“Sit down, Oscar.”
Oscar scowled, and Nova could feel him bristling at Adrian’s abruptness. It was unlike Adrian, and suggested that he, too, was more nervous than he was trying to let show.
With a sigh, Adrian gestured at the chair. “I need you to play bad cop. The bad cop would take the chair, right?”
Nova smothered a smile. He made it seem so easy, diffusing the tension. Respecting their weaknesses—in this case, they all knew that Oscar’s body was still recovering from the exertion of the day before, even if he would never admit to how much he was hurting. But with this simple compromise, Adrian was also valuing the many ways Oscar contributed to the team, even if that contribution was simply Oscar’s talent for the dramatic. There had been times when Nova wondered if Adrian became a team leader because of his family name, but she was becoming more and more certain that he’d earned it.
Either way, his suggestion worked. With a proud tilt of his chin, Oscar settled himself into the chair, leaning the cane against the table. He crossed his arms stiffly over his chest. “Oh yeah,” he said, with a pleased nod. “Bad cop is ready.”
“Which of us is good cop?” said Ruby, glancing at Adrian and Nova in turn.
Nova couldn’t answer. Her mouth was so dry she was afraid trying to speak would only lead to the words gumming up on her tongue.
“I’m good cop,” said Adrian. He glanced at Nova. “You’re the observer. If you have something to say or add, jump in, but otherwise, I want you focused on any signs he might be lying … or telling the truth.”
“So who am I?” said Ruby.
Adrian grinned. “You’re the muscle.”
Ruby beamed, hopping excitedly from foot to foot as she loosened the wire on her wrist.
“Hold on,” said Oscar, glancing over his shoulder. “Maybe I wanted to be the muscle.”
Nova stared at Ruby’s bloodstone, glinting in the room’s dim lighting. “We’re not going to torture him, are we?”
They turned to her as one, each of their faces equally appalled.
“Great skies, Nova,” said Adrian. “We’re the good guys, remember?”
She sank back, not sure if she should be embarrassed by the question or not. It hadn’t seemed ridiculous when she’d asked it.
Across the room, they heard the clunking of more locking mechanisms. Nova’s body went rigid. She rubbed her damp palms down the sides of her uniform.
The door opened and two guards entered, leading Winston Pratt by his elbows. He was dressed in the black-and-white stripes of a prison jumpsuit. His wrists and ankles were both bound with chains and his usually jaunty step was weighed down, his shoulders tight, his arms squeezed in beside his body as if he were attempting to avoid the guards’ grip.
Nova was surprised to see that his makeup remained—or what she had always assumed was makeup, though she’d never seen him without it. The black paint around his eyes, the rosy circles on the apples of his cheeks, and the sharp lines drawn from the corners of his crimson mouth down his jaw, giving the effect of a wooden marionette. The lines were not even smudged.
For the first time, in all the years she’d known him, she wondered whether it was makeup at all or if his power really had transformed his face into that of a puppet.
Or a puppet master.
His eyes darted around the room, skipping from the chairs to the walls, the lightbulb in the ceiling, to the shackles on the table, to Oscar, to Adrian, to Nova, to Ruby.
Back to Nova.
He blinked furiously, as if trying to clear away a pestering eyelash. His brow squeezed tight.
Pressing her lips, Nova did her best to convey secrecy to him, subtly shaking her head and hoping that he caught the desperate intensity of her gaze.
But Winston Pratt had never been adept at the art of subtlety.
He continued to stare, his lips parted, his head cocking curiously to one side as he was pressed down into the chair. He put up no resistance as his chained hands were settled into the shackles and the domes clamped securely around them.
“You have fifteen minutes,” one of the guards said to Adrian. “This interrogation is being recorded”—he gestured toward a small camera on the ceiling—“for future review at the Council’s discretion. If you want to end your session early, just knock on the door and we’ll be back.”
They left.
Winston was still gaping dumbly at Nova, and the others were starting to notice. Adrian and Ruby each glanced at her, to which she attempted an uncomfortable, confused shrug.