NOVA HAD BEEN CONSTRAINED to a bed in the medical wing for nine hours already and she was anything but happy about it. She hadn’t slept a wink, but the healers thought it was important to keep her for at least twenty-four hours and, ideally, up to as long as seventy-two hours, so they could see what sort of symptoms she might suffer from after being exposed to Max.
When they first told her that, she laughed. Seventy-two hours? Stuck, here, in a bed? Without sleeping? With nothing more to keep her busy than a stack of Gatlon Gazettes and a television screen that seemed to only show the news, which was itself a constant bombardment of negativity about how the Renegades had handled the situation at the library? When they couldn’t even be bothered to give her one of the private rooms?
She thought not.
She insisted that she felt fine, but they kept impressing on her that she couldn’t possibly know yet whether or not her powers were compromised. Even if she felt energized and awake now, it could be a result of adrenaline and her body’s internal clock righting itself. Most people felt perfectly fine at one in the afternoon, and most people could will themselves to stay awake for days at a time before their body forced them to take the rest they needed. It was simply too early to tell whether or not Nova was still a prodigy.
While she understood this logic, it did not temper her frustration. If she could only get out of here, it would take her about five minutes to hop on a city bus, find some unsuspecting passenger, and use her real ability to put them to sleep. Then she would know for sure whether or not her powers were functional. It would be infinitely more efficient than being stuck here, doing nothing.
On top of that, Adrian didn’t have to stay in the medical wing. They argued it was because he’d already demonstrated that his gift was intact, but Nova suspected he was being given some leeway from the rules because he was, you know, Adrian Everhart.
Nova was grumbling to herself, scanning over the newspaper headlines again in case there might be some she had skipped before but that had suddenly become more appealing in the face of her boredom, when a knock pulled her attention upward.
Monarch stood at the foot of her bed, her fist still raised against the metal framing that held the privacy curtains. “Hey,” she said with a small, uncertain smile. “I heard about what happened last night. Thought I’d bring you a care package.” She held up a paper bag.
Nova gaped at her. For a long time. Longer than was probably polite. It felt like a trap. So far, the only interaction she’d had with Danna was down in the training hall, and she’d left unsure whether or not Danna liked or trusted her.
Finally, she forced herself to sit up, pushing her back against the pillows. She eyed the bag warily. “Thanks?”
Danna started to laugh and came closer, plopping the bag on the mattress against Nova’s legs. “The food here isn’t awful, but it’s not exactly amazing, either. Ruby kept me well supplied while I was in recovery, so I thought I could pay it forward.” She rummaged through the bag, pulling out a few choice items to show Nova. “I didn’t know if you were sweet, salty, or none of the above, so I brought an assortment. Some pretzels, some chocolate, some dried fruit chips if that’s your thing. And most important—reading material. Because one can only read the Gazette for so long before we are left bitter and disheartened.” She reached into the depths of the bag and retrieved four paperback books, each with curling covers and flimsy spines, looking like they had been well loved over time. “One thriller, one romance, one nonfiction”—she lifted up the nonfiction book, which showed a large warship on the cover—“in case you like history. This was my dad’s. I’m honestly not sure if it’s any good. And lastly, my personal favorite.” The final book depicted an armor-clad woman riding a dragon. “Don’t judge the cheesy artwork. The story is genius.”
She stacked the books on the tray beside Nova’s bed.
“Thanks?” Nova said again, not quite sure how to handle this random show of kindness. “Are you fully healed now?”
Danna glanced down, rubbing her side. Beneath the uniform Nova could make out a slight bulge along her ribs, where there must still have been bandaging over the burns.
“Almost,” said Danna, pushing back her dreadlocks. “They say I’ll be able to go back on the field again in a couple days. Just a few more sessions with the healers and I should be back to … well, not a hundred percent, but as good as it’s gonna get.”
