Winston had been neutralized. That the Renegades had stripped him of his powers. But she didn’t know if the inmates here knew about Agent N, and she didn’t think she could explain it in muttered half sentences.
Her neighbor kept on scooping food into his mouth.
Nova slowed down her own pace. Usually she ate quickly, so as to gulp down as much of the food as possible without actually tasting it. But it was so nice to speak with someone, to have any human interaction, that she was already dreading when it would end.
“They came for him weeks ago,” the man finally said. “Figured he’d be back by now.”
Nova thought about that. Where had they taken Winston after he’d been neutralized? She supposed it made sense that they wouldn’t send him back to Cragmoor—he wasn’t a prodigy anymore. Had he been shipped off to that civilian prison upstate? Or a mental health facility? Or was he still at Renegade Headquarters, being subjected to yet more experiments that he hadn’t volunteered for?
“He said you fed him to the heroes,” the man continued.
It took Nova a moment to realize he was talking about the parade, when she had thrown Winston out of his own hot-air balloon, allowing him to be captured by the Renegades while she saved herself. Her stomach twinged with guilt, and not for the first time.
But when she dared to cast a sideways glance at the stranger, she saw that he was smiling. “Said you never give up. Said that’s what he liked about you.” His eyes slid sideways, meeting hers. They were so bright, it was a little bit like staring into twin suns.
Nova’s shoulders drooped. He had been atrocious, Winston. As the Puppeteer, he had done awful things, things that even the other Anarchists were wary of. And yet she couldn’t help the warmth that flooded through her to think of Winston in this cold, brutal place, saying kind things about her, even after what she’d done to him.
A hand suddenly grabbed the back of Nova’s head, forcing her face away from the neighbor. “Eyes forward!” the guard barked. “No talking!”
She crushed her teeth. There was a moment when she knew the guard’s hand was touching just enough of her scalp that she could have driven her power into him. She was almost angry enough to do it, too.
But she resisted. She said nothing, didn’t even glare at the guard’s back as he walked away. Her knuckles were white as she gripped her spoon, but she wouldn’t lash out. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of getting to punish her for it.
Nova put her fury into her jaw, gnashing her way through another chunk of bread.
She sensed the change more than heard it. The room was quiet enough as it was, and yet, suddenly, the silence was palpable. The chewing, the scrape of cutlery—it was almost as if even the breathing stopped.
Nova raised her head.
The warden was making his way to the back of the room, so that all of the seated inmates would be facing him. He wore a gray suit, identical to the one he’d worn every time she’d seen him.
“Listen up, everyone,” barked the warden. “I have an announcement to make and I don’t intend to explain this more than once.” Coming to a stop at the room’s center, he frowned at the inmates, then faced one of the guards. “We’re missing one.”
“He’s being brought in from solitary now,” the guard answered.
The warden exhaled, exasperated, but he didn’t have to wait long. Moments later, a door opened near the corner of the room, a door Nova had only ever seen closed.
And there was Ace.
He was flanked by two guards, being led slowly into the cafeteria.
Nova stiffened. He was almost unrecognizable. Ace had faded even more since she’d last seen him and no longer resembled himself at all. His skin sagged from his cheekbones. His eyes were deep in their sockets, the skin around them practically translucent. His feet dragged as if he could barely walk and it was clear that he was in pain with every stumbling step.
And yet—the other prisoners did recognize him. At least, many of them seemed to. She could tell not just by their awestruck silence, but by the way those nearest him gave an almost imperceptible nod as he was dragged past, showing their respect for the man who had once led so many of them into a revolution.
The guards, on the other hand, stood at attention with their hands