Archenemies (Renegades #2)(26)

The doors closed and Hugh made a disapproving sound as he pressed the floor for the Council’s offices. “There’s no call to be rude, Adrian.”

“Listen,” he said.

“I am listening,” said Hugh, “but I can listen and be polite at the same time.” He fixed Adrian with a look of adamant concentration that felt borderline mocking.

He plowed on. “Nightmare was confirmed an Anarchist, and I still believe that she knew something about my mother’s murder.”

Hugh’s expression became a bit more doubtful, but Adrian ignored it.

“If she knew something, then it’s reasonable that the other Anarchists might know something too. It’s likely that the murderer was an Anarchist, right?”

“We have always regarded that as a strong possibility.”

“So, just because Nightmare’s dead doesn’t mean the investigation is over. I want to talk to the Puppe—to Winston Pratt about it, see if he knows anything.”

“You are aware that we’ve been questioning him off and on ever since the Detonator attacked Cloven Cross Library, aren’t you?” said Hugh. “Some of our best detectives have interrogated him to try to find out where the remaining Anarchists might have gone, and as far as we can tell, he is completely oblivious. I’m not sure—”

“I don’t care where the other Anarchists are,” said Adrian. Then, realizing that he actually did care very much, he adjusted his glasses and continued, “Yes, obviously, I would love to catch them as much as anyone, but that’s not what I want to ask him about. Somebody killed Lady Indomitable, and if Winston Pratt has any information on that case, I want to talk to him about it.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Adrian shrugged. “Nothing lost, right?”

The elevator slowed and the doors opened onto an immaculate lobby. Behind a desk, Prism launched to her feet, holding up a folder. “Captain, sir, I’ve finished preparing that memo—”

Hugh held up a hand to her and she fell quiet. His attention was still fixed on Adrian, his mouth twisted into a frown.

“Please,” said Adrian. “I know that I might not learn anything, but … I have to try.”

Hugh let his hand fall as he stepped out of the elevator. “I’ll approve temporary clearance to the labs for the sole purpose of speaking with Mr. Pratt.”

A grin stretched across Adrian’s mouth. “Thank you!”

“But, Adrian…” Hugh’s brow tensed. “Don’t get your hopes up, all right? He isn’t exactly a reliable resource.”

“Maybe not,” said Adrian, stepping back as the doors started to close between them, “but he did lead me to Nightmare.”

*

CLEARANCE ARRIVED NINETY minutes later via a chime on his wristband. When it came, Adrian was in one of the patrol dormitories making a list of everything he knew about his mother’s death, about the Anarchists, about Nightmare, and trying to come up with a strategy for questioning the ex-villain.

He thought about reaching out to Nova to see if she would go with him—he could have used her intuition—but then he remembered her saying that she was going home to check on her uncle after the meeting.

Though she’d never come out and said it, Adrian suspected there might be something wrong with her uncle. Perhaps he was sick, or just getting old. He never felt like it was his place to ask her about it, but he had noticed the way Nova’s mouth pinched whenever she mentioned him. Part of Adrian was hurt that she wouldn’t confide in him, but he knew it was hypocritical to think that way when there were so many secrets that he had yet to confide to her.

So he went to the labs alone. He scanned for Max as he passed by the quarantine walls, but the kid was nowhere to be seen in his glass city.

A portly man in a white lab coat was waiting for Adrian when he entered the laboratory. “Follow me, and don’t touch anything,” he said brusquely. “The patient is currently undergoing an important post-procedure evaluation and we expect him to be tired and agitated. I ask that you limit your meeting with him to no more than fifteen minutes today, though his assigned counselor might approve further questioning sessions in the weeks to come.”

“Counselor?” asked Adrian.

The man tucked his hands into his coat pockets. “To assist with the transition from prodigy to civilian. We’re still trying to understand the full extent of emotional struggles that arise from such a change, but we’ve found that offering counseling from the start severely lessens some of the psychological ramifications going forward.”

Adrian followed the man through a maze of workstations, cubicles, and storage spaces. “How many people have received Agent N so far?” he asked, wondering if the seven that Dr. Hogan had mentioned was the extent of it.

The man’s shoulders stiffened. “I’m afraid that is confidential, Mr. Everhart.”

Of course it was.

Then the man’s posture relaxed, and he slowed his pace so Adrian was walking alongside him. “Though I can say…,” he said, glancing around in a manner that suggested he really wasn’t supposed to say, “that everyone here has been … surprisingly pleased at the reactions from many of our patients. It was an unexpected result, but it has not been uncommon for ex-prodigies to feel, well, a sense of relief, after the procedure. They often talk about their previous abilities as being a burden, as much as a gift.”