“Adrian?” she said again, more forcefully this time.
He swallowed. “Ace Anarchy,” he said. “He stole that power from Ace Anarchy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
NOVA HAD BEEN CONSTRAINED to a bed in the medical wing for nine hours already and she was anything but happy about it. She hadn’t slept a wink, but the healers thought it was important to keep her for at least twenty-four hours and, ideally, up to as long as seventy-two hours, so they could see what sort of symptoms she might suffer from after being exposed to Max.
When they first told her that, she laughed. Seventy-two hours? Stuck, here, in a bed? Without sleeping? With nothing more to keep her busy than a stack of Gatlon Gazettes and a television screen that seemed to only show the news, which was itself a constant bombardment of negativity about how the Renegades had handled the situation at the library? When they couldn’t even be bothered to give her one of the private rooms?
She thought not.
She insisted that she felt fine, but they kept impressing on her that she couldn’t possibly know yet whether or not her powers were compromised. Even if she felt energized and awake now, it could be a result of adrenaline and her body’s internal clock righting itself. Most people felt perfectly fine at one in the afternoon, and most people could will themselves to stay awake for days at a time before their body forced them to take the rest they needed. It was simply too early to tell whether or not Nova was still a prodigy.
While she understood this logic, it did not temper her frustration. If she could only get out of here, it would take her about five minutes to hop on a city bus, find some unsuspecting passenger, and use her real ability to put them to sleep. Then she would know for sure whether or not her powers were functional. It would be infinitely more efficient than being stuck here, doing nothing.
On top of that, Adrian didn’t have to stay in the medical wing. They argued it was because he’d already demonstrated that his gift was intact, but Nova suspected he was being given some leeway from the rules because he was, you know, Adrian Everhart.
Nova was grumbling to herself, scanning over the newspaper headlines again in case there might be some she had skipped before but that had suddenly become more appealing in the face of her boredom, when a knock pulled her attention upward.
Monarch stood at the foot of her bed, her fist still raised against the metal framing that held the privacy curtains. “Hey,” she said with a small, uncertain smile. “I heard about what happened last night. Thought I’d bring you a care package.” She held up a paper bag.
Nova gaped at her. For a long time. Longer than was probably polite. It felt like a trap. So far, the only interaction she’d had with Danna was down in the training hall, and she’d left unsure whether or not Danna liked or trusted her.
Finally, she forced herself to sit up, pushing her back against the pillows. She eyed the bag warily. “Thanks?”
Danna started to laugh and came closer, plopping the bag on the mattress against Nova’s legs. “The food here isn’t awful, but it’s not exactly amazing, either. Ruby kept me well supplied while I was in recovery, so I thought I could pay it forward.” She rummaged through the bag, pulling out a few choice items to show Nova. “I didn’t know if you were sweet, salty, or none of the above, so I brought an assortment. Some pretzels, some chocolate, some dried fruit chips if that’s your thing. And most important—reading material. Because one can only read the Gazette for so long before we are left bitter and disheartened.” She reached into the depths of the bag and retrieved four paperback books, each with curling covers and flimsy spines, looking like they had been well loved over time. “One thriller, one romance, one nonfiction”—she lifted up the nonfiction book, which showed a large warship on the cover—“in case you like history. This was my dad’s. I’m honestly not sure if it’s any good. And lastly, my personal favorite.” The final book depicted an armor-clad woman riding a dragon. “Don’t judge the cheesy artwork. The story is genius.”
She stacked the books on the tray beside Nova’s bed.
“Thanks?” Nova said again, not quite sure how to handle this random show of kindness. “Are you fully healed now?”
Danna glanced down, rubbing her side. Beneath the uniform Nova could make out a slight bulge along her ribs, where there must still have been bandaging over the burns.
“Almost,” said Danna, pushing back her dreadlocks. “They say I’ll be able to go back on the field again in a couple days. Just a few more sessions with the healers and I should be back to … well, not a hundred percent, but as good as it’s gonna get.”
“Why not a hundred percent?” said Nova. “Everyone talks about the healers here like they’re miracle workers.”
“Well, they are—to a degree. I mean, having a doctor with supernatural healing abilities is still better than … I don’t know, applying ice packs and calendula oil, or whatever old-fashioned stuff they used to treat burns with. But they can’t bring back the lepidopterans that were incinerated in the flames, and as a result, I’ll always have some pretty gnarly scar tissue happening through here.”
Nova lifted an eyebrow. “You call them lepidopterans?”
Grinning, Danna shrugged, only slightly self-conscious. “Sometimes I worry that calling them butterflies all the time undermines how remarkable of an ability it really is. Like saying, hey, I can turn into rainbows and daisies! Cool, huh?”
The corners of Nova’s lips twitched upward, and Danna seemed to take this as a sign that it would be all right for her to sink into the visitor’s chair.