anymore. We already have everything we need to destroy you.”
With that, she kicked her legs back to the other side of the railing and walked away. It wasn’t long before the drum of her boots was silenced as she vanished into another mirror.
The sound was almost immediately followed by sirens blaring from outside. Adrian was momentarily confused, before he remembered the burglars, the arrest, the extraction crew coming to take the criminals to prison.
He didn’t care about any of that.
Hope and clarity swelled inside him.
Nova was innocent.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
INNOCENT.
She was innocent.
According to the Renegades, Nova Jean McLain was innocent.
Nova’s emotions fluctuated every few seconds, from elation to disbelief to the absolute certainty that this was a trap. No one had told her what had been uncovered. What new evidence had been found to prove her sudden innocence. She racked her brain to think what false evidence the Anarchists might have planted to lead the Renegades to this conclusion, but she could think of nothing that made sense. Not after they’d all been so certain of her guilt. Not with the truth hovering over her head that she was, in fact, guilty.
And yet, here she was, being handed a box with her original clothes and boots and told she was free to leave. The same guard who had first embedded the small tracker between her shoulder blades used an even more painful device to extract it. Nova gritted her teeth and didn’t complain.
They gave her a thick wad of gauze and a mint.
Was this a trick?
This time, she was left alone to change. Exhaling through her nostrils, she pulled on her clothes, then rapped on the door to let them know she was ready.
Two more guards were posted at the exit, though they ignored her as she was led by. She listened to the bolts clank and the gears rumble inside the massive walls. She watched the gate open and the two Cragmoor guards walked her out into the blustering, frigid sea air. The guards were armed, as always, but this was the first time that Nova had been outside her cell without her hands being cuffed. The guards didn’t say much. One of them, a female with inky-black eyes that showed no sign of whites to them, very nearly smiled. “We will escort you all the way to the dock,” she said.
She seemed borderline apologetic, though not apologetic enough.
Could it be a trick?
Nova’s hands kept twitching to touch the guards and put them to sleep before they could lead her into whatever trap was waiting, but she held back the urge.
Because what if this was real? What if her name had really been cleared?
And if so … how?
Her skin prickled with gooseflesh, in part spurred by the wind that threw her bangs into her face, but also by the anticipation of an ambush. Maybe her execution was to come early. Maybe they didn’t want it to be public after all. She almost expected a bullet in her back at any second, but when she glanced up at the guard towers posted to either side of the gate, she saw their rifles pointing toward the sky. One of them gave her a salute, without expression. The other was focused on the choppy waves of the sea and the hazy fog that hid the distant city skyline from view.
The small island felt like it was a part of another universe entirely, and the sensation chilled Nova to her core.
The small terrain vehicle took her and her entourage back down to the dock, where an armored boat rocked in the turbulent water, where the same captain and set of guards who had delivered Nova to this island now waited to take her back.
And then she saw him.
He was waiting on the dock, a heavy wool coat, a black knit cap, jeans.
Adrian Everhart, looking too good to be true in this dank, dreary place.
In his left hand was a bouquet of flowers—the most vivid sunshine-yellow daisies Nova had ever seen in her life. In his right hand was a tool belt similar to the one Nova had worn over her Renegade uniform.
Nova didn’t realize she’d stopped walking until the guard with the black eyes politely cleared her throat. Nova started down the uneven wooden steps, past the jagged black rocks that shone with gathered mist, their surfaces studded with barnacles and kelp.
She came to stand in front of Adrian, her hair becoming damp from the spray, the taste of salt on her tongue.
“Flowers or weaponry?”