Renegades

by Marissa Meyer

  “I’m okay,” said Max, before Adrian could speak. “I sent a message to security. The healers are on their way. But Nova! You have to get her out of here!”

  Adrian gulped.

  Whatever had happened, there was nothing he could do for Max. But Nova …

  Gritting his teeth, he launched himself over the skyscrapers, careening down the streets of Gatlon City.

  He was halfway across the quarantine when he felt it. Like someone had uncorked a drain in him and all his strength was seeping out.

  Mostly he felt it in his hands. His fingers went cold. The muscles, the ligaments in his joints, they felt like they were atrophying with every step he took. Fingers curling inward, becoming useless and frail. Fingers that would never again hold a pen or a paintbrush … hands that would never again create reality from imagination …

  Hurling himself over the hospital, he knelt beside Nova. His breaths were strangled wheezes as he scooped his arms beneath her. Her head fell against his chest and he turned and sought out the exit.

  The door felt impossibly far. How many steps would it take to reach it? Thirty? Fifty? Adrian’s head spun.

  He wouldn’t make it. Not if he had to stumble every step of the way.

  He crushed Nova’s body against him and crouched down. Though he didn’t know if it would work. He couldn’t be sure if that ability had already been sapped from him.

  Still—he took in a deep breath and leaped.

  His body sprang upward. Power coursed through his legs, sending him and Nova soaring over the skyline. For one delirious moment he thought, this is what it would be like. To fly over the city, to really fly …

  Then the ground rushed up to meet them, the jagged glass buildings like hundreds of spikes jutting upward. Adrian adjusted his body with the lost momentum, and he and Nova crashed down onto Scatter Creek Row, mere steps away from the door.

  His muscles were shaking from the effort to stand, but he did stand. His hands and arms were so numb he would have doubted they were still attached if he couldn’t see them, and yet he still tucked them beneath Nova’s armpits, locking his elbows beneath her shoulders. His legs felt like sodden rags, but he took a step back, then another. And another. Gasping. Dazed. His head swimming. His eyesight blurred.

  He collapsed into the antechamber, dropping Nova beside him. With one final, pathetic lurch of his foot, he kicked the quarantine door shut.

  And he lay there, panting. Choking. Dying, he would have thought, except he’d never heard of Max’s ability actually killing someone. That’s how it felt, though. Like all the life was flooding out of his body.

  His head lolled to the side, and he peered at Nova. Her body was splayed across the floor beside him, but her face looked almost peaceful.

  Was she unconscious … or asleep?

  It was an important distinction, but he didn’t know how to tell the difference.

  His hands were still numb. There was no pain, only nothingness, which seemed worse.

  Rolling onto his side, he wriggled closer to her. “Nova,” he said, patting her cheek. “Wake up.”

  She was breathing, at least. He felt for a pulse at her throat and it was steady and strong, and when he looked at her face he could see her eyes twitching beneath her eyelids.

  Was it possible she was dreaming?

  He decided in that moment that he wouldn’t regret the decision to go in after her. Even if he never drew another picture, even if all the powers of the Sentinel were gone forever, he wouldn’t regret it, so long as she was okay.

  Because it’s what any hero would have done.

  “Nova?”

  It seemed almost cruel to try to wake her, when she hadn’t slept for so very long, but something told him she would understand.

  He placed a hand against her cheek again, which was how he realized that sensation was returning to his fingertips, because he could feel the softness of her skin, the promise of warmth beneath his palm.

  He turned her head to face him. “Please wake up.”

  And she did.

  Not like a long-sleeping princess, who might have emerged from a leisurely nap with a refreshing stretch, a graceful arch of her back, eyelids flickering groggily from such a satisfying rest.

  No. Nova McLain bolted upright and screamed.

  Her glazed eyes fell on Adrian, and still shrieking, she scrambled to her feet and backed into a corner. Her breaths rattled, her head tossed from side to side, scanning the small antechamber.

  “Where—what—” She gasped, her chest spasming with each labored breath.

