ADRIAN AWOKE EARLY, all sense of tiredness wiped away the moment he opened his eyes. He didn’t normally consider himself a morning person, but as he sat up in bed he felt charged with energy. Like the day ahead was brimming with potential.
Not just because of the trials. Not just because they had a new teammate starting today—someone who he was pretty sure every other team on that field had regretted rejecting the moment she defeated Gargoyle.
But more than that, they had a new lead in the Nightmare case.
The night before he’d overheard his dads talking about the gun that Ruby had taken during the rooftop fight. Their investigations department had traced it to a guns dealer who had bought and sold a lot of weaponry during the Age of Anarchy, a man named Gene Cronin who went by the alias the Librarian. Not a particularly original name, as he had, in fact, operated a public library during the Age of Anarchy, and still did.
Adrian was sure they’d be assigning someone to investigate Cronin soon, maybe even today, and he was determined that he and his team get the mission. After all, they had a new team member. A prodigy who never slept. It was a surveillance dream come true.
In some uncanny way, it felt almost foreordained.
On top of that, he’d finally perfected the concept for his new tattoo and the Sentinel’s new power, and—Adrian checked the communicator band on his wrist and saw that it wasn’t even five o’clock yet—with more than three hours still before he had to leave for headquarters, he even had time to give himself the tattoo that morning.
He headed upstairs to make a pot of coffee, even though he didn’t feel that he really needed it, and to check that his dads were still sleeping. He paused in the foyer, listening to the creaks of the house. Everything was still and dark.
They weren’t exactly morning people, either.
Ten minutes later, he returned to his converted basement, coffee mug in hand. The basement was divided into two rooms—the first housed his bed, a sofa, a bookshelf overflowing with old sketchbooks and comics, and a small TV with an assortment of video games. The second room he considered his art studio, even though calling it that made it seem much cooler than it really was. Mostly it was just an easel, a cheap plywood desk, and a floor covered in drop cloths splattered with years-old paint.
Everything he needed was already in the bottom drawer of the desk. He sat down in the rolling office chair and began arranging his supplies.
Rubbing alcohol and cotton balls. Bandages. The jar of tattoo ink he’d purchased from an incense-filled shop on the edges of the Henbane District, where it had been shelved between a potted money tree and a hookah pipe.
He laid his right arm across the desk, palm up, and used his opposite fingers to measure how long he would make the cylinder. Three inches, maybe four, midway between his wrist and elbow. At one end he would include a scope symbol, for targeting. Clean, simple, effective.
It was all in the intention, anyway. He had gotten the zipper to work, so this one should be easy. He had been extremely intentional with the zipper, making sure that he had sketched out the exact armored suit he wanted, down to every tiny detail, never allowing his focus to waver as he inked the tattoo into his skin.
Intention. He’d learned at a young age that it mattered far more than anything else where his ability was concerned. Not skill. Not execution. Intention.
If the zipper could hide away an entire armored bodysuit, then surely this cylinder could produce a steady stream of percussive energy beams.
Easy.
Adrian dipped a cotton ball in the rubbing alcohol and cleansed the skin over his forearm. After it had dried, he drew the symbol with a blue ink pen. It was a slower process than the first tattoos had been, having to sketch it out with his nondominant hand this time; but once he was finished, it still looked precisely how he wanted it to.
He had been so nervous that first time, that first tattoo. His brain had constantly supplied him with any number of practical warnings about needle-transmitted diseases, not to mention the pain that he knew would come with self-tattooing. Despite all the wounds and injuries that came as a result of being a Renegade, he still wasn’t on board for pain when it was, strictly speaking, unnecessary.
But he’d worked up the courage, first testing out his tattooing skills on the skin of a grapefruit before working up the nerve to do it on himself.
The flame had been first. Though it was small, it had taken more than an hour to complete.
Next had been the springs on the soles of his feet, and those had hurt. But he gritted his teeth and bore it, and the first time he’d launched himself two stories into the air, he knew it had been worthwhile.
