Renegades (Renegades #1)(31)
Author: Marissa Meyer
But not if she could learn more, and find out some way to fight against him, or to destroy him entirely, and anyone else they made in his image.
Knowledge is power.
One of Ace’s favorite phrases, drilled deep into her head over the years. To overthrow the Renegades, they needed knowledge. They needed to know their enemy’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities.
And if they succeeded … if she succeeded …
To no longer be seen as a parasite in society. To be feared would be so much better than this—the sneering, the mocking, the small-minded insults from people who would rather be kept under the thumbs of their idols than be allowed to live free, by their own will and choices.
She opened her eyes again. Could she really pull it off? She would have to spend days or weeks or even months pretending to be one of them. How long would she be able to maintain such an act? How long before they, too, realized she did not belong?
Out in the arena, the crowd went into fits of laughter as a prodigy demonstrated her power—expanding her head like a helium balloon, then floating a few feet above the ground until it deflated again.
The laughter that filled the stands was amused at first, but soon turned toward cruel. It disgusted Nova. Sure, the girl might have looked silly, but could any of them do what she was doing? Did they really believe they were better than her?
The Renegade teams input their responses and the word REJECTED flashed across the scoreboard. The girl was sent off the field to a chorus of boos.
Nova felt sick with abhorrence when she heard her name blaring over the loud speakers.
“Next up—Nova McLain! Alias: Insomnia!”
She cast her gaze toward the ceiling. She didn’t have to do this. She could still leave.
Or she could stay and try to do something worthwhile. She could make her family proud.
She squared her shoulders and marched onto the field.
* * *
ADRIAN STRAIGHTENED IN HIS SEAT as a new prodigy stalked into the center of the ring. There was something familiar about her. She stopped beneath the banner and the blinding lights, looking not at the teams surrounding her, but up. At the Council.
It was the stance that struck him first—the way she held herself, like she was preparing for an attack from all sides. Like she welcomed it. The jut of her chin, the set of her shoulders, feet firmly planted on the ground. Relaxed enough, but ready for a fight.
His eyes widened. It was the girl from the parade. The one with the bracelet.
She was a prodigy?
Well. That could explain why she was so unimpressed by what he do could.
Pushing up the bridge of his glasses, he leaned toward Ruby. “What did they say her name was?”
“Uh…” Ruby looked down at the tablet. “Nova. Nova McLain.”
“Insomnia,” came Blacklight’s booming voice. “You may proceed with a demonstration of your superpower.”
Adrian scooted his chair forward, leaning his elbows on the table. His gaze kept darting between the girl on the field and the big screens above the stands that showed a close-up of her face. Wisps of wavy black hair cut just above her shoulders. A sharp nose and a sharp chin and sharp cheekbones, her determined frown making them all seem much too severe. Rich blue eyes, every bit as wary now as they had been when he’d offered to help fix the broken clasp of her bracelet.
The overhead microphone carried her voice as she responded, “I’m afraid my superpower isn’t one that can be demonstrated on a field in thirty seconds or less.”
A quiet titter moved through the crowd. There was something defiant in her voice, so unlike the other contestants who had been enthusiastic, and sometimes desperate, to show what they could do.
“Then please describe it,” said Blacklight. “Succinctly, if possible.”
She answered, simply, “I don’t sleep.”
Adrian’s brow twitched. The crowd, too, seemed to find this explanation baffling, though after a hesitant moment, there were a few sporadic boos from the seats, and a number of ZERO cards lifted into the air.
Blacklight asked, “Would you care to elaborate?”
One side of Nova McLain’s mouth lifted, just a hair. “Certainly.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t sleep … ever.”
There was some laughter from the audience. Two team leaders tapped reject into their tablet screens, including Genissa Clark.
Adrian felt Ruby and Oscar looking at him, but he kept his eyes on Nova McLain.
Insomnia.
“Now,” Nova continued, “if you would like to know what useful non-super abilities I have, I can tell you that I’m adept at hand-to-hand combat and a multitude of weaponry. I can run a seven-minute mile, long-jump an expanse of eighteen feet with a running start, and I know an awful lot about physics, electronics, and renewable energy sources, among other things.”
Oscar let out a low whistle.
“I can’t tell if that was arrogant,” Ruby muttered, “or just … you know, honest.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” said Oscar.
“She doesn’t sleep,” said Adrian, tapping his marker against the table. “Could be good for surveillance, don’t you think? We might be able to use her, especially while Danna’s recovering.”
Ruby leaned forward. “But why does she look like she has something to prove?”
Adrian smiled wryly. “This is Renegade trials. Everyone has something to prove.”
And with a power that couldn’t be demonstrated, that had no flash to it whatsoever, he could understand why she was acting defensive.
Realizing the crowd had gotten louder, Adrian looked up into the stands. There was a bigger mix of ZERO and HERO signs than there had been for any of the previous contestants—a divided audience, which surprised him. It seemed her cavalier attitude was winning her support, despite her lackluster ability.
But then he looked up at the scoreboard and realized that his was the only team who hadn’t yet responded. All the others had already put in their rejections.
Nova McLain, too, was looking up at the scoreboard, and if she was hurt, it didn’t show. Her face became determined as she looked at their table. Their eyes locked and the expression was replaced with surprise and recognition. She straightened.
Then, again, that slight narrowing of the eyes. That same wariness he remembered from the parade. And even though she was too far away for him to see them clearly, he realized with a start that he could recall the exact shade of her eyes. A deep cobalt, pierced through with the occasional shard of heather gray.
He swallowed.
“Sketch,” said Blacklight, calling Adrian by his alias and making him jump, “do you or your team have any follow-up questions before making your decision?”
Pushing aside the bag of popcorn, Adrian pulled the table mic closer. Nova fixed him with a challenging look.
“So,” he started, drawing out the word as he formulated his thoughts, “when you say you never sleep … you do mean never, ever, ever?”
A few snickers passed through the audience. Beside him, Oscar muttered, “Well said, Shakespeare.”
Nova McLain looked uncertain, like she thought maybe he was mocking her. When the audience had quieted again, she leaned forward and repeated, “Never ever, ever … ever.”
Adrian leaned back in his chair. He stared at her across the field and she stared back, unflinching. A volley of justifications were storming through his head, each more logical than the last.
A prodigy who never slept could be valuable—for surveillance, for security, for the simple mathematics of added work hours on the force. And they were without Danna right now. They were down a hand. They could use someone skilled in combat. She did say she was skilled in combat, right?
Plus, she was interested in science and electronics, and their research and development division was always looking for assistance, always starting new projects and running new studies. Surely they could use someone like this. Surely the Renegades could use her.
But all the logic in the world couldn’t smother the truth that Adrian felt in his drumming heartbeat.
There had been something about her at the parade. He’d been watching her when Magpie had taken the bracelet—that was the only reason he’d seen it happen. Because he’d been drawn to her, even then. Not because she was pretty, though he’d definitely noticed that too. But because there was a fierceness in the set of her jaw that intrigued him. A resolve in her eyes that made him curious.
“Uh, Sketch?” Oscar whispered. “If this is a blinking contest, you lost, like, eight minutes ago.”
Without looking at his teammates, Adrian grabbed the tablet. It was instinct, not logic, that forced his hand. The inexplicable certainty that she was meant to be there. With him.