  “It’s okay,” said Adrian. Somehow, seeing Nova standing made him realize that strength had seeped back into his limbs, too, and he pulled himself to his feet. “You’re okay, Nova. You just … you fell asleep.”

  “I did not,” she spat. But then her expression turned from brutal and violent to terrified, and for a moment, Adrian thought he could see her on the verge of crying. Then she turned away, hiding her face against the wall, and pressed her palms over her ears. “Not again. Make it stop.”

  Adrian took a step closer. Her ragged breaths were slowing.

  “It’s all right,” he said, hoping it was true. When he was close enough, he laid a hand on her back and, when she didn’t flinch, he placed the other on her arm and turned her to face him. “You’re at Renegade Headquarters,” he said. “You’re safe.”

  She swallowed. Though her breaths were uneven, she had stopped shaking by the time she pulled her hands away from her ears. She still looked bewildered.

  “Max,” she said. “Max fell.… He hurt himself.… I…” She hesitated, her voice going quiet and uncertain. “I went in to try to help him, but then…” She met Adrian’s eyes. “Did you say I fell asleep?”

  “I think so.”

  “Not passed out. Not fainted. Fell asleep. That’s what you said. Why did you say that?”

  He glanced beyond the antechamber windows and spotted two members from the medical staff rushing from the elevator bank, both in civilian clothing rather than their usual scrubs.

  Turning, he pulled one of the hazard suits down from a hook on the wall. “We call Max the Bandit, right?” he said, undoing the zipper down the full length of the suit. “It’s because he … he steals powers. When he gets close to a prodigy, they start to lose their abilities. Their powers just … fade away. The closer they get to Max, and the more time they spend in his presence, the more likely it is that…” He hesitated, watching the dawning realization on Nova’s face, coupled with mounting horror. “That the effects will be permanent.”

  He held the hazard suit toward her and she took it dumbly, her gaze unfocused. “And I passed out,” she whispered. “I never pass out.”

  Adrian took down the second suit and began preparing it too. When the two healers burst into the room a second later, he was already holding the suit out, ready for them to step into it.

  “Security said—” started the first, a man Adrian had never learned the name of.

  “I know,” Adrian said. “Max needs help. I think he’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “What about you? Do either of you require medical attention?”

  “No,” said Adrian. “We’re both experiencing effects from being in the quarantine, but … that’s it.” He glanced at Nova. “Right? You weren’t hurt otherwise?”

  She shook her head, offering no resistance as the woman took the other suit from her and began stuffing her legs into the pants. “Stand back,” she said, as they each pulled on the helmets and gloves.

  Adrian pulled Nova out of the antechamber. They stood on the sky bridge, watching as the two healers forged their way through Max’s city. The kid had sat down against the wall and his pallor was ghastly pale, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears as the doctors started to unwrap and inspect his wound.

  “What happened?” said Adrian.

  It seemed to take Nova a long time to answer. “He was levitating.”

  When nothing else followed,
Adrian turned his focus on her. She was staring into the quarantine but he didn’t think she was really seeing Max or the doctors or even the glass city. Her eyes were unfocused and haunted.

  “Nova?”

  “He saw me watching him, and I think it startled him. He fell and…” She gulped. “I think one of the buildings went through his hand.”

  Adrian flinched.

  “That’s when I ran in, to try to help. I didn’t … I didn’t know.” She blinked, clearing whatever thoughts were clouding her mind. “How long was I in there for?”

  “I don’t know,” said Adrian. “You were unconscious when I got here.”

  Nova fixed him with a look of disbelief. “Why are you here?”

  He gulped, and realized then that he was still touching her, a hand on her arm, the other on her back. She hadn’t moved away, but now that he could feel every sensation through his hands again, he became intensely aware of it. The soft fabric of the uniform. The warmth of her skin through the cloth. He remembered taking her hand at the parade, drawing on her wrist, and how he’d been so blithe about it at the time. How it had seemed like nothing at all—just something nice to do for a stranger.

  But now the idea of drawing on the inside of her wrist seemed unforgivably personal.

