But it wasn’t in the vault—she had checked the rental paperwork several times over the last few days and Adrian had yet to return the medallion.
She needed it. Not to protect from Max, but to protect herself against Agent N. Specifically—Agent N in gas form. Leroy was on the verge of a breakthrough, she knew, and with the mist-missiles she’d since taken from the vault, she now knew exactly how to convert the weapons into a delivery system for the toxic vapor. Any prodigy who entered a five-foot radius of the device within the first three and a half minutes of its release （the time it would take for the vapor molecules to disperse to the point of ineffectiveness, according to Leroy’s calculations） would be neutralized. Their powers sapped away as surely as if the sludgy green concoction had been plunged straight into their hearts.
Finally, the Anarchists had a weapon they could use against the Renegades. Multiple Renegades at once, even.
But Nova did not want to risk her own ability, and no one else would want to take the chance either. In order to protect herself in the fight she knew was coming, a fight she expected sooner than later, she needed that medallion.
These were the thoughts churning in her head as she marked the six-mile path between the dingy row house she shared with the Anarchists and the nicest suburban neighborhood in Gatlon City limits.
She had known for years that Captain Chromium and the Dread Warden had taken up residence inside the old mayor’s mansion on Pickering Grove. When the Anarchists were suffering their existence in the subway tunnels, she had heard Honey gripe incessantly about the unfairness of it all. That their enemies should be surrounded by luxury, while she, a queen, was stuck in those grubby, smelly caves. Once Nova asked, if they knew where two of their greatest enemies lived, why didn’t they go there and attack? Leroy could fill it with poisonous fumes through the ductwork, or Ingrid could have simply blown the place up. Or Nova—thirteen years old and full of hubris at the time—could sneak in through a window and murder them both in their sleep, never mind that she’d never killed anyone at that point.
But Honey had sighed wistfully, while Leroy told Nova everything they knew about the mansion’s security systems, both technological and superpowered protective devices.
No. Captain Chromium and the Dread Warden would not be so easy to kill.
But Nova wasn’t planning on killing anyone tonight.
She just wanted to chat. And maybe have a peek around.
That wasn’t a crime, was it?
Her footfalls began to slow from their determined pace as the homes surrounding her grew larger, the driveways leading to them stretched longer, and the trees lining the road became so old and established that in places their branches created a canopy over the whole street.
This neighborhood still bore the signs of destruction from the Age of Anarchy that had been felt by the rest of the city, and the number of boarded windows and unkempt yards suggested that many of these glorious homes remained abandoned. Nova wondered why so many of the apartments downtown were cramped and crowded to an almost unhealthy degree while such estates stood empty. Surely there was a better use for them than to let them rot and collapse from disrepair.
She couldn’t help but picture what life might have been like here, before the Age of Anarchy. How different to peer out your window and see a neatly manicured garden and children riding bikes down the street. How unlike anything she had ever known, to have neighborhood barbecues in the backyard and to spend the evening helping young Evie with her schoolwork while Mom and Papà made dinner in the kitchen—
Nova had to forcefully shake the fantasy away before she could risk tears coming into her eyes.
Thanks to whatever Callum did to her mind, thoughts like these had been creeping up all day. Little daydreams about the what-ifs that surrounded her. What if there was more to life than revenge and lies? What if the Anarchists and the Renegades didn’t have to be in constant war? What if Adrian Everhart wasn’t her enemy and his fathers hadn’t failed her, and her life could revolve around gossiping with Ruby and laughing at Oscar’s jokes and not being afraid of every butterfly she passed, and every time she felt her heart patter at the sight of Adrian it wouldn’t feel like a betrayal of everyone she cared about?
But that life would never come to pass. Not for her. Thanks to the Roaches, who had murdered her family, and the Renegades, who had failed to protect them. Thanks to all the people who had hated and abused prodigies for all those centuries. Thanks to the villain gangs who had taken advantage of Ace’s beautiful vision.
And thanks to Nova, herself. She knew she had a choice. She had seen goodness among the Renegades, no matter how much she wanted to pretend it wasn’t there. She could try to ignore their false promises, forget the lies they told the world. She could simply give up.
But Callum had wanted to remind Nova what it was she was fighting for, and it worked.
She was fighting to rid the world of the Renegades, so that no kid would ever again put their faith in superheroes who wouldn’t come. So no one else would have to suffer the heartbreak that she had.
And also, of course, for Ace. He had taken her in, protected her, cared for her.
She would not let him die without a fight.
Exhaling a steadying breath, she checked the faded numbers on the nearest mailbox. Her heart lurched. She’d been so caught up in her own head she’d almost walked right past it.
Her attention jumped from the mailbox to the wrought-iron gate to the long flagstone walkway to … the house.
The mansion.
The … palace, at least in comparison to every home Nova had ever had.
“You can’t be serious,” she muttered.
The entry gate was connected to an old brick wall that lined the estate. The walkway curved around a tiered fountain, which either no longer worked or had been turned off for the coming winter. The large arched windows were trimmed in pristine white moldings. A Greek-style portico framed the front porch and the grand double doors, which were painted a welcoming butter yellow. A series of chimneys erupted from various gables around the roof and the occasional bay window added visual interest to the brick.
Awe and disgust mingled together as she took it in, and she wasn’t sure which was more prominent. She wanted to jeer at how pretentious it all was, but she had to admit that wasn’t entirely true.
The home was … stately, to be sure. It had a subtle classicism to it, like it could have been built at any point in the past two hundred years.
Still, it was far more square footage than three people could possibly use.
Maybe she was just feeling defensive, though. She couldn’t help wondering what Adrian must have thought when he saw the decrepit row house on Wallowridge, when he was accustomed to this.
Gulping, Nova approached the gate. She reached for the handle, when a red light flickered on a device built into the nearest pillar. The light cascaded over Nova from head to foot, then came to rest on her wristband.
“Renegade credentials detected,” said a computerized voice from a speaker disguised in a lamppost. “You may approach the main entrance and present yourself. Warning: Straying from the path could result in loss of life or limb. Welcome to the Gatlon City Mayor’s Mansion!”
The red light blinked out at the same time a lock clunked inside the gate.