Page 30 of Renegades

“Yeah, but… maybe you should put some of this stuff away?”

Leroy’s lips quirked to one side, making half of his face go slack with disuse. “Believe it or not, everything I do here is perfectly legal.”

Nova couldn’t tell if he was joking. “Yeah, well… don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Warning duly noted, with my heartfelt appreciation.” He pulled an empty jar and a funnel from a nearby cabinet. “Were they advertising the trials at the parade?”

“Like it’s a national holiday,” Nova grumbled, then added mockingly, “Do you have what it takes to be a hero?Ugh. Stab me with an egg beater.”

She took the kettle corn from her pocket, the bag crinkling and squealing as she pried it open. She held it out toward Leroy, but he just shook his head.

“The world needs heroes,” he said, lowering the goggles again to transfer the concoction into the bottle. They made his eyes look three times bigger.

“That’s what they keep telling us.” Nova popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “But we both know the world would be better off without heroes. Without villains. Without any of us, getting in the way of normal, happy people and their normal, happy lives.”

Leroy’s lips lifted in a subtle smile. “Have you ever considered trying out?”

She laughed. “What, to be a Renegade?”

“They don’t know who you are, what you look like.” He turnedthe flame of a burner to low and set a glass jar on top. “You would make a promising spy.”

“Except there’s no way I could pretend to respect those righteous, arrogant, pretentious…heroeslong enough to learn anything useful.”

Leroy shrugged. “You could, if you wanted to.”

“Not to mention getting through their background check,” she continued. “Not just anyone gets to join their clique, you know. You really think they’d let in a girl with the last nameArtino?”

He waved a hand at her. “Minor obstacles. It’s easy enough to get forged paperwork in this city. Are we villains or not?”

“You’ve given this some thought.”

He glanced up. “Only since they started promoting the trials again. Ace always used to say that knowledge is power, and he was right. Unfortunately, these days the Renegades have all the knowledgeandthe power.”

Nova picked up her near-empty mug and stood. “In that case, sending me to the trials would be a perfect plan. If only I had a death wish.”

“Give yourself more credit, little nightmare,” said Leroy. “I know I do.”

Nova grunted. “I’ll think about it,” she said, shoving open the door. “And don’t call me that.”

Leroy only smiled.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ADRIANTOSSEDHISFEETonto the coffee table, a bowl of cereal cradled in his lap. It was his standard fare when his dads worked late, which happened more often than not, and after the day they’d had, he didn’t expect them home anytime soon.

Grabbing the remote, he turned on the late-night news. Shaky footage of the parade appeared on the TV screen—a video of the Puppeteer’s harlequin balloon drifting through the streets of downtown Gatlon while crowds screamed and stampeded to try to get away. The voice from an off-screen reporter was quoting the statistics. The numbers had grown since he heard them that afternoon and now they were saying there were sixty-eight casualties, with fifty-one civilians still receiving treatment at Gatlon City Hospital and two Renegades, including Council member Tamaya Rae, being treated for injuries at Renegade Headquarters. Luckily, there were no fatalities. The perpetrator, Anarchist Winston Pratt, known to most as the Puppeteer, was in custody…

Adrian turned his gaze away from the footage and settled his hand on the sketchbook beside him. He opened the cover and usedhis thumb to flip through the pages until he found his most recent batch of drawings, those he’d doodled hastily as soon as he got home, while the idea was still fresh.

Crunching his way through a mouthful of cereal, he lifted the sketchbook to eye level, inspecting the drawings.

Concepts for a new tattoo.

He hadn’t planned on giving himself any more, but then, he’d thought every tattoo would be the final one, and less than two months into this experiment he already had three inked into his skin.

But he’d learned a lot about his abilities up on those rooftops, facing off against Nightmare. Or, he’d learned a lot about the Sentinel’s abilities.

There was potential there. Great potential—he knew it. The armor had worked precisely how he’d hoped it would, offering both flexibility and protection, even if Nightmare had managed to find a vulnerability in the suit.

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