circles beneath his eyes, almost hidden by the frames of his glasses.
The night had been long for them both.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “How is your uncle?”
Her heart squeezed.
Captured. Imprisoned. Gone.
But then she remembered the excuse she’d given Adrian when she was leaving the gala—that her uncle hadn’t been feeling well and she needed to go check on him.
“Fine,” she stammered. “He’s fine.”
Adrian was silent for a long time. His gaze was fixed on her across the room and Nova couldn’t tell what the look meant. Was he inspecting her for the truth? Searching for signs of Nightmare?
“Have you heard?” Adrian said. “About … Ace Anarchy? And Nightmare?”
She shivered. “I was just checking my messages. It’s true then?”
He nodded. Folding his hands, he bent over his knees, peering at the cracked linoleum floor. “Yeah, it’s all true. We got Ace, but she got away, and … she took the helmet.” A wry laugh fell from him. “I should have listened to you, Nova. We all should have listened to you. You tried to tell us that it wasn’t secure, but my dads … we were so arrogant about it. And now … now it’s with them.”
Nova dug her fingers into her own thigh to keep from looking back over her shoulder. Toward the closet.
“But we have Ace Anarchy,” said Adrian. “That’s something.” He lifted his head, staring blankly at the wall. “Ruby and Oscar were there when the Council came to collect him. They said they’re already planning to have him neutralized, publicly, when they reveal Agent N to the world. He’ll be their shining example of how necessary Agent N is, and what it can do.”
“When?” Nova whispered. “When will that happen?”
“I don’t know. I doubt they’ll wait long.”
His chin started to quiver, startling Nova. “Did you hear … do you know about Max?”
His voice broke and Nova’s blood ran cold. She saw Max again, the ice spear puncturing his skin, the blood coating the floor.
He was dead. He was dead. He was dead.
And it was her fault, at least in part. Her fault.
“No,” she breathed, not wanting to hear him say it. Not wanting to know the truth.
Adrian extended his arms and Nova couldn’t resist the pull of them. She went to him and he wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face into her stomach. Tears pricked at Nova’s eyes and though her body tried to rebel at the intimacy of the touch, she couldn’t stop the impulse to cradle his head and shoulders, to hold him closer.
“He’s in the hospital,” he said, as the tears started in force. “She tried to kill him. Nightmare tried to kill him.”
Hospital.
Tried.
“Is he…”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. But he has to live. He has to be okay. If anything happens to him…” His words dissolved. Nova held him, feeling the damp tears through her shirt, the trembling of his shoulders under her fingers.
“He’ll be all right,” she said, willing herself to believe it too. “It’ll be okay.”
“I’m going to destroy her. I’m going to find Nightmare, and I’m going to destroy her.” He curled his fingers into the back of Nova’s shirt, gathering the material into his fists. “Nova … will you help me?”
Grimacing, Nova turned her head toward the front room. Through the doorway, she saw the edge of the coat closet. The dingy wood trim around the doorjamb. The carpet worn nearly to the floorboards beneath.
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