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Danna whistled under her breath. “You two are impossible,” she muttered. “In fact, all four of you are driving me nuts.”
She blinked at Adrian, whose dark expression from before had disappeared. He was grinning—that open, heart-stopping smile that she absolutely loathed.
The most surprising thing was how easy it was. If that made her a Renegade, fine. Because she believed it made her an Anarchist too.
She didn’t know what the material was. As far as she was aware, it didn’t have a name, and she wasn’t about to tell Callum that it was made from solidified bands of ethereal energy only her father had been able to access. Just like she wasn’t about to tell him that it was made from the same stuff the helmet was.
Here she was, dwelling on an almost-kiss, and Adrian wanted to talk about the time she’d killed someone.
“A true queen is made not in times of prosperity, but in times of hardship.”
Her heart thumped as a bewildering thought occurred to her. Sweet rot. What if it actually worked?
“Meh.” He waved a hand through the air, his expression clearing. “It’s probably a good thing. Spontaneous combustion is cool and all, but not great for the workplace.”
“I’m sorry. People have told me I’m boring when I talk about this stuff, but sometimes it’s so frustrating to go through life seeing all of this.” He spread his arms wide, as if he could embrace the city below. “There are so many things to marvel at. How could anyone want to hurt it? How can people wake up every morning and not think—look, the sun is still there! And I’m still here! This is incredible!” He laughed and turned to Nova again. “If I could just make everyone see … I mean, for more than just a minute, then … I don’t know. I can’t help but think that then we could all start working
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If it were up to her … if she could change the future of the world … she would make it so there were no superpowers at all. No more heroes. No more villains. Just humanity, powerless and vulnerable, all struggling through life together.
Twenty-four hours was more than enough time for something to go wrong.
Then she hurried back up the stairs, a star on her wrist, a medallion tucked beneath her shirt, and a cruel twinge of giddiness fluttering inside her chest.
He hadn’t ruined it—whatever it was. This new terrifying, wonderful thing.
“Appreciated,” said Nova. “But surely not … idolized.” Adrian grinned at her. “That’s human nature, isn’t it? People want to put someone on a pedestal.
Thats called idolatry
And though he knew, logically, that there wasn’t a person on this planet who needed his protection less than Nova McLain did, he couldn’t help the overwhelming desire to protect her anyway. To keep her from ever having to suffer like that again.
“This would be a good time to indicate whether or not I should call for backup.” But the butterfly didn’t answer, of course. She couldn’t understand him anyway.
Nova held one of her own inventions in her hand. A blow-dart gun … disguised as an innocent fountain pen. Aftershock chuckled. “You gonna compose a love letter for me?” “A eulogy, maybe.”
Phobia lingered a minute longer, his presence haunting the corners of the room. He didn’t say anything. For once, Nova had no fears that he could possibly comment on. All her worst fears had come true. The Renegades had Ace. Despite everything, she had failed.
