Archenemies (Renegades #2)(71)

The biggest problem was that their time at the carnival had made Adrian painfully aware of how much he had started to like Nova.

Really like her.

He liked how brave she was—that dauntless courage she’d had when she faced off against Gargoyle at the trials. The lack of hesitation to chase after Hawthorn or take out the Detonator. The bravery that veered just a bit toward recklessness. Sometimes he wished he could be more like her, always so confident in her own motivations that she didn’t mind bending the rules from time to time. That’s how Adrian felt when he was the Sentinel. His conviction that he knew what was right gave him the courage to act, even when he would have hesitated as Adrian or Sketch. But Nova never hesitated. Her compass never seemed to falter.

He liked that she defied the rules of their society—refusing to bend for the Council, when so many others would have been falling over themselves to impress them. Refusing to apologize for their decision to go after the Librarian, despite the protocols, because she believed wholeheartedly that they made the right choice with the options they’d been given.

He liked that she’d destroyed him at every one of those carnival games. He liked that she hadn’t flinched when he brought a dinosaur to life in the palm of her hand. He liked that she’d raced into the quarantine to help Max, despite having no clue what she was going to do when she got there, only that she had to do something. He liked that she showed compassion for Max, sometimes even indignation for the way his ability was being used—but never pity. He even liked the way she feigned enthusiasm for things like the Sidekick Olympics, when it was clear she would have rather been doing just about anything else.

But no matter how long the growing list of things that attracted him to Nova McLain had become, he still found her feelings toward him to be a mystery, with an annoying shortage of evidence to support the theory that maybe, just maybe, she sort of liked him too.

A smile here.

A blush there.

It was an infuriatingly short list.

He was probably reading into things.

It didn’t matter, he told himself again and again. He couldn’t risk getting too close to anyone right now. If Nova found out about his tattoos or noticed how his disappearances coincided with the Sentinel’s actions, or if she ever stumbled onto one of his notepads detailing the Sentinel’s armor or abilities, she would figure it out. She was so observant. So quick. She would know in a heartbeat, and then how long would it be before she told the rest of the team, or his dads, or the entire organization? Nova had made her feelings for the Sentinel quite clear, and they were anything but tender.

At least his life had taken on a quieter pace since he’d put the Sentinel’s armor aside. His supposed death had been accepted as fact, even though there had been no success in dredging up his body from the bottom of the river. Adrian knew it would be easier to go on this way. To let the Sentinel die with the public’s belief.

He didn’t regret anything he had done while wearing the armored suit, and he couldn’t comprehend why the Council and the Renegades were so determined to stop him, even after all the criminals he’d captured, all the people he’d helped. They were so focused on their code, they couldn’t appreciate the good that could be accomplished when someone stepped outside of their rules.

But regrets or not, the Sentinel was considered an enemy of the Renegades, and he couldn’t stomach the thought of having to explain his secret identity to his dads, or the rest of his team. Including Nova. Especially Nova. The best way to keep his secret was to keep distance between them.

Even if she had been flirting.

Which she most definitely had been.

He knew, with a solid 87% certainty.

His thoughts spiraled.

With the tattoo finished, he needed another distraction.

Stretching the kinks from his shoulders, he went into his art studio. What had started out as a flash of random inspiration had grown into something … well, kind of spectacular, if Adrian did say so himself. What before had been a dark, windowless room, with drab white walls and concrete floors, was now a sight that would have stolen anyone’s breath.

The painting, inspired by the dream Nova had told him about from her childhood, had become a tropical paradise, spanning every wall from floor to ceiling. As the kapok trees had grown, their branches stretched outward into a tangle of leaves and vines, forming a jungle canopy that devoured every inch of the ceiling above. Down below, the floor had been overtaken with thick, tangled roots, stones and ferns, and patches of bright-colored flowers. There were also remnants of the abandoned ruins Nova had described, including a series of steps leading toward the corner where the statue could be seen, surrounded by a crumbling stone wall and encroaching plants. The statue itself was turned away, so that its hooded face and outstretched hands could not be seen, adding an air of mystery to the image. Spotted with moss and chipped with age, the statue was a lone, steadfast figure, the last remnant of a lost civilization.

It was just paint, but Adrian couldn’t recall ever being so proud of any of his art. When he stepped into the room, he imagined he could smell the heady fragrance of wildflowers. He could hear the squawks of native birds and the thrum of a thousand insects. He could feel the humidity on his skin.

He had just opened a can of paint, intending to finish some of the highlights on a cluster of ferns, when a brusque voice echoed through the house.

“ADRIAN!”