“That’s funny,” said the Sentinel, without humor, “I’ve often thought the same of you.”
Nova relaxed her hold on the gun. She could see her suspicions mirrored on Frostbite’s face. His words suggested that he knew her, and not in a generic has-seen-her-in-the-papers sort of way.
“We are here on official Renegade business,” said Frostbite. “If you try to stop us, we’ll be plenty happy to arrest you too.”
A gauntlet of orange-tipped flames began to lick around the Sentinel’s left hand. “You’re not the only one on official Renegade business. The difference is that I take my orders direct from the Council itself.”
Nova scooted forward, not wanting to miss a word. She found herself staring at the chest plate of his armor. Was it a trick of the dim lighting in the tunnels, or the angle from the top of the train car? From here, it appeared that the gash in his shoulder armor was gone.
Her frown deepened. She’d stabbed him, right between the shoulder and the breastplate, yet she couldn’t see any sign of damage there. No blood dried onto the suit’s exterior. He wasn’t even acting wounded. Perhaps a little stiff in some of his movements, but not nearly as incapacitated as he should have been after a wound like that.
It was yet one more mystery about the so-called Sentinel, and one more shred of evidence that he was not a normal Renegade. That he was something new. A soldier? An assassin? A weapon created by the Council, to be used for missions too nefarious to be assigned to a typical superhero?
“Direct from the Council?” said Frostbite, barking a laugh. “Do you think I’m an idiot? No one at headquarters has even heard of you. You’re an impostor. And that”—she lifted the shard of ice over her shoulder—“makes you an enemy.”
“Or it means you’re too low on the pay scale to be told everything we’ve been working on,” said the Sentinel.
Frostbite seemed to hesitate, and Nova could see a tinge of doubt creep into her face.
“Whereas I,” continued the Sentinel, “know that you were sent here for two reasons: to determine whether or not any other member of the Anarchists were involved with the Puppeteer’s attack, and to find out their connection to Nightmare.” He tilted his head, and Nova had the impression he was glancing at Ingrid, who was still encapsulated in ice from the neck down. Her teeth were chattering. “I take it you haven’t learned much.”
Frostbite’s nostrils flared.
The Sentinel suddenly sprang upward, smashing down on the platform feet away from Frostbite. She stumbled back a step but quickly regained her balance. Behind her, Gargoyle, Aftershock, and Stingray all stood, defensive and ready to attack, though no one had moved. It was clear that the Sentinel’s claim to be there on the Council’s orders had given them all pause.
“Release the Detonator,” he said, opening his fist. The flames extinguished. “Then you and your team are free to leave. I am taking over this investigation.”
Frostbite let out a disbelieving laugh. She twirled the ice shard once, but then let her arm fall, planting the shard like a walking stick into the cracked concrete. “If the Council wants to call us off, they can tell us themselves.”
“They did,” said the Sentinel. “Too bad the reception down here is so horrible. You could have saved yourself this embarrassment.”
Frostbite only looked more suspicious, but Stingray and Aftershock glanced down at the identical black bands that snaked around their wrists. Nova bit her lip. She had often wondered about the bracelets that Renegade patrol units wore. Were they some sort of communication device?
“As it is,” continued the Sentinel, “I’ll refrain from informing your superiors about the many, many codes you’ve broken tonight. But not if you waste any more of my time.”
Fingers drumming against her shard of ice, Frostbite shifted her gaze from the visor to the red R imprinted on the Sentinel’s chest. Her face turned sour, but no less haughty. “Fine,” she spat. “There’s nothing more to be learned here anyway.” She tossed the ice shard to the side. It shattered against a wall.
Striding past the Sentinel, she gestured for her team to follow her.
“Release the Detonator,” called the Sentinel.
“Release her yourself,” she retorted. “And if she repays you by blowing a hole in that fancy suit, don’t come crying to me about it.”
Nova watched the Sentinel as the four Renegades disappeared into the tunnel that would lead them back to the surface. She desperately wished she could see his face—to know if he was relieved or angry, annoyed or grateful. But she could read nothing in his posture, which was the picture of comic-book heroism. Tall and stoic, shoulders peeled back, hands clenched at his sides.
Slowly, he shifted his head to look at Ingrid and let out a frustrated huff. He seemed to consider his options for a long, irritating moment, before he finally stretched his hand out and released a thin, steady stream of flames toward the block of ice. He aimed for the thickest parts around her feet, letting it slowly melt away.
Nova’s mind reeled. She couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit grateful that he had come when he had, but still, despite his obvious dislike of Frostbite and her crew, she wasn’t na?ve enough to think that he had suddenly become an ally.
He was a Renegade, and one working for the Council. A top-secret project that the rest of the organization was unaware of.
Something told her they might have just traded one threat for an even bigger one.