Nova pressed a hand against Adrian’s chest, swiveling her body to peer at Blacklight. “Agent N? Is that what you call the Sentinel?”
“The Sentinel?” Evander smiled secretively and shook his head. “No, no. It’s not a person. It’s more like an antidote. And once it’s ready…” He crossed his arms and glared at the Detonator’s body. “The world will become a much safer place.”
Nova shifted again and Adrian sensed her trying to squirm out of his hold, but he tightened his arms in response. “Nova, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I just want to know what he means.”
“What he means is confidential,” said Simon, sending a warning look at Evander, who returned an exaggerated roll of his eyes.
“Oh, honestly, they’ll all know soon enough.”
“It isn’t ready,” said Simon. He looked apologetically at Nova.
“Fine,” said Evander. “Just suffice to say that we will never have to worry about these villains ever again. Pretty soon, all prodigies will be Renegades … or their powers won’t be tolerated at all.”
Nova cocked her head. “What are you—”
“No, that’s enough,” Hugh interrupted. “Simon is right. It’s still confidential. And besides … you all look like you could use some rest.” He fixed a stern look on Nova. “That goes for you, too, Insomnia.”
The drone of vehicles drew their attention toward the fence, and Adrian saw squads of media vehicles rushing past the delivery gate of the carnival. Journalists began to pile out.
The remaining members of the Council released a collective groan.
“I’ll fend off the reporters,” said Hugh. “Let’s get something to cover the Detonator before they get any photos of the body. Adrian, Nova, you head back to HQ, get some medical attention. You can give us your report tomorrow.”
Nodding, Adrian began striding in the opposite direction, away from the media vans, but they had barely cleared the graveyard of roller coaster carts when Nova stopped him and scrambled out of his arms.
“This Agent N,” she said, startling him. “Do you know what it is?”
He blinked at her. His mind was still exhausted, still trying to compute everything that had happened.
“No,” he said slowly.
Nova crossed her arms and glared at him.
Adrian sighed. “I’ve heard them mention it a few times. I know it has something to do with Max … something to do with all those tests they run on him. But that’s it. That’s all I know. I swear.” He reached for her hand. “Nova, are you all right? Were you hurt at all?”
She looked down at their hands, and after a moment, Adrian did as well. Though he’d spent the first half of that afternoon trying to work up the courage to hold her hand, this was the first time he actually had.
When she didn’t move away, he inched closer to her and dared to take her other hand too.
“I thought you were dead,” he said, saying the words that he’d refused to admit in his own mind. But he realized now that it was true. Beneath the denial and the refusal, he’d thought she was dead.
Nova licked her lips, drawing his gaze toward them.
“You never answered my question,” he said.
“What question?”
“If I asked you on a real date, would you say yes?”
She seemed to tense. Her fingers tightened around his. “Are you asking?”
Adrian hesitated. She was watching him closely, her blue eyes curious, but also nervous.
Nervous.
Somehow, seeing his own uncertainty mirrored back at him helped to ease the anxiety knotted inside his chest. He tugged her closer, until their toes were nearly touching. She didn’t resist. She didn’t look away.
“I’m asking,” he said.
Rather than wait for an answer, he craned his head and closed his eyes.
Nova stepped back, jerking her hands away.
Adrian’s eyes snapped open.
Even from the faint light coming from the carnival, he could see that her cheeks had gone red. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but staring back toward the fun house. “My uncle will probably be watching the news,” she stammered. “He’ll be worried. I … I should get home.”
Before Adrian could venture a response or offer to walk her back, she turned, scaled the nearest fence in half a heartbeat, and was gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CAUTION TAPE HAD BEEN STRUNG across the entrance to the Blackmire Way subway station, where Ingrid had blown a gaping hole into the wall the day the Anarchists had fled. Nova ducked beneath it and pressed one hand to the side of the stairwell as she made her way into the shadows. Her feet felt heavy; her body ached. But she had a singularity of purpose now. Something she should have done twenty-four hours ago, before she was distracted with plotting fake deaths and Renegade investigations and the all-encompassing hunt for Nightmare.