Nova’s father caught sight of her on the other side of the door. His eyes widened, full of panic. “Nova. Ru—”
Another gunshot.
This time Nova screamed. Her father collapsed over her mom’s body, so close she could have reached out and touched them both.
She turned and stumbled into the apartment. Past the kitchen, into her bedroom. She slammed the door shut and thrust open her closet. Climbed over the books and tools and boxes that littered the floor. She yanked the door shut and crouched down in the corner, gasping for breath, the vision of her parents burned into her thoughts every time she shut her eyes. Too late she thought that she should have gone for the fire escape. Too late.
Too late she remembered—
Evie.
She’d left Evie out there.
She’d left Evie.
A shuddering gasp was met with a horrified cry, though she tried to swallow both of them back. Her hand fell on the closet door and she tried to gauge how fast she could get out to the living room and back, if there was any chance of snatching the baby up without being seen …
The front door creaked, paralyzing her.
She pulled her hand back against her mouth.
Maybe he wouldn’t notice Evie. Maybe she would go on sleeping.
She listened to slow, heavy footsteps. Squealing floorboards.
Nova was shaking so hard she worried the noise of her clattering bones would give her away. She also knew it wouldn’t matter.
It was a small apartment, and there was nowhere for her to run.
“The Renegades will come,” she whispered, her voice little more than a breath in the darkness. The words came unbidden into her head, but they were there all the same. Something solid. Something to cling to.
Bang.
Her mother’s blood on the door.
She whimpered. “The Renegades will come…”
A truth, inspired by countless news stories heard on the radio. A certainty, patched together from the words of gossiping neighbors.
They always came.
Bang.
Her father’s body crumpling in the hall.
Nova squeezed her eyes shut as hot tears spilled down her cheeks. “The Renegades … the Renegades will come.”
Evie’s shrill cry started up in the main room.
Nova’s eyes snapped open. A sob scratched at the inside of her throat, and she could no longer say the words out loud.
Please, please let them come …
A third gunshot.
The air caught in Nova’s lungs.
Her world stilled. Her mind went blank.
She sank into the mess at the bottom of the closet.
Evie had stopped crying.
Evie had stopped.
Distantly, she heard the man moving through the apartment, checking the cabinets and behind the doors. Slow. Methodical.
By the time he found her, Nova had stopped shaking. She couldn’t feel anything anymore. Couldn’t think. The words still echoed in her head, having lost all meaning.
The Renegades … the Renegades will come …
Doused in the stark lights from her bedroom, Nova lifted her eyes. The man stood over her. There was blood on his shirt. Later, she would remember how there had been no regret, no apology, no remorse.
Nothing at all as he lifted the gun.
The metal pressed against her forehead, where her mother’s blood had cooled.
Nova reached up and grabbed his wrist, unleashing her power with more force than she ever had.
The man’s jaw slackened. His eyes dulled and rolled up into his head. He fell backward, landing with a resounding thud on her bedroom floor, crushing her dollhouse beneath his weight. The whole building seemed to shake from his fall.
Seconds later, deep, peaceful breathing filled the apartment.
Nova’s lungs contracted again. Air moved through her throat, shuddering. In. And out.
She forced herself to stand and rub the tears and snot from her face.
She picked up the gun, though it felt awkward and heavy in her hand, and slipped her finger over the trigger.
She took a step closer, one hand gripping the doorframe as she left the sanctuary of the closet. She wasn’t sure where she should aim. His head. His chest. His stomach.
She settled on his heart. Got so close to him she could feel his shirt brushing against her bare toes.
Bang. Her mother was dead.
Bang. Her father.
Bang. Evie …
The Renegades had not come.
They weren’t going to come.
“Pull the trigger,” she whispered into the empty room. “Pull the trigger, Nova.”
But she didn’t.
“Pull the trigger.”
She couldn’t.
Minutes, maybe hours later, her uncle found her. She was still standing over the stranger’s sleeping form, ordering herself to pull the trigger. Hearing those gunshots over and over every time she dared to close her eyes.