might have been mistaken,” Adrian finally said, making it easy for Nova to deduce what he wasn’t saying.
Danna wasn’t convinced. She would still be a threat, but Nova hoped she was a threat that would be at least temporarily nullified.
She had other things to worry about. Like what was she going to do to save Ace, with his execution looming.
And why, for all the diabolical schemes, was Narcissa Cronin pretending to be her?
“Adrian,” she said, as the Gatlon skyline began to emerge from the thick mist, “are they still going to execute Ace Anarchy?”
He turned back to her, but this time she was avoiding his eyes, lest he see her horror.
“Yes,” he said. “At the reveal of Agent N, after they neutralize the rest of the Cragmoor inmates. The Council is convinced it’s the best way to show the world that … well, that the Renegades won’t tolerate crime and anarchy.”
Her jaw tightened. She wondered, not for the first time, if Adrian had any idea how closely related the Council’s ideas of crime and anarchy were to her ideas of freedom and self-reliance.
It didn’t really matter, though. She had a lot of time to think while she was in her cell at Cragmoor, and she was returning to Gatlon City with new plans. Even some new ideals.
She had begun to dream of a future for herself and the others that was different from any future she’d ever dared to envision before. And though, at the time, she’d believed she wouldn’t have any future at all, now she couldn’t help but wonder what might be possible.
But first, above all else, she needed to find a way to stop them from killing Ace. She needed to rescue him, as so many years ago he had rescued her.
The blare of a foghorn rumbled over the choppy waves. It was early morning, and the lights of the city were shimmering off the damp air. Orange floodlights shone on the outline of the pier where the boat would soon pull in to the dock. Squinting, Nova could barely make out a number of shadowy forms waiting there, but couldn’t tell who they might be. She had a brief fantasy that it would be her family, the closest thing to a family she’d ever had. Honey. Leroy. Phobia.
Well, not Phobia, so much.
Or even Ruby and Oscar. Even Danna, who Nova had found herself liking despite Danna’s obvious suspicions. Or Max, she thought. She was startled when her mind even painted Simon Westwood and Hugh Everhart into that picture. A family, waiting to welcome her home. Any family.
She sighed, knowing that all of these daydreams were flawed in one way or another. Knowing that future would never come to pass.
A hand, warm and strong, slid over hers, making the paper around the flowers crinkle in the silence. Nova flipped her hand over and laced their fingers together.
“Nova…”
“I forgive you,” she whispered, smiling at him. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
The lines on his face slowly melted away, softening with relief. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, which was when she noticed the lump at the base of his wrist. Nova flipped his hand over and pushed up his sleeve, revealing a thick square bandage on his forearm. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” he said.
A little too quickly.
Nova frowned at him.
Adrian cringed. “I mean, it’s sort of something. I’m … trying something new. Here.” He peeled back one side of the bandage. Where she had expected to see a wound of some sort was … a tattoo.
It was fairly recent, by the looks of it. Scabs had formed over the black ink lines, and the skin around it was swollen and red.
Nova took his arm and twisted it toward the grayish light streaming through the window. The tattoo depicted a tower, like a castle turret, sitting atop a hill. The top of a heart could be seen barely visible over the wall, while the grassy slope at the tower’s base was littered with fallen arrows.
“Okay…,” Nova said, not quite sure what to make of it. “What does it mean?”
“Protection.” Adrian sounded a little sheepish as he reaffixed the bandage. “I…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve had this idea, lately, that maybe my power can transfer to tattoos. I mean, it doesn’t really matter if I draw with marker or crayon or chalk or paint … so why not tattoo ink?”
“You did this yourself?”
“Yes. And I know it might sound a little far-fetched, but … I thought