tan line that depicted where the bracelet had sat against her skin for nearly her entire life.
It felt like someone had chopped off a limb, to be without the bracelet. And the star, too, though she’d had it for far less time. Still, the star felt like something she had made. Something she had dreamed into existence. With Adrian’s help, perhaps, but that didn’t change the intense feeling of ownership she had over it. The way it had secured itself, perfectly fit, to the empty prongs of the bracelet had seemed to confirm that it was hers. She hadn’t fully realized what a comfort its steady pulsing light had brought her these past weeks, while the rest of her life had been driven into further and further turmoil.
Now they were gone. The bracelet. The star. She hated to think of them in the hands of the Renegades, being examined and inspected. Probably Callum would end up with it at some point. He would write up a description for the database. He and Snapshot would argue over how it should be classified—jewelry, historical artifact, mysterious extraterrestrial matter?
Would they know that the star had been complicit in destroying the chromium box that had once protected Ace’s helmet? She shuddered to remember when, in a burst of rage, she had hurled the chromium spear at the box, and in the moment that spear left her hand, the star had let out a wave of light that blinded her, transforming the spear into what seemed like a shard of pure energy.
The next thing she knew, the indestructible box lay at her feet in pieces, and the helmet was free.
It was a mystery that she had only had time to contemplate in the quietest, stillest moments of the past weeks—which had been few and far between. Now, trapped inside her own indestructible box, she found it comforting to have a mystery to contemplate instead of her own crimes and betrayals.
A dream. A star. A painted mural brought to life. Threads of golden energy in the air. The helmet. Her father. The chromium spear. Dozens of artifacts that glowed faintly copper.
They all seemed connected, but how? What did it mean?
Ghosts of her family floated through her thoughts. The smile lines around her father’s eyes. Her mother’s gentle hands. Evie’s dimpled cheeks. And for once, thinking of them didn’t make her want to storm through the streets of Gatlon City and tear apart the first so-called superhero she saw.
For once, thinking of them made her nothing but sad.
She had failed them all.
Groaning, she buried her head in her arms, that one word an echo inside her skull.
Failure. Failure. Failure.
She had failed her family. Ace. The other Anarchists.
Even … Adrian.
Always at the surface of her thoughts, Adrian.
This time, for the first time in so long, she couldn’t even dredge up the memory of his open grin. Or the sensation of his kisses. Or the way his hand held his marker when he drew. Or how he had touched her wrist when they met at the parade. Or—
All that was gone, buried beneath an avalanche of heartache.
Now when she thought of Adrian, she thought only of the way he had looked at her, with the betrayal and disgust and loathing that she had feared for these many months.
She hadn’t realized it until that very moment, but it was all too clear now.
She was living her worst nightmare.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“NOTHING,” ADRIAN MUTTERED to himself, scanning the digital report. “Nothing found in the remains of 9416 Wallowridge can conclusively confirm that any known villains with or without Anarchist affiliations, including alias: Nightmare, recently or otherwise visited or occupied the home.” He glanced up at his teammates. “Then it goes on to list everything they did find, which is mostly random stuff that could have been buried under the foundation decades ago. A couple glass bottles, hairpins, leftover wiring. Et cetera, et cetera.”
“Doesn’t mean anything,” said Oscar. “The house was burnt to a crisp. Of course they didn’t find anything—there was nothing left to find.”
Adrian nodded, but he couldn’t shake his disappointment. He believed Danna. He did. There was no denying that in some twisted way, it made sense that Nova was Nightmare, much as he hated to admit it. There were just too many coincidences.
Still. Hard evidence would have gone a long way toward pacifying his lingering doubts. What if they were wrong? What if Danna was mistaken?
But it was only wishful thinking. A burning desire to not be the Renegade who