“Why not a hundred percent?” said Nova. “Everyone talks about the healers here like they’re miracle workers.”
“Well, they are—to a degree. I mean, having a doctor with supernatural healing abilities is still better than … I don’t know, applying ice packs and calendula oil, or whatever old-fashioned stuff they used to treat burns with. But they can’t bring back the lepidopterans that were incinerated in the flames, and as a result, I’ll always have some pretty gnarly scar tissue happening through here.”
Nova lifted an eyebrow. “You call them lepidopterans?”
Grinning, Danna shrugged, only slightly self-conscious. “Sometimes I worry that calling them butterflies all the time undermines how remarkable of an ability it really is. Like saying, hey, I can turn into rainbows and daisies! Cool, huh?”
The corners of Nova’s lips twitched upward, and Danna seemed to take this as a sign that it would be all right for her to sink into the visitor’s chair.
“But I prefer it this way. Gets people to underestimate you, right? And that’s an automatic advantage. You probably know what that’s like too. I mean—obviously, no one thought you would beat the Gargoyle, which makes the win so much more satisfying.”
Nova dropped the newspaper to the floor and shifted upward in the bed. “Do you ever use your gift for things beyond Renegade assignments?”
“Oh, all the time.” Danna’s grin became mischievous. “When I was a kid I was always sneaking into movie theaters. To this day I’ve never actually paid for a movie ticket.” She cringed slightly and leaned forward. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? That is definitely outside of our code.”
“Your secret is safe. But what about”—Nova glanced around, though she could see little of the medical wing beyond the enclosed curtains—“around here? There’s so much going on, so many things the Renegades are trying to build and invent and … research. I bet they’re coming up with things in R and D that would make the Sentinel look like child’s play. Do you ever get curious about all that?”
Danna groaned. “Don’t talk to me about the Sentinel. If I ever see that guy again, I’ll show him where he can put those flames.”
Nova smirked. “I know that feeling.”
Danna brought her legs beneath her, sitting cross-legged as much as she could in the small chair, her knees sprouting over the arms. “I’ve never sneaked into R and D or the quarantine labs. They’re serious about keeping their stuff confidential and even I’m not willing to risk their wrath. But”—she leaned forward conspiratorially—“when I first got here, I used to go sneaking through the air vents into the artifacts warehouse. If you ever get a chance to go inside, it’s amazing. Like a catalog of every awesome prodigy weapon you’ve ever heard of. They have Ultrasonic’s whip, and Magnetron’s shield, and Trident’s … well, trident.”
“And you never got caught?” said Nova, surprised—and even a little hopeful—to think the security on such powerful objects might be lacking.
“I never formed,” said Danna. “I mean, I stayed in swarm mode the whole time, and as long as I keep them spread out, it’s pretty easy for a bunch of butterflies to go undetected. Lots of places to hide in there too. But actually, the best artifacts aren’t even in the warehouse. A lot of people don’t know this, but they keep a small collection upstairs, outside the Council’s offices. In theory, anyone can go up and see them, but without an official appointment, not many people venture up there.”
“What do they have?” said Nova.
Before Danna could respond, Genissa Clark—Frostbite—appeared framed in the curtains. She took one look at Nova and let out a peal of laughter.
“Great powers, I thought they were joking,” she said, placing one hand on a jutting hip. “No one would be stupid enough to go into the quarantine. I mean, you do know what quarantine means, right, Miss McLain?”
Nova leaned back into her pillows, crossing her legs at the heels. “You’re right, it was stupid. Clearly, when a superhero sees a ten-year-old kid put a glass spike through his hand, the correct response is to hang out and wait for someone else to come deal with it.” She plastered a fake, encouraging smile to her face. “Yay, Renegades!”
“Actually,” said Genissa with a haughty sigh, “the correct response would be to get someone who actually knows what they’re doing. That way, when the experts arrive, they’re not stuck dealing with two unconscious bodies.”
