Archenemies (Renegades #2)(116)

She paused when she reached the artifacts department, just long enough to check how her bandages were holding up. A spot of blood had seeped through the wrappings, but the burning sensation around the wound had faded to a dull throb.

She opened the door.

A familiar scene greeted her. The two desks inside the reception area, one sterile and neat, the other cluttered with Snapshot’s knickknacks. The lights were out, the floor silent and deserted. Nova marched through the filing room and used Stingray’s wristband to unlock the door to the vault. The only sounds were her own footsteps thudding on the floor as she passed among the dimly lit shelves.

She went to prodigy weapons first and claimed the so-called Silver Spear. The Captain’s own pike, the one he had used to try to destroy the helmet. Tried, and failed. She hefted it from its shelf—eight feet long and cool in her hand. It felt strong and sturdy, but not too heavy. It was perfect, actually. Elegant. Sharp. Superbly balanced.

She propped it against her shoulder and made her way to the restricted area.

Standing at the end of the aisle, she could see the chromium cube on its shelf, looking exactly as it always did. Shiny, solid, and faintly mocking. Lost in the shadows and the clutter of other random relics. Like the object it contained was hardly worth noting.

Setting her jaw, Nova shuffled the pike from hand to hand. Someday, this weapon would probably live inside a museum, she thought, where people could contemplate the tool they believed had destroyed Ace Anarchy’s helmet. They would talk about the good deeds that Captain Chromium had done. How he lifted society from the despair it had fallen into. How he had defeated the most destructive supervillain of all time. People would talk about the first Renegades and how they had been brave enough to fight for a world they believed in, and that … that was …

Nova winced, shaking the thought from her head.

Those first Renegades, including Captain Chromium, might have helped a lot of people, but they hadn’t helped her.

“Get out of my head,” she growled, her fist tightening around the javelin.

On the other end of the aisle, Callum stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing the same wrinkled clothes he always wore. She had wondered, passingly, why he wasn’t at the gala. Maybe there would simply be too many ungrateful people loitering around for him to stand it.

He seemed more thoughtful than afraid as he took in Nova, with her dark hood and metal mask and the chromium pole in her grip.

“Nightmare,” he said, scanning the shelves. “What are you here for?” He sounded honestly curious. Nova could practically see his mind working, trying to determine which of the hundreds of objects here would be most appealing to an Anarchist who was supposed to be dead. He started to come closer to her, scanning the shelves, until his focus landed on the chromium box and he paused. “It’s the helmet, isn’t it?”

Nova angled the point of the javelin toward him. “You can’t stop me,” she said, taking a step closer. He did not move back. “Don’t try to be a hero.”

His gaze dropped to the pike. Then he came closer to her, putting himself between Nova and the chromium box.

Snarling, Nova marched forward, until the point was only inches from his abdomen. “Move.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched, and a memory flashed through Nova’s mind. The world laid out before her. The ocean glittering beneath a vibrant sky. A city pulsing with life. A thousand little miracles, and more occurring every day. A million little things to wonder at. And Callum had showed her that. Callum had—

A guttural cry was torn from Nova’s throat. She spun the pike around and lunged forward, knocking the butt end into Callum’s chest. He grunted and fell to the floor. “Great skies,” he gasped. “What was that for?”

“Stay out of my head.”

Callum lifted himself onto his elbows. He looked like he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. “I didn’t do anything.” Then his brow tightened in confusion. “Wait … you know who I am? What I can do?”

Nova glowered. “I know my enemies.”

He sat up a little taller, rubbing his chest where she had struck him. “Listen.”

And she wanted to listen. She really wanted to listen. To hear what he would say. What wisdom he could impart from the ridiculous way he saw the world. Because she liked the way he saw the world. She wanted to see it that way too. Somewhere deep inside, she wanted to believe that there might be a way for all the world—Renegades and Anarchists, prodigies and civilians—to coexist inside some sort of harmonious equilibrium. No war, no power struggles. No heroes, no villains.

But Callum’s outlook was flawed. It would only work if everyone saw the world the way he did.

And the painful truth was that no one saw the world the way he did.

“No,” she said, startling him.

“No?”

“No. I won’t listen. It’s too late for that.”

Tucking the pike behind her, she bent over and pressed her fingertips to his brow. Callum didn’t flinch, but the flash of disappointment stung just as much.

Once he’d fallen asleep, Nova shook out her hand to rid herself of the sensation of unleashing her power. It felt different this time, using it against someone who she couldn’t quite see as her enemy despite what she’d said. Even Adrian, for as much as he filled her with yearning, had always still been the enemy.