It wasn’t until after the success of the springs that he’d had the idea for the Sentinel. It was inspired by a fictional character he’d created when he was eleven, back when he’d had the dream of someday drawing comics for a living, which at the time was somehow more interesting to him than being a Renegade. He’d completed three full issues of a comic that he titled Rebel Z, one he’d never shown to anyone else. In the story, twenty-six homeless street kids were kidnapped and forced to become science experiments for a madman. The first twenty-five all died as a result of the experiments, but the last boy, known only as Z, became a superhero newly imbued with a number of awe-inspiring superpowers. In the second issue, he obtained an armored suit. In the third issue, he started calling himself the Sentinel, and he became a vigilante set on destroying the madman and anyone who had helped him take advantage of so many innocent kids.
After that, Adrian got bored with the story and stopped making the comics. He never did get to watch Z exact his revenge, but he did find himself thinking about the character again and again, even as the years passed. A vigilante with a mission, an alter ego, and unstoppable power. A superhero in every sense of the word.
When he’d had the idea for the zipper tattoo, the temptation had been impossible to resist. He hadn’t considered straying from the Renegades’ codes at the time. If anything, he’d been excited to tell his dads and his friends about the Sentinel, once he knew it worked. He had intended to reveal himself after the parade.
But then the parade happened. Danna got hurt. Nightmare got away. And suddenly he could see the appeal of keeping a secret identity, well … secret.
It wouldn’t be forever. Once he was sure he could control all the Sentinel’s powers, then he would reveal himself. Or, perhaps he would wait until after he’d found and arrested Nightmare. Or until he uncovered her connection to his mother’s killer and brought them to justice too.
Just like Rebel Z—once his mission was complete, he would reveal himself. Until then, the Sentinel had work to do.
Adrian laid out his tools, filling a shallow dish with black ink and lighting a candle. He swiped a new alcohol-dipped cotton ball over his skin one more time, fading the blue ink slightly, then dabbed it dry with a clean towel.
Finally he sterilized the needle—an everyday needle he’d found in a forgotten sewing box in a cabinet in the laundry room—running the point back and forth through the flame.
Adrian flexed his forearm, dipped the needle into the ink, and set to work.
The first stick was always the worst. That moment when he wondered, yet again, if it was a really bad idea to be doing this.
But the doubts faded faster every time.
He soon fell into a steady rhythm. Hunkered over the desk, watching his fingers progress along the blue lines. Needle in, needle out. Pausing only occasionally to wipe away tiny beads of blood with a clean rag. A thousand tiny punctures into his flesh as seconds and minutes ticked into hours. At one point he heard the telltale creaks of the overhead floorboards announcing that someone was moving around the kitchen upstairs, but he ignored it. His dads always left him alone when he was down in his room and, besides, they probably thought he was still sleeping.
When he was done, Adrian set down the needle, stretched out his neck with a few satisfying pops, then held out his arm to admire his work. Sore and shining and permanent.
He stashed the implements back in the drawer, then headed up to the bathroom on the main floor to wash and bandage the skin. He had just finished the wrapping and pulled on a long-sleeve shirt when he heard Simon calling him.
“Yeah?” he asked, walking into the kitchen.
Simon was standing over a skillet that hissed with bacon, while Hugh leaned over the bar sorting through a large stack of mail.
“I thought I heard you awake,” said Simon, nodding toward a plate overflowing with cantaloupe, strawberries, and scones. “Have some breakfast.”
Adrian stared at it. “Really?”
“Really,” said Simon, giving him a stern look, though Adrian knew it was just because he felt guilty that the idea of a homemade breakfast was worthy of suspicion. “We’re starting a new family tradition. Breakfast together once a week. Now get some bacon and sit down.”
Adrian suppressed a smile and did as he was told. Hugh and Simon liked to start new family traditions every few months, and over the years had cycled through everything from Friday board-game nights to summer picnics at the park to a short stint in which they agreed to all go jogging together at six a.m. every morning, which had lasted exactly one day. Adrian knew it was their way of trying, as though after all these years his dads still weren’t convinced that the three of them really were a family.
So Adrian, who loved his dads, the men who had taken him in without a second thought after his mother died, accepted four slices of bacon and sat down at the bar. “Does this new family tradition come with fresh-squeezed orange juice?”