“Here’s an idea,” said Danna. “How about you stab yourself with an ice pick, and Nova and I will make small talk while we wait for the healers to notice.”
“In case you’ve both forgotten,” said Genissa, lifting an eyebrow, “Nova didn’t actually do anything to help Max. So, if you want to go on thinking you did some heroic act, by all means, stroke that ego. But all you really did was risk your own abilities and make yourself look like an idiot.” Her voice turned singsong. “But lucky for you, we can always use a few more data-entry drones. I mean, that’s what they had you doing, anyway. You do know what they call a Renegade without any superpowers, right?”
Nova pretended to think. “Someone who still beat your pet rock at the trials?”
Danna snorted.
“Cute,” said Genissa, unperturbed. “But the correct answer is administrator. I know it’s not the exciting Renegade position you’ve probably always dreamed about, but given that sleeplessness still isn’t a real superpower, I feel like you were given a pretty good run while it lasted.” She winked and turned away.
“Tell Gargoyle I said hi,” Nova called after her.
Genissa’s jaw twitched, but she didn’t respond as she yanked the curtain shut around them.
“Charming,” Danna muttered with a sneer. “Although, she does bring up an interesting point.” She rested her elbow on the arm of her chair, cupping her chin. “You’re one of the very few Renegades whose skill as part of a patrol unit wouldn’t necessarily be impacted by losing your power.” She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t they let you stay on the team? I bet you could make a strong argument for it.”
“I should certainly hope so,” said Nova. She gestured to the curtain. “Be honest. Is she the worst of it—her and her team—or are there slews of Renegades who are far less noble than everyone wants to think?”
“Oh, there are definitely some patrol units who seem to be on a permanent power trip, but Genissa Clark is the worst. Most people here are pretty great. Though, between you and me, there is one person I try to avoid at all costs.” Danna leaned forward, dropping her voice, and Nova couldn’t help but lean toward her as well. “Thunderbird.”
Nova blinked. “Really? A Council member?”
“Ugh, she’s the worst.” Danna covered her face with her hands, as if to hide. “I don’t think she means to be scary, but I find the woman utterly terrifying. She’s so serious, and every time she’s around I feel like she’s searching for any reason to oust me from headquarters. I don’t know what it is, but I swear she hates me.”
“She does seem…” Nova contemplated, unable to find the right word, before settling on, “Critical.”
“Critical, terrifying, same thing.” Danna screwed up her face, looking momentarily embarrassed. “Though, full disclosure, it could have something to do with my inherent fear of birds.”
Nova’s eyebrows lifted. “Birds.”
Danna faked a shudder. “Ever since I was a kid. I mean, you know what one of the primary predators of butterflies is, right?”
Nova chuckled. “Okay, that makes sense.” She pondered for a moment. “Did you know there are over forty species of waterfowl in this region?”
Danna gave her an incredulous look. “Seriously? Why would you tell me that? Are you trying to give me nightmares about being gobbled up by a flock of seagulls?”
“Great skies, no,” said Nova emphatically. “If anything, you should be having nightmares about the royal albatross. Their wingspans can reach up to eleven feet across.”
Danna fixed her with a cold glare. “I’m beginning to regret coming here.”
“Too much information?” said Nova, feigning a sheepish look.
“Fine,” Danna said, still glowering. “Your turn, Miss I’ll-Fight-the-Gargoyle. Do you have any phobias, or are you always as calm in the face of fear as you were at the trials?”
Any phobias?
Nova couldn’t keep her lips from stretching tight. “Just one. I have one phobia.”
And he carries a scythe and is about a thousand times scarier than Tamaya Rae.
“Go on,” said Danna. “I shared mine.”
Nova shook her head. “I didn’t ask for a full disclosure, and this is one I’m keeping secret.”
Danna huffed, but Nova’s attention caught on another figure moving past the curtains, a healer checking a clipboard as he walked past. She sighed. It had been hours since anyone had been to check on her. Clearly, they weren’t as concerned as they were pretending to be.
