She was unconscious.
She was inside the quarantine.
He slowed for only a second, but still—he did slow, and he knew it, and he would later feel like the biggest coward for that moment of hesitation. But then he was running again, as fast as he could. Before he could sort out what he was doing, his hand was grasping the handle of the quarantine door and yanking it open. He didn’t know how long she’d been in there, but he knew that every second could make a difference. Every second that passed, her strength would be leaching from her, bit by bit.
Her power draining away, bit by bit.
But he would not be any safer if he didn’t hurry.
Once past the door, his vision attached itself to Nova. He could reach her. He had to reach her.
On the far side of the quarantine, pressing his body against the glass wall, Max was panting as if he, too, had just dashed across the lobby and the stairs and the bridge. His thin, pale shoulders were shaking, and Adrian could see now that the shirt around his hand was soaked with blood. Glass buildings were toppled and broken everywhere he looked.
“I’m okay,” said Max, before Adrian could speak. “I sent a message to security. The healers are on their way. But Nova! You have to get her out of here!”
Adrian gulped.
Whatever had happened, there was nothing he could do for Max. But Nova …
Gritting his teeth, he launched himself over the skyscrapers, careening down the streets of Gatlon City.
He was halfway across the quarantine when he felt it. Like someone had uncorked a drain in him and all his strength was seeping out.
Mostly he felt it in his hands. His fingers went cold. The muscles, the ligaments in his joints, they felt like they were atrophying with every step he took. Fingers curling inward, becoming useless and frail. Fingers that would never again hold a pen or a paintbrush … hands that would never again create reality from imagination …
Hurling himself over the hospital, he knelt beside Nova. His breaths were strangled wheezes as he scooped his arms beneath her. Her head fell against his chest and he turned and sought out the exit.
The door felt impossibly far. How many steps would it take to reach it? Thirty? Fifty? Adrian’s head spun.
He wouldn’t make it. Not if he had to stumble every step of the way.
He crushed Nova’s body against him and crouched down. Though he didn’t know if it would work. He couldn’t be sure if that ability had already been sapped from him.
Still—he took in a deep breath and leaped.
His body sprang upward. Power coursed through his legs, sending him and Nova soaring over the skyline. For one delirious moment he thought, this is what it would be like. To fly over the city, to really fly …
Then the ground rushed up to meet them, the jagged glass buildings like hundreds of spikes jutting upward. Adrian adjusted his body with the lost momentum, and he and Nova crashed down onto Scatter Creek Row, mere steps away from the door.
His muscles were shaking from the effort to stand, but he did stand. His hands and arms were so numb he would have doubted they were still attached if he couldn’t see them, and yet he still tucked them beneath Nova’s armpits, locking his elbows beneath her shoulders. His legs felt like sodden rags, but he took a step back, then another. And another. Gasping. Dazed. His head swimming. His eyesight blurred.
He collapsed into the antechamber, dropping Nova beside him. With one final, pathetic lurch of his foot, he kicked the quarantine door shut.
And he lay there, panting. Choking. Dying, he would have thought, except he’d never heard of Max’s ability actually killing someone. That’s how it felt, though. Like all the life was flooding out of his body.
His head lolled to the side, and he peered at Nova. Her body was splayed across the floor beside him, but her face looked almost peaceful.
Was she unconscious … or asleep?
It was an important distinction, but he didn’t know how to tell the difference.
His hands were still numb. There was no pain, only nothingness, which seemed worse.
Rolling onto his side, he wriggled closer to her. “Nova,” he said, patting her cheek. “Wake up.”
She was breathing, at least. He felt for a pulse at her throat and it was steady and strong, and when he looked at her face he could see her eyes twitching beneath her eyelids.
Was it possible she was dreaming?
He decided in that moment that he wouldn’t regret the decision to go in after her. Even if he never drew another picture, even if all the powers of the Sentinel were gone forever, he wouldn’t regret it, so long as she was okay.