“Don’t press your luck,” said Simon, making up a plate for himself.
“So,” said Hugh, dumping a stack of junk mail into the garbage bin. The Council kept saying they were going to start up a citywide recycling program one of these days, but it, like so many of their aspirations, had yet to become a reality. “Are you looking forward to having a new teammate starting today?”
Adrian blinked. He’d been so focused on the tattoo he’d nearly forgotten about Nova McLain.
Nearly.
“Yeah,” he said, breaking open his scone and slathering it with butter. “I think we’re all really excited to have her.”
Simon shook his head. “When she opted to go against Gargoyle, I thought she was out of her mind. But I was impressed with how she handled it. We need people who can be resourceful like that, who can think fast during an altercation.”
Adrian smiled wryly at the term altercation. At some point his dads had gone from talking like superheroes to talking like police chiefs, and he wasn’t entirely sure when it had happened.
“I just hope you all work well together,” said Hugh, shredding open an envelope. “Chemistry is important on a team. And you all seem to have a good thing going so far. Hopefully she’s a good fit.”
“But if not,” said Simon, “we’ll be able to find a place for her. She was a good choice, Adrian. I’m not sure what made you accept her, but I don’t think anyone will be questioning whether or not she deserves to be a Renegade after that showing.” Reaching across the counter, he nudged the pile of mail aside and replaced it with a plate of food. “Hugh. Eat.”
Hugh glanced down, momentarily surprised, then picked up a strip of bacon and chomped it in half.
“Out of curiosity,” said Simon, buttering his own scone, “what made you pick her? I didn’t think you were looking to add to the team.”
Adrian took a big bite and realized after the fact that it might have been a subconscious attempt to give himself a bit of time before responding. He took a swig of his long-cold coffee and shrugged. “Intuition, I guess.”
“Intuition,” parroted Hugh, nodding, as if Adrian had just spoken with great wisdom. “It’s important to listen to those feelings when you have them. Strong intuition can save lives, especially in our line of work.”
Adrian set down his mug. “Right. On that note … how’s the Nightmare investigation going?”
Simon picked up his plate and came around the bar, claiming the stool beside Adrian. “You’re still concerned about her?”
“Concerned that there’s a would-be assassin on the loose in our city and we have no idea what she’s capable of or what sorts of connections she might have? A little, yeah.”
Simon cast him a vexed look. “We might have received a promising new lead yesterday, as a matter of fact. We’ll be looking into it more this afternoon.”
“The gun?” said Adrian, attempting nonchalance. “The one that’s been linked to Gene Cronin?”
Hugh glanced up. “You were eavesdropping.”
“I was getting a snack. If it was top secret, you shouldn’t have been talking about it in the dining room.”
Hugh and Simon exchanged glances.
“Yes,” said Simon. “We can’t say for sure if the Librarian sold her that gun, but we’ll be looking into it.”
“You’re going to question him?”
“Not immediately,” said Hugh. “If he’s still involved in illegal weapons dealing, then to approach him too soon, without sufficient evidence, could put him on the alert. Could make him halt whatever dealings he’s involved with.”
“That gun isn’t considered sufficient evidence?”
Simon shook his head. “It could have been making its way through criminal rings for the last ten years. Until this gun came into our possession, we had no reason to believe that Gene Cronin was still in the trade. As far as we can tell, the Vandal Cartel disbanded after most of their members were killed in the Battle for Gatlon, and Gene Cronin hasn’t shown any sign of participating in illegal activity since. That gun could have passed through countless hands before making its way to Nightmare.”
“But you don’t think that’s the case,” said Adrian. “You do think he’s still trading, right?”
Hugh smiled wanly. “We think it warrants looking into.”
“We’ll probably start with surveillance on his library,” said Simon. “He’s a recluse, so if he is still working on the black market, chances are good that any business happenings are taking place there. We’ll scout out the place for a while, watch for any indications of illegal activity.”
“But that could take days … weeks, even. Why not just go in and search the place?”
“Without significant evidence that he’s committed a crime?” said Simon, sounding offended at the idea.
