“You know, my art studio. That empty room downstairs, next to my bedroom.”
“The storage room?”
Adrian pushed up his glasses. “If storage is code for ‘Adrian’s random drawing stuff,’ then yes.”
“I think he means the room we planned on using for storage,” said Simon, appearing behind Adrian with a bowl of popcorn, “but we didn’t end up needing it.”
“Yep, that’s the one. So, can I paint it?”
Simon flopped onto the sofa, propping his feet on the coffee table. “Fine by me.”
“Cool. Any idea where I can find acrylic paint by the gallon?” As soon as he had asked it, he held up his hand. “You know what? Never mind. I have an old box of pastels down there. I can make my own paint.”
“Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about a neutral beige in an eggshell finish?” said Hugh.
Adrian grinned. “Does it make a difference?”
“Well, no, not really.”
“That’s what I thought. Thanks!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Hugh, muting the television. “This conversation is not over.”
Adrian paused, one foot already out the door. “It’s not?”
Hugh sighed. “Fifteen minutes ago you were ready to lead a full-scale manhunt for Nightmare, and now you’re painting a room? Why don’t you take twenty seconds and tell us what it is you’re doing?”
Adrian bristled. “Well, I’m not going after Nightmare, or Hawthorn, for that matter, or even running off for patrol duty, given that my team is still waiting for our reinstatement request to be approved. So I have to keep myself busy somehow, right?”
“Adrian,” said Simon, the word a warning. Hugh appeared equally irritated, and for some reason, Adrian had a flashback to his mom, all those years ago, giving him that stern look and a pointed finger and insisting that he drop that attitude, young man.
He deflated fast. “I’m painting a mural.”
Hugh’s eyebrows rose with interest. “A mural?”
“Yeah. It’s still a pretty new idea. So can I…?” He gestured toward the foyer.
Simon cast Hugh an exasperated glance. “When did he become such a teenager?”
“Adrian,” Hugh said, digging a handful of popcorn from Simon’s bowl, “we just want you to talk to us for a minute. You’ve seemed distant since … well, since Cosmopolis Park.”
Though it wasn’t said like an accusation, Adrian couldn’t help feeling defensive. He’d been distant? They were the ones always busy trying to govern the entirety of the civilized world.
But he knew better than to say that. “You guys have been busy. With the fallout from the Detonator and the big Agent N announcement and everything, I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You never bother us,” said Simon. “You’re always our top priority, no matter what else we’re dealing with. I know we haven’t been giving you much attention lately, but it doesn’t mean we haven’t noticed how you’ve changed.”
Adrian felt the prickle of tattoos imprinted on his body. “I haven’t changed,” he insisted.
The comment earned a snort from both dads. He scowled at them.
“How are things going with you and Nova?” said Hugh.
Adrian gawked at him and, for the first time, began to regret coming up here. He should have just gone ahead and done the painting. It’s not like they ever went down there. He probably would have grown up and moved out before they discovered it. But no—he was trying to be responsible, and this is what he got. “What do you mean?”
“Are you two … dating?”
When Adrian returned his question with a somewhat horrified stare, Hugh raised his palms. “We are allowed to ask that, aren’t we?”
“Nova’s a friend,” Adrian said quickly, to get it over with. “We’re fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Simon grunted and sang under his breath, “Told you so…,” leaving Adrian to wonder what, exactly, he had told Hugh, and for how long his love life, or lack thereof, had been a topic of conversation.
“Fine,” said Hugh. “I’m sorry I said anything. I just … I just hope you know that you can always talk to us.” He smiled awkwardly, like he couldn’t quite believe how much of a dad thing that was to say.
“About anything,” Simon reinforced.
Adrian nodded. Even though suffering through this conversation was about the last thing he wanted to be doing at the moment, he had to admit, it was nice to be reminded that his dads cared about him, even if he didn’t fully believe that he was their top priority like they claimed. Which, usually, was okay with him. They were the world’s greatest superheroes. What did he expect?
“Of course, Dad.” He glanced at Simon. “Pops. I swear, I’m fine. So…” Adrian inched back into the door frame. “Can I go now?”
Hugh huffed and waved a hand at Adrian. “Fine. Return to your solitude. Go make your masterpiece.”
