To her right, a platform jutted out over the field, where all five Council members sat watching the proceedings. Even from down here she could see bandages wrapped around Thunderbird’s wing and she felt a spark of pride at the sight.
Last year, Detonator had suggested they stage an attack at the trials, but Cyanide talked her out of it, believing there would be too strong a concentration of prodigies and Renegade supporters for them to be effective.
Seeing it for herself, Nova knew he was right. There were prodigies everywhere. Renegades everywhere. It felt a bit like being surrounded by Queen Bee’s hives, if one happened to be allergic to bee stings.
She focused on the field, where the contestant had just revealed that he had four extra arms emerging from his rib cage. The crowd came alive with red signs, the vast majority proclaiming—HERO!
Nova scoffed. Did they really think that extra limbs made you a hero? Or being able to shoot fireworks from your hands? Or even having a layer of chromium beneath your skin?
Heroism wasn’t about what you could do, it was about what you did.
It was about who you saved when they needed saving.
She crossed her arms, tapping her fingers against her elbows while the trials went on. Prodigies had come from all corners of the city, some from the far reaches of the world, even, in hopes of being accepted among the elite.
Many were accepted, but those who weren’t … the looks of devastation on their faces almost, almost made Nova feel bad for them. That’s what they got, though, for putting so much faith into the Renegades.
She shut her eyes and exhaled. The bitterness was pooling on her tongue, filling her mouth with a sour taste. The smell of sweat and nerves clogged her throat.
She did not belong here. She didn’t even want to be here. If Cyanide hadn’t put the idea in her head, she doubted it ever would have crossed her mind.
But if she made it—if she became a Renegade—she could make a difference. What could she learn from the inside, about their headquarters, the Council, their plans for the city?
Not to mention her new enemy.
The Sentinel.
Even thinking the name made her stomach tighten, and she thought again of the smug righteousness he’d had on the rooftop when he’d said it. I am the Sentinel.
Gag. Ew. Bleh.
He was nothing but a fancy science experiment, but the nature of the experiment eluded her the more she thought of it. He had too many powers, too many abilities for one prodigy. She’d never seen anything like it. And if the Renegades had somehow contrived a way to bestow multiple superpowers on one individual, what would stop them from making an entire army of them?
It was already hard enough to fight against them. For ten years the Anarchists had clung to the last shreds of livelihood and freedom. Nova feared the Sentinel could be the end of life as they knew it.
But not if she could learn more, and find out some way to fight against him, or to destroy him entirely, and anyone else they made in his image.
Knowledge is power.
One of Ace’s favorite phrases, drilled deep into her head over the years. To overthrow the Renegades, they needed knowledge. They needed to know their enemy’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities.
And if they succeeded … if she succeeded …
To no longer be seen as a parasite in society. To be feared would be so much better than this—the sneering, the mocking, the small-minded insults from people who would rather be kept under the thumbs of their idols than be allowed to live free, by their own will and choices.
She opened her eyes again. Could she really pull it off? She would have to spend days or weeks or even months pretending to be one of them. How long would she be able to maintain such an act? How long before they, too, realized she did not belong?
Out in the arena, the crowd went into fits of laughter as a prodigy demonstrated her power—expanding her head like a helium balloon, then floating a few feet above the ground until it deflated again.
The laughter that filled the stands was amused at first, but soon turned toward cruel. It disgusted Nova. Sure, the girl might have looked silly, but could any of them do what she was doing? Did they really believe they were better than her?
The Renegade teams input their responses and the word REJECTED flashed across the scoreboard. The girl was sent off the field to a chorus of boos.
Nova felt sick with abhorrence when she heard her name blaring over the loud speakers.
“Next up—Nova McLain! Alias: Insomnia!”
She cast her gaze toward the ceiling. She didn’t have to do this. She could still leave.
Or she could stay and try to do something worthwhile. She could make her family proud.