“Oh, come on,” said Adrian. “He’s a gun dealer. He’s a criminal. Why defend him?”
“He was a criminal,” said Hugh, “in a different time, a different society. If we started punishing everyone for crimes committed a decade ago, we’d have no one left in this city to defend.”
“We’re still recovering from the Age of Anarchy,” added Simon. “The code authority protects the rights and privacies of everyone, even those who were once involved with the villain gangs. Because how can we expect people to change if we don’t give them the chance to?”
Adrian glowered, unconvinced. It seemed to him that having a gun that could be traced back to Gene Cronin was plenty reason to search his library, but he could see he wouldn’t be making headway in this argument anytime soon. “Have you picked a team for the surveillance yet?”
“No, but we’ll probably use—”
“We volunteer.”
Simon hesitated, his fork halfway to his mouth with a strawberry speared on its tines. “What?”
“Adrian—” started Hugh.
“Don’t say no,” he insisted, his gaze swiveling between them. “Just listen. We want to be involved with the Nightmare investigation, and this would be an easy way for us to do that. Nobody else is going to want to sit outside a public library all night, waiting for something exciting to happen. And we’ll have the new girl—Nova. She doesn’t even need to sleep.”
Simon’s brow furrowed thoughtfully and Adrian could see that this, at least, seemed to carry some merit with him.
“Why are you so interested in the Nightmare case?” said Hugh, throwing another batch of mail into the garbage bin.
“My team has faced off against her twice now,” said Adrian. “It’s starting to feel a little personal. Besides … she attacked you.”
Hugh snorted dismissively, and Adrian couldn’t tell if it was a show, or if he really didn’t feel that Nightmare’s attack warranted concern.
“I’m serious, Dad. If you hadn’t noticed, she almost killed you.”
A muscle flexed in Hugh’s jaw.
“And she took down Tamaya with … with a fishing net,” Adrian went on. “Not to mention being partially responsible for Monarch’s injuries, and managing to evade Oscar and Ruby and”—he inhaled sharply, rolling one hand through the air in a gesture that he hoped showed some amount of indifference—“that Sentinel guy too. Her power might not seem like much, but she is a threat. We can’t underestimate her again.”
“We’re not underestimating her,” said Simon. “We are taking the attempted assassination very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that it would be irresponsible to send an inexperienced street patrol unit to do an investigative job.”
Adrian tensed, heat rising into his cheeks. “Over the last year I think our team has more than proved our ability to handle any assignment sent our way.”
“Except for the two times Nightmare got away?” said Simon.
Adrian scowled. “Low blow, Pops.”
Simon’s expression softened. “Look, we’re not saying that we don’t think you could handle this. If anything, we’d rather keep you out on patrol duty, where your skills are truly used to everyone’s advantage. Did you know crime rates went up eight percent last quarter? We need every unit on the streets we can get.”
“And how much could a guy like Gene Cronin be playing into those rates?” Adrian said, forcing himself to speak slowly. To sound rational. “If he really is selling illegal weaponry to criminals, how much good could be done just by capturing this one guy?”
“And for that,” said Hugh, “we’ll be sending an investigative unit.”
Adrian sighed in frustration. “Come on, give it to us. Please.”
“Adrian, what does it matter?” said Simon. “You said yourself, no one wants to be staring at a library all night when they could be out helping people.”
“Because I want to be a part of this,” said Adrian, losing the battle to keep his voice even. “Because I want to find Nightmare.”
Simon drew back, his head tilting to one side, and Adrian noticed for the first time just how unruly his beard had gotten. He glanced at Hugh and saw that his own hair was in need of a cut, his face in need of a shave.
When was the last time either of them had taken a day to just relax? To just be? It was always the Council, the city, the Renegades. Adrian could only imagine the pressure they were under, along with the rest of the Council. The whole world was looking to them for guidance and protection, for security and stability and justice.
He sighed, dragging his fork through the crumbs that had fallen from the scone. “Oscar heard her say something during their fight on the rooftop,” he said, hoping beyond hope that they would never bother to confirm this lie. “She said … one cannot be brave who has no fear.”
