But then the hill became steeper, and the neighborhood turned desolate, and he realized where she was taking him.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
He started to notice signs of a long-ago battle and the destruction it had wrought. Scorch marks on the pavement. Holes smashed through brick walls. An entire building with the windows blown out.
And then there were no buildings at all.
Adrian left the crumbling homes and apartments behind and stood at the edge of the wasteland. The Battle for Gatlon had leveled almost an entire square mile of civilization, and the debris had never been cleaned up. A chain-link fence had been erected around the perimeter, warning of possible radiation poisoning, which was enough to keep most tourists away.
In the center of the wasteland stood the ruins of the cathedral that Ace Anarchy had claimed as his home—his headquarters, of sorts. The bell tower was mostly standing, along with parts of the cloister and the northern part of the structure. But the rest had been demolished.
Adrian’s fingers twitched, itching to unbutton the top of his dress shirt and open the zipper tattoo that would transform him into the Sentinel.
But even now, he didn’t want to risk Danna finding out his secret.
The butterfly flew over the fence, and Adrian saw a place where someone had taken wire clippers to the metal links and pulled it back, just wide enough to slip through.
Curious tourists, he thought. Or some kids acting on a dare.
But he couldn’t be sure of that. He had no idea who would come here. This place had been left abandoned since the defeat of Ace Anarchy.
Why had Danna brought him here?
Gripping his marker, Adrian ducked through the opening. The metal scratched at his jacket and he felt a piece snag on his shoulder, ripping a hole in the seam. As soon as he was on the other side, he wriggled his arms out of the sleeves and left the jacket draped over the fence so it would be easy to find the opening again.
The butterfly headed toward the cathedral, dipping in and out of the ruins. A second fence had fallen into disrepair, and Adrian passed a DANGER: DO NOT ENTER sign. The butterfly alighted briefly on the sign, then took off again.
“Okay, Danna,” Adrian murmured, pausing as he watched the butterfly’s wings swooping around the debris, catching the moonlight. “This would be a good time to indicate whether or not I should call for backup.”
But the butterfly didn’t answer, of course. She couldn’t understand him anyway.
He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Indecision clawed at him. Should he call for backup? And if so—should he call his team, or his dads?
Or should he transform into the Sentinel and see what he was dealing with first?
The butterfly waited on a fallen pillar, its wings beating impatiently.
Adrian gulped.
If he had been with the others when he’d gone after Hawthorn, then things might have gone much differently.
There is no I in hero.
“Fine,” he muttered, lifting his wrist to his mouth. “Send team communication. Calling for immediate backup at—”
A sudden wind blew around Adrian’s ankles, kicking up a cloud of dust. The butterfly was caught in the draft and sent whirring into the overhang over a collapsed arch.
Adrian’s words dried on his tongue. The dust converged. Darkened. Solidified.
A figure stood in a fluttering black cloak, its hood eclipsing the deep shadows where a face should have been, the hooked blade of a scythe cutting across the sky.
Phobia.
Adrian’s pulse thundered. For a heartbeat that felt like an eternity, he stared into the nothingness inside Phobia’s cloak, dread settling inside his core. Of all the Anarchists, Phobia had long struck him as the most frightening. Not only because his power revolved around the control of a person’s greatest fears, but because so little was known about him. No one knew his weaknesses, if he had any. He had never heard of Phobia being wounded, even during the Battle for Gatlon. He had once seen him struck with a giant shard of ice that would have impaled most humans, but Phobia only disappeared for a while, fading into black smoke. The effect had been temporary.
Still, Adrian held his ground. He struggled to think of his options. What could he draw that would aid in a fight against Phobia?
“I have tasted fear like yours before,” said Phobia, his voice a rasp and a hiss. “The fear of being powerless.”
Adrian tightened his jaw.
Screw it.
He tore open the collar of his shirt, popping a button from the fabric. His fingers pulled the zipper from the ink.
He started to tug it down when he heard someone screaming his name.
He froze.
His entire body caved in on itself. Filling with disbelief. And though he knew deep inside that it was a trick, and it was not to be trusted, there was no possibility of him not looking.
Not hoping, for all his miserable optimism.
He inclined his head and saw her.
The thick ropes of her hair framing frantic eyes. The golden cape whipping in the air behind her. That brave, beautiful face that could morph from stern to loving in the blink of an eye. From disapproval to laughter.
His mom was soaring over the cathedral, like she couldn’t get to him fast enough. All the horrors of the world were mirrored in her face, and she was coming to protect him, her only son, her life and love.
It was like watching a string cut on a puppet.
She was flying.
And then she was falling.
Plummeting toward the wasteland.
Her cries caught in the wind. Her arms flailed, getting twisted in the cape.
Adrian yelled and tried to run toward her, but his feet were cemented to the ground. It was his worst nightmare, all his worst nightmares come to life. His mother falling to her death and he was stuck, unable to do anything. He was losing her all over again, and he was completely, utterly powerless.
A shadow cut through his mother’s body moments before she collided with the earth.
The illusion shattered.
Adrian fell to his knees. Pain spiked through his leg as a piece of sharp stone dug into his shin. He blinked the tears away and watched as the shadow, a blur of movement, pivoted in the air and streaked toward the fence line.
Not a shadow. A swarm. Hundreds of monarch butterflies.
And in the distance, just now shoving their way through the fence, were Ruby and Oscar. Adrian didn’t think they had seen him yet.
Phobia turned toward them. His skeletal fingers curled around the handle of his scythe, then he dissolved into a cloud of black crows. They soared after the butterflies, driving them away.
With an exhausted cry, Adrian ducked and rolled behind the fallen arch. He landed on his shoulder. His eyes were watering. His body still shaking from the vision. It had seemed so real. Her voice. The terrified expression. The way his heart had yearned to get to her, to save her.
He took in a shuddering breath, trying to clear the thoughts from his mind.
It didn’t work. The memory remained, cloying and cruel.
But he reached for the zipper anyway, and let the Sentinel engulf him.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
ADRIAN FORCED HIMSELF up from the rubble. His legs were still weak, but the suit was supporting him now. The swarm of butterflies was nearly to the fence line and Adrian wondered whether Danna was fleeing for her life or trying to lead Phobia away from her friends. Either way, the flock of crows was gaining on her, their silhouettes almost invisible against the night sky.