One false identity. A name, an address, a past.
A single chance for Nova to enter the Renegade trials and become their spy.
“Don’t forget to sign the application,” said Millie.
Turning to the last page, Nova pressed the application against the top of the copy machine and clicked the ballpoint pen.
“McLain,” Millie reminded her.
Inhaling deeply, she scrawled a signature across the bottom line. Nova Jean McLain.
She held the pen back to her, but instead of taking it, Millie grasped Nova’s forearm and yanked her closer. Nova’s body tensed, readying for a fight, but the woman merely bent over her wrist, inspecting the bracelet.
“David Artino’s work?” she murmured, her voice tinged with awe. She traced one finger along the chain of the bracelet. Her lashes fluttered, her brow knitting as if in deep concentration. “He was indeed a master.” She flipped Nova’s arm over and shot her a sly look, tapping her pinkie nail against the bracelet’s clasp. “And he certainly was a handsome young man, wasn’t he?”
“Excuse me?” Nova stammered.
Leroy turned a mildly interested look toward Nova. “What handsome young man?”
“I don’t…” Nova hesitated, picturing a relaxed smile and warm fingers wrapped softly around her wrist. She scowled and ripped her arm away from Millie. “No one. He was no one. Just some guy.”
Tittering, Millie took the pen from her. “That’s all, then. Good luck, Insomnia.”
Still frowning, Nova snapped the folder closed. “Yeah, thanks.”
She turned, winding her way back through the cabin. Leroy shuffled after her, moving slow as not to knock over any of the teetering piles.
“Out of curiosity,” said Millie, when they were nearly to the door, “what will you do about the fingerprints?”
Nova glanced back. “Fingerprints?”
“We’ll take care of it,” said Leroy. Reaching past Nova, he shoved open the door, letting in a surge of salted air.
“They need fingerprints?” said Nova, stepping back onto the dock. The boathouse door slammed shut behind them, and a second later, she heard the click of a lock.
Leroy scuttled past her, his head ducked against the spray coming off the water. “They will run a fingerprint scan at the trials, yes.”
Nova followed after him. “But … the gun. They have the gun I used at the parade. They must have tested it for prints and entered them into their database by now. If they scan me at the trials, they’ll know.”
“If the prints match.”
“Of course they’ll match!” She paused. “Wait. Why wouldn’t they match?”
Leroy’s footsteps quickened as he made his way up the dock, back to the shore and the road, eager to get out of the blustering wind. Nova kept pace, waiting, but he still had said nothing by the time they reached the car and slipped inside.
“Leroy,” said Nova, shutting her door. “Why wouldn’t the prints match?”
He did not look at her as he said, “Because we are going to alter yours.”
Her fingertips tingled with subtle apprehension. “How?”
Leroy turned to her with a hesitant look, like he knew he should have brought this up before. But before he could respond, Nova figured out precisely how he meant to alter her fingerprints.
Her gaze dropped down to the hand he had settled compulsively on the car’s stick shift. “Oh.”
“The pain will be tolerable,” he said, in what was perhaps meant to be comforting.
But it wasn’t the pain that worried her. “Won’t it be suspicious? To go in there with mutilated fingerprints?”
“Not as suspicious as a perfect match to the prints on that gun would be.”
She gave him a wry look.
Leroy sighed. “We will make sure you have a plausible explanation,” he said. “But … if you don’t want to do it…”
“Of course I’ll do it,” she said, more angrily than she’d intended. “It will hardly be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Leroy gave her a look that bordered on pity, then he lifted his hand, like he intended to give her a high five. The dome light inside the car hadn’t clicked off yet, and under its sickly yellow glow, Nova could see the poison start to leach out of his skin. First beading up in tiny pinpricks, then oozing together until his fingertips were coated in a blackish film. Nova didn’t know if it was some sort of poison or acid that his body discharged, or some chemical entirely unique to his own physiology.
It didn’t much matter.
She inhaled, bracing herself. Then she lifted her own hand and pressed her fingers into his.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE ARENA WAS ALREADY THUNDERING with chants and stomping feet, and the trials hadn’t even started yet. Adrian stood leaning against the wall just inside the opening that led out onto the field, looking around as the bleachers filled with people. The crowd was full of bright red signs handed out at the entrance, one side printed with HERO, the other—ZERO.
That was part of the fun, he supposed, for the non-prodigies who came to watch the trials. Though the decision of who was accepted into the Renegades was ultimately up to the teams themselves, the crowd could pretend to have a say by holding up their signs when each contestant went onto the field.