  “I brought you sandwiches,” he said, and he knew it sounded ridiculous as he dropped his hands to his sides. “But I dropped them in the lobby.”

  Brow furrowing, Nova glanced over the side of the bridge, and there it was. The paper bag, tipped over, one paper-wrapped, toothpicked sandwich having tumbled out onto the tile.

  “I thought maybe you’d be hungry?” Adrian added, somewhat lamely.

  Nova stared silently at the lonesome bag for what felt like ages, before she finally turned back to him. Her expression seemed to have cleared somewhat. “People don’t just lose their powers, do they? He steals them. He … absorbs them.”

  Adrian nodded.

  “So why aren’t you affected?”

  He sagged against the rail. “I was. I am.”

  Her voice became weak as she said, “We’re not prodigies anymore?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “We don’t get a lot of willing test subjects to help us figure out exactly what Max’s ability does, or how long it takes for it to become … permanent. But I do know there are people who have been around him and not lost their powers. At least, once they’re able to get away from him.”

  Nova set her jaw and reached for Adrian, settling her hand firmly over his. There was something determined in the look, bordering on desperate. She reached behind him. Her fingers brushed against his low back and he jumped.

  “Where’s your marker?” she said.

  Adrian blinked at her. His marker?

  Feeling his cheeks warm, he fumbled for the hidden pocket sewn into the lining of his left sleeve. He pulled out the marker and tried to hand it to her.

  “Not for me,” she said, though she grabbed his hand anyway so she could hold it still while she ripped off the cap. “Draw something.”

  He stared at her, realizing what it was she wanted. Though whether or not he’d lost his powers wouldn’t prove whether or not she had, he could see it was important to her. And, truth be told, he needed to know too. Even if he was afraid the result wouldn’t be what he wanted.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “I’m scared,” he said, and he started to laugh when he said it, because he knew what was done was done and avoiding the truth wouldn’t change anything. But still. In this moment, for perhaps this last moment, he was still a superhero.

  He and Nova both.

  But Nova only let out an annoyed breath. “Don’t be a dolt.”

  “A dolt?”

  “Draw something!” she yelled, and her anxiety became clear, and for whatever reason, Adrian could see this was the thing she was latching on to, perhaps because her power wasn’t something she could so easily test. Would she ever sleep again? Would she sleep like a normal person? It could be hours, even days, before she knew for sure.

  Schooling his face, Adrian picked up her hand, like he had at the parade, and flipped it over so her palm was turned upward. He started to draw, not really thinking about what he was drawing, just allowing himself to sketch whatever came to mind first.

  And what came to mind was a dinosaur. A tiny velociraptor, no bigger than her thumb.

  Relatively small, but surprisingly ferocious.

  When the hasty drawing was finished, he looked into Nova’s face, but she was staring at the creature inked onto her palm. “He’s adorable,” she murmured.

  He swallowed. “Here we go,” he said, swirling the pad of his finger over the drawing.

  The creature roared to life, peeling up from Nova’s skin and perching there in the center of her hand. It looked eagerly in each direction, probably scouring the place for prey.

  “He’s a nice dinosaur,” said Adrian, realizing that he was beaming only after he said it. “I’m pretty sure.”

  Nova’s shoulders relaxed and she watched the beast scurry up her ring finger. It bent its head and nibbled at her fingertip, though it didn’t appear to be hurting her.

  “Okay,” she breathed. Then again, “Okay. You’re okay. I’m probably okay too.”

  Adrian didn’t know what to say to this. He still wasn’t sure how long she’d been in there.

  The dinosaur leaped from Nova’s hand onto the rail and dashed in the direction of the staircase. Adrian wondered how good its sense of smell was, and if perhaps it had already detected the fallen sandwiches.

  “Adrian?”

  He met her gaze.

  “Where did he get telekinesis from?”

  “Telekinesis?”

  “Max. He was levitating. He was … he’s powerful.”

  Adrian stared at her. “Max? Powerful?”

