Adrian blinked and finally, she sensed his resolve crumbling. Hope surged through her veins.
“Nova…,” he said finally, gently, “you were the only one on that rooftop with the Detonator and the Librarian. You might have insights into the Anarchists and their connections that would be lost on the rest of us. And let’s face it, you’re really observant. You might pick up on something that we would miss. So … I’m sorry, but I think we need you there.” He smiled hesitantly, as if to soften the denial of her request. “I promise, he isn’t a danger to us. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
She swallowed, wishing she could believe that was true.
He turned away, heading toward Ruby and Oscar, who were seated at a small table near the corner. Ruby’s plate was empty but for a few leftover shreds of lettuce, and Oscar was protecting his own plate from her as she attempted to stab one of his black olives with her fork.
“They have an entire bin full of olives!” Oscar shouted. He lifted his plate off the table, holding it as far out of her reach as possible. “Go get your own!”
“You don’t even like olives,” Ruby shot back, nearly falling into his lap as she leaned across him, fork jabbing at the air. “You only got them to taunt me!”
“Okay, lovebirds,” said Adrian, dropping the envelope onto the table.
Ruby immediately fell back into her chair, face reddening, whereas Oscar grinned, looking supremely pleased with the label.
“Our request has been granted. We have thirty minutes to prepare our questions.”
They both stared at him, confused.
“Request for what?” said Oscar, at the same time Ruby asked, “What questions?”
Adrian looked between them and sighed.
*
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Nova found herself trapped inside a metal room, sandwiched between Ruby and Adrian as they listened to the door locks clunking behind them. A second door stood opposite them—through which they would bring in the prisoner. A single table was bolted to the center of the floor, along with two chairs, one on each side. On the far side of the table were shackles, the thick wrist cuffs attached to metal domes that would fully enclose the hands, crafted especially for prodigies who needed use of their hands and fingers to manifest their abilities.
Had they suspected they would be facing the Detonator when they set up their surveillance on the library, Nova guessed the team would have been outfitted with similar handcuffs too, rather than the standard cuffs they’d been given.
“So…,” said Oscar, nodding at the nearest chair, “are you going to take that?”
Adrian shook his head. “Go for it.”
“I don’t need it,” said Oscar, with a casual, one-shouldered shrug. “You’re the head honcho here. If you want it—”
“Sit down, Oscar.”
Oscar scowled, and Nova could feel him bristling at Adrian’s abruptness. It was unlike Adrian, and suggested that he, too, was more nervous than he was trying to let show.
With a sigh, Adrian gestured at the chair. “I need you to play bad cop. The bad cop would take the chair, right?”
Nova smothered a smile. He made it seem so easy, diffusing the tension. Respecting their weaknesses—in this case, they all knew that Oscar’s body was still recovering from the exertion of the day before, even if he would never admit to how much he was hurting. But with this simple compromise, Adrian was also valuing the many ways Oscar contributed to the team, even if that contribution was simply Oscar’s talent for the dramatic. There had been times when Nova wondered if Adrian became a team leader because of his family name, but she was becoming more and more certain that he’d earned it.
Either way, his suggestion worked. With a proud tilt of his chin, Oscar settled himself into the chair, leaning the cane against the table. He crossed his arms stiffly over his chest. “Oh yeah,” he said, with a pleased nod. “Bad cop is ready.”
“Which of us is good cop?” said Ruby, glancing at Adrian and Nova in turn.
Nova couldn’t answer. Her mouth was so dry she was afraid trying to speak would only lead to the words gumming up on her tongue.
“I’m good cop,” said Adrian. He glanced at Nova. “You’re the observer. If you have something to say or add, jump in, but otherwise, I want you focused on any signs he might be lying … or telling the truth.”
“So who am I?” said Ruby.
Adrian grinned. “You’re the muscle.”
Ruby beamed, hopping excitedly from foot to foot as she loosened the wire on her wrist.
“Hold on,” said Oscar, glancing over his shoulder. “Maybe I wanted to be the muscle.”
Nova stared at Ruby’s bloodstone, glinting in the room’s dim lighting. “We’re not going to torture him, are we?”
They turned to her as one, each of their faces equally appalled.
“Great skies, Nova,” said Adrian. “We’re the good guys, remember?”
She sank back, not sure if she should be embarrassed by the question or not. It hadn’t seemed ridiculous when she’d asked it.
Across the room, they heard the clunking of more locking mechanisms. Nova’s body went rigid. She rubbed her damp palms down the sides of her uniform.
The door opened and two guards entered, leading Winston Pratt by his elbows. He was dressed in the black-and-white stripes of a prison jumpsuit. His wrists and ankles were both bound with chains and his usually jaunty step was weighed down, his shoulders tight, his arms squeezed in beside his body as if he were attempting to avoid the guards’ grip.
Nova was surprised to see that his makeup remained—or what she had always assumed was makeup, though she’d never seen him without it. The black paint around his eyes, the rosy circles on the apples of his cheeks, and the sharp lines drawn from the corners of his crimson mouth down his jaw, giving the effect of a wooden marionette. The lines were not even smudged.
For the first time, in all the years she’d known him, she wondered whether it was makeup at all or if his power really had transformed his face into that of a puppet.