“Has an investigation started yet?” asked Adrian. “The Puppeteer wasn’t acting alone. More Anarchists might have been there too—and Nightmare was on the rooftops.” He frowned at Hugh. “She was after you.”
“I’m fine,” said Hugh, scratching his temple. Adrian knew that’s where the dart had struck him, but there wasn’t even a mark.
“I can see that,” he said, “but still, she tried to assassinate you today—and she almost succeeded. And she took down Thunderbird. This girl … she keeps cropping up, and I really don’t think she’s working alone.”
“Neither do we,” said Simon. “We’re looking into it, but so far there’s no solid evidence that Nightmare is with the Anarchists or any other gang affiliation, new or old. She could have just gotten lucky to be able to use Winston’s balloon for a convenient getaway. And without evidence—”
Adrian muttered dully, “—it’s against the code to go after them.”
“If we don’t mind the rules, then we’ll be just like them,” said Hugh.
Adrian didn’t respond. Back when the Renegades had first formed, they didn’t have to play by any rules—there were no rules to play by. They were more like vigilantes than law enforcers, and they certainly weren’t lawmakers. They did what needed to be done in order to make the world a better, safer place. Even if that meant blackmailing someone for information, or infiltrating a hideout because they thought there was something suspicious going on—with or without hard evidence.
There were days when Adrian thought things were better that way. When superheroes were left to be superheroes, not leaders.
Maybe that’s why the idea of the Sentinel appealed to him. There was a freedom in anonymity. There was power in not having to answer to anyone.
Except, as today had shown, that didn’t mean there weren’t consequences.
“Try not to worry so much,” said Simon, and Adrian realized he’d been scowling. “We had Nightmare’s weapon sent over earlier for examination. We’ll see if it turns up anything useful.”
“She’s just a newbie villain, trying to earn herself some credibility,” added Hugh. “We’ve handled a lot worse.”
Adrian couldn’t argue with that. They’d taken down Ace Anarchy himself, among countless others. Still, something told him that Nightmare wasn’t to be ignored. As far as he knew, that one dart had come closer to killing Captain Chromium than anything had before.
Simon looked up at the wall of screens, flashing between images of the Puppeteer, Nightmare waving from the basket of the hot-air balloon, and, every once in a while, the Sentinel.
Hugh followed Simon’s gaze, frowning at the image of the armored prodigy. “Speaking of investigations, what do we know about him?”
Though they were surrounded by reporters, assistants, and patrol teams, no one answered.
Adrian scratched his chest, where the zipper tattoo was hidden, where the Sentinel was tucked safely away. “My team saw him when they were facing off against Nightmare. The Sentinel was after her too.”
Hugh glanced at him. “Did they see him use any abilities?”
“I … think so. Yeah.” He swallowed. “Oscar thought maybe he’s a product out of research and development?”
“Would be news to me,” Simon muttered. “I’ll talk to Oscar and Ruby, see what we can figure out.” A sudden clarity entered his eyes. “I heard about Danna. Is she all right?”
Adrian stiffened. He could still feel the warmth of his own fire. Could still see those butterflies blackening and disintegrating before his eyes. “The healers say she will be.”
Simon squeezed Adrian’s shoulder, and he knew it was meant to be fatherly and comforting, but something about it made him feel worse. Not only about Danna, but also because he had already decided he couldn’t tell them that he was the Sentinel. Not yet.
Hugh turned away, facing the crowd. “Listen up,” he said, in that deep, heroic voice that could have made an earthworm stand at attention. “If anyone knows anything about this prodigy who calls himself the Sentinel, bring that information to the Council. As far as we know, he isn’t one of us…” He paused, his steely-blue eyes cutting across the room, just in case anyone wanted to step forward and confess right then that, by golly, it was me all along! Avoiding his father’s gaze, Adrian glanced up at Max, who was watching them from the quarantine.
Hugh continued. “But he is using our symbol and our name. I want to know his motives. If he’s an enemy, I want to know who he’s working with. If he’s an ally … I want to know why he’s not working with us.”
He turned to Adrian and flashed his signature Captain Chromium smile, the one that, even after all these years, still made Adrian feel like he was looking at a picture on a cereal box. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll be at the trials.”
“Mr. Everhart, Mr. Westwood.” A woman in a white lab coat and sneakers made her way across the lobby, carrying a clipboard. “May I have a moment? We’ve finished our preliminary tests on the chemical solution that was inside that projectile dart.”
Hugh and Simon joined her and started heading back in the direction she’d come from. Adrian followed, pretending he’d been invited, as the rest of the crowd dispersed.
“We don’t have a run yet on the physical casing of the projectile,” said the woman, flipping a page on her clipboard. “But the solution was nearly identical to poisons that have been traced to Cyanide in the past.”
“Cyanide,” said Hugh. “Leroy Flinn?”
The woman nodded.
“An Anarchist,” said Adrian.
They paused and turned back, and all three seemed surprised that he was still there.
Sighing, Hugh turned back to the technician. “Nothing on the gun yet?”
She started to shake her head, but hesitated. “This isn’t confirmed, but it carried manufacturing marks similar to some we’ve apprehended from nonaffiliated criminals. Black market, if I had to guess.”
“Could be a new dealer in the city,” said Hugh, stroking his chin.