Winston Pratt smiled.
Nova’s mouth ran dry.
She spotted his second puppet before anyone else did—they were all so focused on the boy thrashing in the Captain’s arms.
No one else noticed Magpie, the prodigy pickpocket. No one else saw her lift her palm. Two rows away from her, Stalagmight didn’t notice his iron hatchet being wriggled free from its sheath and flying into Magpie’s waiting hand. She raised the hatchet and charged at Tsunami. A Council member. Tsunami’s back was to her. No one would notice until it was too late.
Nova stood frozen, unable to decide if she should try to stop Magpie or not. This was her objective too. Eliminate the Council. Destroy the Renegades. One less Council member would be a good thing—
“No!”
The scream was so close to Nova’s ear that for a moment she thought maybe it had come from her own mouth, but then Danna dissolved into a swarm of butterflies and soared over the audience.
On the stage, surrounded by chaos, the doctor drove the needle into Winston’s arm and pressed in the plunger.
Danna reformed just in time to grab Magpie’s wrist and haul her away from the Councilwoman. Magpie screamed as Danna bent her arm back so far she was forced to drop the hatchet. Tsunami spun around, eyes wide.
Nova exhaled, but if it was relief she felt, it was short-lived. Danna, her arms locked around a flailing Magpie, was staring straight at her. Confused. And maybe, betrayed.
Shivering, Nova looked away, her cheeks flushing hot. Had Danna been watching her? Did she know that Nova had seen the whole thing and done nothing to stop it?
The uproar in the room suddenly changed as the screeching from Winston’s first puppet fell silent. From her vantage point on the chair, Nova saw the thin golden strings that were connecting the two young Renegades to Winston’s fingers snap and disintegrate.
Winston studied his hands, flexing his fingers in surprise. Small wrinkles formed in the dark paint around his eyes. His breath became erratic. His jaw began to tremble. A low, distressed wail crawled out from between his lips.
“N-no,” he stammered, his voice coated in terror. “What is this? What have you done?”
The dark eyeliner began to bleed.
Nova clapped a hand to her mouth. It was makeup, or at least it appeared so now, its inky blackness dripping down his face in thick, gloppy tears. It mingled with the rosy splotches on his cheeks and soon all his features were melting black and red. Even his porcelain-pale whiteness began to fade, oozing down the sides of his face and onto the collar of his striped jumpsuit.
Winston let out another wail. Those who were onstage took a collective step back. Dr. Hogan seemed enthralled as she watched Winston’s transformation. Everyone else seemed wary, even afraid.
Winston regarded his curled fingers, shivering. Nova wondered what he was seeing, or not seeing. Feeling, or not feeling.
He started to sob. Huge tears dripped down through the mess on his cheeks. He turned his head and rubbed his nose on his shoulder. The striped fabric came away stained with black and red smudges. When his head lifted again, Nova could see that the lines on his chin were gone. His skin was sallow and tinted faintly blue. He continued to cry, inspecting his hands in disbelief, and he must have known—whatever he felt, whatever he could sense occurring within his body—he must have known the truth.
He was no longer a prodigy. No longer a villain. No longer the Puppeteer.
And despite having never much liked Winston Pratt, Nova could not ignore the twinge of pity that ran through her.
What would become of him now?
As her thoughts roiled, someone in the audience began to clap. Then another joined in. And soon the room was applauding while Winston Pratt sobbed on the stage.
The experiment had been a success, and they were all beginning to realize what that meant. For the Renegades. For the world.
And for the Anarchists.
With a substance like this at the Renegades’ disposal, how long before the Anarchists were annihilated? The Renegades wouldn’t even have to compromise their own morals. They wouldn’t be killing anyone, only taking away their powers.
The room began to right itself. With the villain neutralized, the Renegades returned to their seats. The two kids who had been taken over by the Puppeteer were led away from the room by one of the healers.
Nova started to step down from the chair, but then her gaze landed on Winston again and she froze.
He was staring at her—apparently more distressed than surprised to see her.
One knee buckled. She stumbled forward, but Adrian caught her by the elbow.
“Are you all right?”
She blinked. In all the commotion, she’d forgotten he was beside her. Yanking her arm away, she dropped into her seat, trying to hide herself from Winston’s view.
“Just dandy,” she muttered.
Winston was hauled from the stage by two security guards. Though he had been walking on his own feet when the Captain had brought him in before, now his entire body was limp, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Nova did not sit up again until the door shut between them. How would he be able to cope with such a change? They had stripped him not just of his power, but his identity. If he could no longer be the Puppeteer, who was he? What was he?
And those same questions would be forced upon everyone who became a victim of Agent N.
Did the Council truly believe they had the right to decide who should be allowed to be a prodigy, and who shouldn’t?
Once the crowd had settled, Tamaya Rae stepped up to the microphone. “Thank you for that powerful demonstration, Joanna. Beginning next week, all active patrol units will be required to receive a minimum of thirty hours of dedicated Agent N training, where you will learn the most effective means of administering the substance, as well as how to protect yourself and your teammates from becoming victim to its effects yourselves. We are preparing a press release to inform the media about Agent N and how it will be used to further protect the people of this city and ensure justice. At that time, all units who have completed the necessary training will be equipped with an emergency supply of Agent N, to be used as a defensive measure against any prodigy who demonstrates an act of violence against a Renegade or civilian, or who demonstrates willful defiance of the code.”
“Without a trial?” Nova whispered. “They’re giving us the power to just … use this stuff, against anyone we feel like, no evidence of a crime required?” She shook her head. “How can that be within their code?”
Adrian was watching her. She dared to meet his gaze, unable to hide her disgust. Adrian said nothing, but she thought she saw her worries mirrored in his face.
“Additionally,” Tamaya continued, “any prodigy who is currently wanted for recent transgressions is to be neutralized on sight, including all known members of the Anarchist villain group, and, as we have not yet found a body confirming his death, this includes the vigilante known as the Sentinel as well.”
“Naturally,” Adrian muttered, scratching the back of his neck.
Tamaya continued, “You will receive your training schedule—”
“Is it reversible?” shouted Nova.
Tamaya paused, irritated at the interruption. “Excuse me?”
Nova stood. “Is it reversible? Hypothetically, if a prodigy were ever neutralized by accident, or … without due cause, is there a way for their powers to be restored?”