“Okay, Mr. Pratt,” said Oscar, leaning forward and folding his hands on top of the table, “or should I call you … the Puppeteer?”
This, at least, managed to pull Winston’s gaze away from Nova.
“We’re going to ask you a few questions,” said Oscar, “and I strongly suggest you answer them.” He popped his knuckles, then leaned back again and curled a finger over his shoulder. “Go ahead, Sketch. He’s all yours.”
Eyebrows rising in what might have been amusement, or embarrassment, Adrian moved forward to stand beside Oscar. “I understand you’ve already been questioned a number of times,” said Adrian, “but we have one specific topic we want to discuss with you.”
Though Winston was looking at Adrian now, his jaw was still slack with befuddlement, and Nova felt like her insides were being wrung through a washing machine. She found herself imagining a situation in which her identity would be revealed—here, now—and wondering if she had any hope of getting out of there with two locked doors and three Renegades that she knew would turn on her the second they realized who she was.
“First,” continued Adrian, “you should know that the Detonator attacked a library yesterday. She set off multiple bombs in public spaces. As a result, the Renegades went to the subway tunnels where you and your companions have been living in an attempt to arrest her. However, those Renegades were attacked and the Anarchists have since disappeared, abandoning the subway tunnels.”
Winston’s brow drew together. He started to shake his head, dazed. “They wouldn’t leave…” He looked again at Nova.
She tried to remain expressionless, while also maintaining the mantra in her head—silence, secrecy—as if she might suddenly develop telepathy.
“One thing they found in the tunnels, of particular interest,” said Adrian, “was a recently inhabited train car. We have reason to believe this car belonged to the villain who calls herself Nightmare. We now know that Nightmare is an Anarchist.”
Lips parted. Jaw slack. Winston shifted his confused eyes back to Adrian.
“That’s who we want to talk about today.” Adrian set one hand on the table, leaning forward, and Nova might have thought his attempts at being intimidating were borderline adorable if she hadn’t been trembling with dread.
Her memory was replaying those moments in Winston’s hot-air balloon as they drifted over the remains of the parade. Realizing they wouldn’t clear the top of the next building. Choosing to sacrifice Winston to their enemies.
He had every reason to despise her now. He had every reason to betray her.
She swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” Winston squeaked, gaping at Adrian. “But … come again?”
“Nightmare,” said Adrian. “I’ll begin with something simple. What is her real name?”
A deep crease seemed permanently etched between Winston’s brows, and the way his mouth refused to close made it seem as though the mechanism attaching his marionette jaw to his marionette skull had broken. “Nightmare?” he croaked.
“Nightmare,” Adrian confirmed. “You might remember her as the one that pushed you out of your own hot-air balloon. I want to know what her real name is.”
Nova bit the inside of her cheek.
“No…？” Winston started, but hesitated, letting the word drift off until his lips were puckered around that long, uncertain o. Nova’s lungs squeezed, expelling any useful air.
“Excuse me?” said Adrian.
“No … no. Uh…” Winston glanced once, briefly, at Nova, then back at Adrian. “No … reen.” He coughed. “Her name is Noreen.”
Nova inhaled, long and deep. Everyone else, though, became motionless.
She knew that no one was fooled. But she didn’t care. Winston had been given a choice to betray her, and he hadn’t. A slim spark of hope flickered in her thoughts.
“Noreen,” said Adrian, his voice thick with skepticism.
“Noreen,” said Winston, with a determined, proud nod.
“Noreen what?”
“Hm?”
“Does she have a last name?”
“Oh, uh…” Winston glanced around, as if searching for inspiration, but then shrugged. “Nope. No last name. Just Noreen.”
Adrian and Oscar exchanged a look, before Adrian cleared his throat. “We know that Nightmare obtained at least one of her weapons from the black-market dealer known as the Librarian. But we’ve witnessed her using a number of weapons and tools that don’t resemble other things in the marketplace. Where does she get her supplies?”