  “He must have had sixty buildings hovering in the air, in addition to himself. Do you know how rare that is?”

  “I … yes,” he said, still frowning. “But Max can’t.… He can only…” He trailed off. He had only ever seen Max lift one thing at a time with his thoughts, and usually not very well. “Are you sure?”

  Nova gave him a frustrated look. “I’m sure.”

  His shoulders drooped. It was clear from Nova’s expression that she knew exactly what she’d seen, and he had no reason to doubt her.

  Besides, he knew exactly where that power had come from.

  What he couldn’t fathom, though, was why Max would hide it from him.

  “Adrian?” she said again, more forcefully this time.

  He swallowed. “Ace Anarchy,” he said. “He stole that power from Ace Anarchy.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  NOVA HAD BEEN CONSTRAINED to a bed in the medical wing for nine hours already and she was anything but happy about it. She hadn’t slept a wink, but the healers thought it was important to keep her for at least twenty-four hours and, ideally, up to as long as seventy-two hours, so they could see what sort of symptoms she might suffer from after being exposed to Max.

  When they first told her that, she laughed. Seventy-two hours? Stuck, here, in a bed? Without sleeping? With nothing more to keep her busy than a stack of Gatlon Gazettes and a television screen that seemed to only show the news, which was itself a constant bombardment of negativity about how the Renegades had handled the situation at the library? When they couldn’t even be bothered to give her one of the private rooms?

  She thought not.

  She insisted that she felt fine, but they kept impressing on her that she couldn’t possibly know yet whether or not her powers were compromised. Even if she felt energized and awake now, it could be a result of adrenaline and her body’s internal clock righting itself. Most people felt perfectly fine at one in the afternoon, and most people could will themselves to stay awake for days at a time before their body forced them to take the rest they needed. It was simply too early to tell whether or not Nova was still a prodigy.


  While she understood this logic, it did not temper her frustration. If she could only get out of here, it would take her about five minutes to hop on a city bus, find some unsuspecting passenger, and use her real ability to put them to sleep. Then she would know for sure whether or not her powers were functional. It would be infinitely more efficient than being stuck here, doing nothing.

  On top of that, Adrian didn’t have to stay in the medical wing. They argued it was because he’d already demonstrated that his gift was intact, but Nova suspected he was being given some leeway from the rules because he was, you know, Adrian Everhart.

  Nova was grumbling to herself, scanning over the newspaper headlines again in case there might be some she had skipped before but that had suddenly become more appealing in the face of her boredom, when a knock pulled her attention upward.

  Monarch stood at the foot of her bed, her fist still raised against the metal framing that held the privacy curtains. “Hey,” she said with a small, uncertain smile. “I heard about what happened last night. Thought I’d bring you a care package.” She held up a paper bag.

  Nova gaped at her. For a long time. Longer than was probably polite. It felt like a trap. So far, the only interaction she’d had with Danna was down in the training hall, and she’d left unsure whether or not Danna liked or trusted her.

  Finally, she forced herself to sit up, pushing her back against the pillows. She eyed the bag warily. “Thanks?”

  Danna started to laugh and came closer, plopping the bag on the mattress against Nova’s legs. “The food here isn’t awful, but it’s not exactly amazing, either. Ruby kept me well supplied while I was in recovery, so I thought I could pay it forward.” She rummaged through the bag, pulling out a few choice items to show Nova. “I didn’t know if you were sweet, salty, or none of the above, so I brought an assortment. Some pretzels, some chocolate, some dried fruit chips if that’s your thing. And most important—reading material. Because one can only read the Gazette for so long before we are left bitter and disheartened.” She reached into the depths of the bag and retrieved four paperback books, each with curling covers and flimsy spines, looking like they had been well loved over time. “One thriller, one romance, one nonfiction”—she lifted up the nonfiction book, which showed a large warship on the cover—“in case you like history. This was my dad’s. I’m honestly not sure if it’s any good. And lastly, my personal favorite.” The final book depicted an armor-clad woman riding a dragon. “Don’t judge the cheesy artwork. The story is genius.”