CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CAUTION TAPE HAD BEEN STRUNG across the entrance to the Blackmire Way subway station, where Ingrid had blown a gaping hole into the wall the day the Anarchists had fled. Nova ducked beneath it and pressed one hand to the side of the stairwell as she made her way into the shadows. Her feet felt heavy; her body ached. But she had a singularity of purpose now. Something she should have done twenty-four hours ago, before she was distracted with plotting fake deaths and Renegade investigations and the all-encompassing hunt for Nightmare.
Nightmare, her alter ego.
Who had been officially declared dead, according to the accounts she’d picked up peering into apartment windows and staring at the news on their TV screens. Her death was headlining the news that night, though it was almost matched by reports of the casualties at Cosmopolis Park—so far, thirty-six casualties were confirmed, but no fatalities. Thunderbird was being heralded as a hero for rescuing the riders aboard the rollercoaster. Ironically, Insomnia was receiving praise, too, for having killed the Detonator before she could cause more destruction. The rest of the Renegade organization, however, was already being criticized for not having responded quickly enough to the threat.
Once it became too dark to see even the faint gleam of the metal rails, Nova pulled a micro-flare from her pocket, snapped it with her teeth, and tossed it over the edge to the platform below. It hit concrete and rolled for a bit before coming to a stop feet away from the ledge.
This had been Winston’s platform, but his tents were gone, carted away by the Renegades. Evidence of some sort.
Probably Nova would be expected to tag them for data and catalog them in the database one of these nights. She wondered whether they’d ever found Honey’s trunk of clothes or what they had decided to do with all the chemicals and poisons Leroy had left behind. Had they been confiscated, or destroyed? Perhaps they were all at headquarters. Probably, if she’d been doing her due diligence as an adequate spy, she would have known the answers to these questions by now.
Her boots hit the bottom of the steps, crunching on chunks of gravel and debris from the tunnel that had been collapsed by another of Ingrid’s bombs, while Renegades chased after them. Dust covered the space, so thick that it almost felt like entering a lost tomb.
Tomb.
The word stuck in her head and might have made her laugh at the irony if she wasn’t so drained. So ready to do what she had come here to do and start preparing for what would come next.
What would have to come next.
A new plan. A new strategy. A new focus going forward.
Her stomach had been in knots since she’d left Adrian. The day had wreaked havoc on her state of mind. There had been far too many moments when she’d been caught up in his spell. His charming smiles, that adorable wrinkle between his brows, his infuriating, impeccable goodness.
For a short time, she’d almost enjoyed being with him. And not just that … she’d enjoyed being a Renegade.
But the words uttered so casually by Evander Wade had brought reality crashing back down around her.
Not every prodigy deserves their powers. It’s because of villains like her that we need Agent N.
Agent N.
An antidote, he’d called it.
An antidote that had to do with Max. The Bandit. The kid who could steal powers … who had stolen Ace’s power.
And suddenly, she had known. She knew why they were running so many tests on Max. She knew what they were developing behind closed doors. The Renegades wanted a way to rid prodigies of their powers. A way to punish any prodigy who didn’t join them.
The very idea of it made her blood run cold. Because, yes, maybe someone like Ingrid Thompson caused more harm than good, especially after a night like tonight. But where would that line be drawn? When someone refused to join the Renegades or attend the trials? Or when a prodigy disobeyed a law enforced by the Council, though the people had yet to receive any sort of vote or representation? Or maybe they would decide to remove powers based on the potential for violence or damage or even disloyalty?
She did not know where the line would be drawn, and she did not trust the Renegades to draw it.
Especially knowing that the Anarchists would be the first to be targeted.
She couldn’t allow it to happen. Ace had fought to save prodigies from oppression, and here the Renegades wanted to force them into a new type of harassment. A new form of persecution.
Nova had long believed that the world would be better off if there were no prodigies at all. Superpowers would always lead to conflict—the weak versus the strong. And so long as the people relied on superheroes to take care of them, they would never learn to stand on their own again. It was a downward spiral she feared they would never get out of.
And maybe, just maybe, this all would have been fine, except the Renegades hadn’t held up their end of the bargain. They promised to protect people, but crimes still happened every day. People were still hurt. People were still killed. And yes, the Renegades must shoulder the responsibility for this, but the people didn’t even seem to understand that their own despondency was as much at fault. They saw the Renegades as heroes, the Anarchists as villains. They saw prodigies themselves as only good or only evil, leaving the rest of humanity somewhere in the realm of neutral.
There was the potential for evil everywhere, and the only way to combat it was if more people chose goodness. If more people chose heroism.
Not laziness. Not apathy. Not indifference.
But nothing would change so long as the Council was in charge. This, she knew. They would go on getting stronger. The people would go on getting weaker. And no one else would recognize how flawed this system was until it was too late.
During her time with the Renegades, Nova had started to lose herself.