Adrian cast them both a quick salute, then darted into the hallway before they could think of more touchy-feely, father-son stuff to talk about.
He was downstairs again in a heartbeat, digging through a box of old art supplies. A lot of them had been collected by his mom, way back when he was still a kid, first learning to draw. There were broken crayons and paintbrushes with their bristles long ago cemented together and a watercolor set where all the colors had bled together into a murky greenish-brown.
He found the pastels tossed together in a plastic bag. Though many were broken and partly melted, he was overjoyed to see the vast array of colors that greeted him.
Sitting cross-legged in front of the wall, he started to draw a new collection of supplies. A series of quart-size paint cans, each filled with rich, earthy tones and tropical bright hues.
Within minutes, he had the paint cans scattered across the concrete floor, along with a set of brand-new brushes.
He considered the blank walls one more time and began to paint.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NORMALLY, THE TRAINING HALLS located in the sublevels of Renegade HQ were a hive of activity. This was where Renegades practiced running through the various obstacles or tested out new techniques with their powers. But when Nova arrived for the first day of Agent N training, the vast hall buzzed with a strange, nervous hush.
For once, there was no one lifting weights or throwing punches, no one manipulating the giant pool of water or doing cartwheels through flaming hoops, no one traversing zip lines or scaling walls. The entire hall had been reserved for the patrol units who would be working with their new chemical weapon for the first time, and the effect made the hall feel lifeless and ordinary.
Nova’s skin prickled as she made her way along the catwalk that spanned the length of the training floor. She was early, and only a dozen Renegades were waiting by the projectile targets, including Adrian, though there was no sign of Oscar, Ruby, or Danna yet. Adrian was talking to Eclipse, the leader of one of the other patrols.
Nova let out a slow breath.
All morning her mind ticked down the growing list of priorities.
First: damage control. She needed to know what Winston had told him and ensure that her secret was still safe.
After that, her goals were a little more vague. Get close to Adrian. Earn the Council’s trust. Find out more about Agent N. Figure out how to weaponize Agent N against the Renegades.
And of course, above all else … get Ace his helmet. Everything would fall into place, she knew, if only she could restore that helmet to its rightful owner.
As far as she could tell, Adrian Everhart was her best hope. He thought his powers could get into that box. Then Nova would find a way to make it happen. She would not be rejected again. Something had passed between them at the park. She knew she wasn’t imagining the way his breathing had shallowed. The way his gaze had seared into her.
There was still something there. Maybe she had hurt him at the carnival, and maybe all the walls he’d put up these past weeks were a result of her rejection, and maybe it was going to take time and persistence to bring those walls down.
But Nova liked a challenge.
Squaring her shoulders, she started down one of the narrow staircases toward the training area. Adrian glanced up and noticed her. He started to smile, a reflex, she knew. He smiled at everyone.
And yet—
With her focus on Adrian, Nova lost track of how many steps she had taken. She misjudged the last stair and started to fall forward, barely catching herself on the rail.
She jolted upright, cheeks already burning.
Startled, Adrian jogged toward her. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she spat, tugging down the wrists of her uniform. “I’m fine.”
Adrian’s grin broadened and he looked like he wanted to tease her, but he refrained.
Standing up again, Nova plastered a brilliant smile to her own face, freezing him in place. “So—how did it go with the Puppeteer?”
Adrian blinked, and immediately Nova could tell she had to reel in the enthusiasm. She toned down her cheer and wrapped a hand around Adrian’s elbow. He tensed, but didn’t resist as she pulled him into the shadow of the catwalk, away from the waiting patrol units. “Did he say anything … useful?”
He was contemplating her hand, still on his elbow, and then he was pulling away. It was a subtle shift, but not subtle enough. Nova’s heart squeezed.
“Not … exactly,” he said.
“Oh?”
His attention fixated on her, and Nova realized he hadn’t planned on telling her how the meeting with Winston had gone. Her gut clenched. What did that mean? What had Winston said?
“Actually…,” he said, slowly, “remember when I said that I wasn’t entirely convinced that Nightmare is dead?”
Her skin went cold. “Y-yeah?”
“Well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Winston Pratt agrees.”