“Oh, I love lumpia,” said Hugh, more enthusiastically than the comment warranted.
Nova bit the inside of her cheek, almost willing him to read her thoughts. My dad, my mom—who aren’t here anymore. Who believed so strongly that you would come, that you would protect them. Who taught me to believe you would protect us.
But Hugh just went on stirring the pot, his expression serene.
“Where did McLain come from?” said Simon, startling her. “If your dad was Italian.”
Her heart hammered. She’d forgotten. She was not Nova Artino, not here. She was Nova Jean McLain. “Uh … my … grandfather,” she stammered. “Paternal grandfather. He was Scottish, but … lived in Italy. For a while.”
Simon made a noise of mild interest. A polite noise. A noise for trivial small talk.
Had she fooled them? Or were they trying to lure her off her guard?
Despite how cheerful they were both acting, she could see that Hugh had bruise-tinged shadows beneath his eyes and the start of stubble on his usually clean-shaven jaw. Simon, too, seemed less spirited than usual.
“Are you both okay?” she said.
Simon chuckled and he and Hugh shared a commiserating look. “Adrian told us you slept for a long time last night,” he said, sweeping the carrot tops into his palm and dumping them into the sink on the other side of the bar. “I suppose he didn’t tell you the news?”
“News?”
The door behind her swung open and Adrian emerged, holding a can of diced tomatoes like a trophy. “Mission accomplished.”
“Thanks, Adrian,” said Hugh, taking the can from Adrian. Instead of using a can opener, he dug his fingernails into the edge of the can and peeled back the aluminum top. He dumped the contents into the sauce. “Simon was just telling Nova about the Sentinel.”
She and Adrian both stilled.
“The Sentinel?” she asked.
“Yep,” Simon said darkly. “He’s alive.”
Adrian scowled. It surprised Nova. For all the times he’d heard her complain about the Sentinel, he’d never said anything negative about the vigilante himself. At least, not that she could recall. She’d had a sneaking suspicion that he sort of admired the guy.
“Right,” said Adrian. “I guess I should have mentioned something. It’s all over the news right now.”
Nova blinked at him. His tone was odd—evasive.
Simon slid off his stool and came around the bar, passing in front of Nova. She caught sight of the knife in his hand and every muscle tightened. She clawed her fingers, targeting the exact patch of skin she would use to knock him unconscious.
He grabbed a towel from the counter and started to wipe off the blade.
“Excuse me,” he said, turning back to her.
Nova started in surprise. “Right, sorry,” she said, easing away from him.
He dropped the knife into the block with the others.
She tried to disentangle the knot in her stomach, irritated with her own overreaction. “So … how do we know he’s alive?”
“He had a run-in with one of our patrol units. Do you know Frostbite and her team?” Simon caught himself and chuckled, but without much humor. “Of course you do. The trials. Anyway—they were sent after Hawthorn. We finally had some solid leads about where to find her, and … well. They found her.” A muscle twitched beneath his beard.
“And?” said Nova.
“They got there in time to see the Sentinel torturing her—crushing some of her limbs.”
Nova reeled back. “What?”
Beside her, Adrian picked up a carrot stick and jabbed it hard into a bowl of dip.
“When he realized the Renegades were there, he murdered Hawthorn, right before their eyes. Then he attacked them.”
Nova peered at Adrian, in part for confirmation, but he was glowering at the counter.
“Let me guess,” she said. “He got away. Again.”
“It’s one more reminder that he is not to be underestimated,” said Simon.
Nova exhaled. “But why would he attack Hawthorn like that? Why not tie her up and leave her for the Renegades, like all those criminals he’s caught before?”
“We think it might have been a revenge killing,” said Hugh. “Because she embarrassed him on that barge.”
“Are we sure we can take Frostbite’s word for all of this?” said Adrian, snapping another carrot between his fingers. “It seems a little far-fetched if you ask me.”
“We’ve recovered Hawthorn’s body,” said Simon. “We’ve seen the destruction from the battle with the Sentinel. The story checks out.”
Adrian opened his mouth to say something more, but hesitated. Still glaring, he chomped down on the carrot.
Nova crossed her arms over her chest. The Sentinel being alive drummed up a whole parade of feelings she’d forgotten about since she’d watched him sink in the river. He had been determined to find Nightmare. More determined than anyone.
Hopefully he believed she was dead as much as the Renegades did.
They carried the food to a breakfast nook. Nova let Adrian sit down first before sliding in beside him, so she wouldn’t be trapped against the wall. But even that small bit of strategy made her feel just a little ridiculous and she was beginning to forget why she had been so concerned before.
She had slept under this roof for hours. Twenty-four hours. And nothing had happened to her. They did not know she was Nightmare. They did not know she was an Anarchist, or Ace’s niece. To them, she was a Renegade, through and through.
What was she doing here?
Ace was wasting away in his catacombs and she was having dinner with his enemies.
For a short time, she’d felt comfortable. Safe, even. She’d been swept away by a mural and a dream. She’d imagined what it might be like to touch Adrian again, maybe even to kiss him. She’d admired his glasses, for all that was trite and pathetic.
But none of that was why she was here.
She should probably congratulate herself. She had started this charade intending to spend a few weeks inside headquarters and learn what she could from her fellow drones, but instead, here she was. In the private home of her two biggest targets. They trusted her. Maybe even liked her.
She paused.
Did they like her?
She scowled at the tongs as Hugh lifted spaghetti onto her plate, forcing herself not to be curious, not to care. She could use this to her advantage. All of it. Their trust, their unguarded routine. This was her chance to needle information from them. She couldn’t waste it.
“So,” said Adrian, taking a sip of water, “did the big crime scene at the shipyard turn up new evidence about the Sentinel? Do we have any clues about his identity yet?”
“They’re still going over it,” said Hugh. “So far, I think the only solid clue we have is that he just might be the most overconfident prodigy this city has ever seen.”
Simon laughed. “The most overconfident? Surely no one can surpass you in that regard.”
Hugh grinned. To Nova’s surprise, he looked at her when he said, “They’re always giving me a tough time, but they don’t know how hard it is to be this charming. It takes real dedication.”
Not sure what to say, Nova smiled back and shoveled a forkful of pasta into her mouth.