Page 123 of Renegades

“I’m good cop,” said Adrian. He glanced at Nova. “You’re the observer. If you have something to say or add, jump in, but otherwise, I want you focused on any signs he might be lying… or telling the truth.”

“So who am I?” said Ruby.

Adrian grinned. “You’re the muscle.”

Ruby beamed, hopping excitedly from foot to foot as she loosened the wire on her wrist.

“Hold on,” said Oscar, glancing over his shoulder. “Maybe I wanted to be the muscle.”

Nova stared at Ruby’s bloodstone, glinting in the room’s dim lighting. “We’re not going totorturehim, are we?”

They turned to her as one, each of their faces equally appalled.

“Great skies, Nova,” said Adrian. “We’re the good guys, remember?”

She sank back, not sure if she should be embarrassed by the question or not. It hadn’t seemed ridiculous when she’d asked it.

Across the room, they heard the clunking of more locking mechanisms. Nova’s body went rigid. She rubbed her damp palms down the sides of her uniform.

The door opened and two guards entered, leading Winston Pratt by his elbows. He was dressed in the black-and-white stripes of a prison jumpsuit. His wrists and ankles were both bound with chains and his usually jaunty step was weighed down, his shoulders tight, his arms squeezed in beside his body as if he were attempting to avoid the guards’ grip.

Nova was surprised to see that his makeup remained—or what she had always assumed was makeup, though she’d never seen him without it. The black paint around his eyes, the rosy circles on the apples of his cheeks, and the sharp lines drawn from the corners of his crimson mouth down his jaw, giving the effect of a wooden marionette. The lines were not even smudged.

For the first time, in all the years she’d known him, she wondered whether it was makeup at all or if his power really had transformed his face into that of a puppet.

Or a puppet master.

His eyes darted around the room, skipping from the chairs to the walls, the lightbulb in the ceiling, to the shackles on the table, to Oscar, to Adrian, to Nova, to Ruby.

Back to Nova.

He blinked furiously, as if trying to clear away a pestering eyelash. His brow squeezed tight.

Pressing her lips, Nova did her best to convey secrecy to him, subtly shaking her head and hoping that he caught the desperate intensity of her gaze.

But Winston Pratt had never been adept at the art of subtlety.

He continued to stare, his lips parted, his head cocking curiously to one side as he was pressed down into the chair. He put up no resistance as his chained hands were settled into the shackles and the domes clamped securely around them.

“You have fifteen minutes,” one of the guards said to Adrian. “This interrogation is being recorded”—he gestured toward a small camera on the ceiling—“for future review at the Council’s discretion. If you want to end your session early, just knock on the door and we’ll be back.”

They left.

Winston was still gaping dumbly at Nova, and the others were starting to notice. Adrian and Ruby each glanced at her, to which she attempted an uncomfortable, confused shrug.

“Okay, Mr. Pratt,” said Oscar, leaning forward and folding his hands on top of the table, “or should I call you… thePuppeteer?”

This, at least, managed to pull Winston’s gaze away from Nova.

“We’re going to ask you a few questions,” said Oscar, “and I strongly suggest you answer them.” He popped his knuckles, then leaned back again and curled a finger over his shoulder. “Go ahead, Sketch. He’s all yours.”

Eyebrows rising in what might have been amusement, or embarrassment, Adrian moved forward to stand beside Oscar. “I understand you’ve already been questioned a number of times,” said Adrian, “but we have one specific topic we want to discuss with you.”

Though Winston was looking at Adrian now, his jaw was still slack with befuddlement, and Nova felt like her insides were being wrung through a washing machine. She found herself imagining a situation in which her identity would be revealed—here, now—and wondering if she had any hope of getting out of there with two locked doors and three Renegades that she knew would turn on her the second they realized who she was.

“First,” continued Adrian, “you should know that the Detonator attacked a library yesterday. She set off multiple bombs in public spaces. As a result, the Renegades went to the subway tunnels where you and your companions have been living in an attempt to arrest her. However, those Renegades were attacked and the Anarchists have since disappeared, abandoning the subway tunnels.”

Winston’s brow drew together. He started to shake his head, dazed. “They wouldn’t leave…” He looked again at Nova.

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