He didn’t need to look up at his dads to feel the shift in the air. Hugh inhaled sharply. Simon sank away from the bar, leaning against the back of his stool.
Hugh drummed his fingers against the countertop. “You don’t think Nightmare was connected to her death, do you? From what I can tell, she’s much too young to have been involved.”
“No, I know she is,” said Adrian. “But what if she knows who did it? What if they’re still alive?”
“It could be a coincidence,” said Simon.
“Or it might not,” countered Adrian.
Simon massaged the spot between his thick eyebrows, where he always rubbed when he was deep in thought. “Cards like the one found on Georgia were also found on countless bodies during the Age of Anarchy. Maybe Nightmare read about them somewhere and is … adopting the phrase for herself.”
Adrian looked away. There was a logic to this suggestion, and it probably should have occurred to him as a possibility much sooner. But … somehow, it didn’t feel right. When Nightmare had said it, she hadn’t been using it as a catchphrase, something she hoped would be quoted in the newspapers the next day. Rather, it had seemed so flippant, so unplanned. Words that came naturally, in the way that things heard repetitively over time often did.
“It would be out of character,” said Hugh, “for a villain to stop leaving their mark like that, if they were still around.”
“I know,” said Adrian. “But not impossible.”
It was the reason everyone had been so quick to assume that Lady Indomitable’s murderer had been killed in the Battle for Gatlon. After that, those mysterious notes had stopped showing up on bodies. Overnight, those dreadful clues vanished. It made sense that whoever had been leaving them was gone.
But Adrian was no longer sure.
“Please,” he said. “I just want to find her. I need to know where she heard those words. I need to know what they mean to her. And you’re sending a team to investigate anyway, right? Give us a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”
Hugh picked up his still-steaming coffee and drank it all in three large gulps, which was how Adrian knew he was considering his request, though the action itself made Adrian flinch. Like so many things, Hugh was invincible to something as simple as burning his tongue on a scorching cup of coffee.
When he set the cup back down, Hugh looked across at Simon.
And that look, blank as it was, told Adrian all he needed to know. It was a struggle to bite back the smile that threatened to emerge.
Simon wilted. “Your team may be excused from street patrol for two weeks in order to assist with the Nightmare investigation. We’ll have surveillance protocols sent to you by noon, and we expect regular reports on any findings, no matter how trivial they may seem. After two weeks, we’ll determine if you can continue this investigation or be returned to your city patrol.”
Adrian started to smile, but Simon held up a hand, halting it halfway up his face.
“But I mean this, Adrian. At the very first indication that Gene Cronin is involved in any sort of illegal activity, or should you find any evidence suggesting a connection to Nightmare or any other villain, you are to request backup from an experienced investigative team. You are not to engage Cronin on your own. Understand?”
“Yes, absolutely,” said Adrian, allowing that grin to shine through. “We will. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us yet,” said Hugh. “You haven’t yet learned just how painfully tedious this sort of work can be.”
Adrian shrugged. “Oscar will be there. How boring can it possibly be?”
Hugh smirked. “Good point.”
“We need to get going,” said Simon. “A full roster of Council petitions today, and countless meetings with research and development, and working out details on next month’s gala…” He groaned. “Sometimes I think it will never end.”
“It’s not easy, leading the world into a new age,” said Hugh. He shoveled the rest of his food into his mouth, then dumped his empty plate into the sink.
Adrian watched his dads gather up their things, donning black blazers and scarves over their uniforms in a way that seemed laughable—like kids putting winter jackets on over their Halloween costumes.
They were about to leave when Simon paused and glanced back, his eyes speculative. “Adrian…”
Adrian sat up straighter, preparing himself as he watched Simon wrestling with whatever it was he wanted to say.
“I want you to tread carefully with this, all right?”
Adrian’s brow knit. “What do you mean?”
“No matter what happens, no matter what you find, nothing is going to bring your mom back. I know you want answers. We all do. But it won’t change the fact that she’s gone.”
“This isn’t about wanting her back,” said Adrian. “It’s not really about wanting answers, either. If anything, I just want the same thing every Renegade does.” Adrian allowed a faint smile. “Justice.”