“So, Adrian was bringing you sandwiches, huh?”
She startled. “What?”
Danna shot her a sly look. “At three o’clock in the morning. That’s … nice.” She drew out the word, hinting not so subtly that it was an act that went beyond nice.
“Oh. Yeah.” Nova shrugged. “We didn’t actually get to eat them, though.”
“It’s the thought that counts. And it doesn’t hurt that he charged into a highly volatile situation in order to rescue you…”
Nova frowned. “Yep. He’s a nice guy. I think that’s been well established.”
Danna folded her fingers over her stomach. “He really is. No one could argue that. But you know, in all the time we’ve spent on the same team together, he never brought me sandwiches.”
Clearing her throat, Nova picked up the top book from the stack on the nightstand and started pawing through the pages. “He was just being friendly. He’s really worked hard to make me feel like I fit in here.”
This was true, she thought, though she also knew it didn’t explain the warmth rushing into her face. Or why Danna’s insinuations made her stomach flutter at the same time her jaw clenched.
The things was, when Adrian was around, she was finding it more and more difficult to keep her eyes scanning for exits and resources, or her senses attuned to potential threats, when all she really wanted to do was study him. She wanted to know how he managed to strike that balance between self-assured and humble. Relaxed, yet focused.
When he was drawing, she wanted only to watch the quick, agile movements of his hands. When he was smiling, she found herself holding her breath to see if the smile would brighten enough to show off those elusive dimples. When he was looking at her, she felt compelled to look back. And also, illogically, to look away.
All of it combined made her far too annoyed with his presence.
It was attraction, pure and simple. It was hormones. It was … biology.
And it was not a part of her plan.
“You know,” said Danna, “I don’t think Adrian’s ever had a girlfriend before. At least, no one serious. Not since I’ve known him.”
Only when this comment brought a new surge of irritation did Nova realize how much, in the brief span of Danna’s visit, she had almost started to like her.
So much for that.
But she did suddenly have an idea.
Narrowing her eyes, Nova leaned forward, inspecting Danna’s face. “Are you feeling all right?”
Danna stiffened. “Fine. Why?”
Nova crooked her finger, urging her closer. “It might just be the temperature in here, but you look a little feverish.” She reached out, setting her palm against Danna’s brow. “Maybe you should get some more rest.”
Her power flowed through her as easily and naturally as it ever had.
Danna’s eyes closed. She slumped forward, her face planting onto the blankets.
Nova sat back with a sigh, casting her gaze toward the ceiling.
Proof, at last.
Her power was fine.
And every moment spent here was a waste of time.
Nova climbed out of the bed. “Nurse!”
A moment later, the nurse who had brought her lunch pulled back the curtain, surprised when she saw Nova lifting Danna out of the chair and settling her onto the mattress.
“I don’t know what happened. She seemed fine one minute, then she just got really pale and passed out. You might want to get a healer in here. I think maybe she overexerted herself too soon?”
The nurse, bewildered, ran out to alert one of the healers.
By the time she came back, Nova was dressed again and nearly done pulling on her boots.
“And where do you think you’re going?” the nurse asked as she felt for Danna’s pulse.
“Home,” said Nova.
The nurse barked a laugh. “Absolutely not, young lady. We’ll have a new room made up for you in just a minute, but we do need you to stay put.”
Nova glared at her. “Why?”
“Because!” the nurse said, as if this were a viable explanation. “We need to keep a close watch on you after—”
“After, what? Nearly having my superpower drained out of me by a ten-year-old?”
The nurse sighed. “Not too many people have ever come in contact with young Mr. Everhart. We must be cautious.”
“Well,” Nova said, finishing the latches on her boots, “if I die, I’ll let you know. Until then, I have things to be dealing with. And”—she gestured at Danna—“apparently, so do you.”