Page 132 of Supernova

Adrian glared at her. “What about it?”

“You told me it’s like something your mom used to say, about being brave. I think you fed him that line, or your brain did, when you were little. You created him with that thought in mind.”

His heart was pounding hard now, threatening to break through his own rib cage. “No,” he said firmly. “It’s impossible.”

“And… Adrian…” Nova’s face contorted, twisting with pain. “He works through people’s biggest fears, and you told me that, back then, your greatest fear was… was that someday your mother would leave, and she would never come back.”

A shiver raced down his spine. He tore his gaze away from her, staring instead into the shadowed corner where Phobia had loitered not all that long ago.

His mother’s murderer.

It wasn’t possible. Adrian didn’t… he couldn’t have…

“I’m so sorry,” Nova whispered.

“What’s to be sorry about?” tittered Honey Harper. “We should thank you. Phobia may not be the most charming of roommates, but he has proven to be an effective villain.”

“Honey,please,” said Nova. “Could you just go away?”

Queen Bee flashed Adrian a haughty, victorious smile, and it was that look, filled with such delight, that made it seem almost real.

His lungs spasmed, pushing out what little air he had left.

“Of course, Nightmare,” said Honey. “I’ll just give you some time alone, let our young hero come to terms with the fact that, when you think about it… he pretty much murdered his own mother.”

“Honey!”

Queen Bee left the chapel, her own squealing laughter echoing after her.

Nova rubbed her temple. “Adrian, it isn’t your fault. You have to know that. You were just a kid. There’s no way you could have known what you were—”

“Stop.”

The sound was so cold, so harsh, Adrian almost didn’t believe it had come from his own mouth.

But it worked. Nova fell silent.

His lungs were no longer cooperating. It felt impossible to make his chest expand enough against the ropes. Ropes that were growing tighter by the second, digging into his flesh. Cold sweat was beading across his bare back. The altar had suddenly become unbearably cold.

Phobia was a villain. An Anarchist responsible for countless deaths, including Adrian’s own mother’s.

Nova reached for him, but he whipped his head away and she froze.

“It’s impossible,” he said again, more viciously this time. “My creations don’t last this long. They die. They… fade away, after a few weeks,maybemonths. But not years.” He shook his head. “There’s no way I created Phobia.”

“Adrian…,” Nova started again, her fingers twitching, as if she wanted to comfort him. But how could she?

They were enemies.

That much was perfectly clear. “If that’s true, then how do you explain the drawings? The timing of it all, the similarities…”

“Coincidence,” he spat.

Nova rocked back on her heels, and he could tell that she wanted to believe him, but didn’t.

He snarled, his voice rising. “I didn’t make that monster, Nova! Do you really think I’d be capable of that?”

After a hesitation, she slowly shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “But… I’m not sure I believe in coincidences anymore, either.”

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