He and Max were both sitting on the floor of the small bedroom, and it felt weird to be there, knowing this was supposed to be Ruby’s space—and it was Ruby’s space, at least on this side of the room, where there were Super Scouts graphic novels on the shelf beneath the window, a hand-painted dartboard behind the door, and a poster of sarcastic emoticons beside the bed. The opposite side of the room, with the bunk beds and bins full of action figures, obviously belonged to the twins.

The room was supposed to be Max’s now, too, but he hadn’t brought any belongings with him—no favorite books, no witty artwork, nothing to suggest he was the new resident in the space that smelled of popcorn and Ruby’s strawberry-scented shampoo. He wondered how long it would take for Max to establish a home here and hoped he wouldn’t ever find out. He wanted a permanent home for Max, and as grateful as he was to the Tucker family for welcoming the kid with open arms, he knew that this wasn’t where he really belonged.

“The thing is,” said Adrian, leaning his head against the bed’s quilt, “those comics were the inspiration for the Sentinel. The character pretty much becomes the Sentinel by that third issue, and I modeled my armor off what I drew back then.”

“And you think that’s why Nightmare wanted them? To blackmail you or something?”

“Maybe. Or just to have the evidence to tell the world who I am.”

Max frowned, apparently unconvinced. “But how did she know about them in the first place? How many people did you show that comic to?”

“Not many. I mean, Dad and Pops have seen them, but it’s been so long, I don’t think they remember them all that well. And…” He trailed off, considering. He had no memory of showing the comics to anyone else. “I think that’s it.”

“What about Ruby or the rest of the team?”

“No, I never showed it to them. I hadn’t looked at those comics in years. I have no idea how Nightmare knew about them.”

“You never showed them to Nova?” said Max, lining up a collection of small figurines on the carpet.

“No. I would definitely remember showing them to Nova.”

Max hummed, but Adrian couldn’t interpret the sound.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” said Max, adjusting one of the toys to stand straighter. “You never mentioned them to her?”

Adrian opened his mouth, but hesitated. In fact, his dads had said something about Rebel Z that time Nova had joined them for dinner, but … it had been just a random comment, nothing that would lead someone to be interested in the comics, much less suspect they held the identity of the Sentinel within their pages.

Besides …

“Nova’s not Nightmare.”

“I know,” said Max, but his tone said otherwise.

“Max, she’s not. She was in prison when—”

“The Librarian’s granddaughter showed up in the department store, and she had the helmet, yeah, yeah, yeah.” Max flicked one of the figures in the head, sending it toppling onto the carpet, before meeting Adrian’s eye. “But it doesn’t really make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Adrian insisted. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, and with all the mirrors and her access to—”

“Not that. It doesn’t make sense why she would help me.” Max swiped his hand across the toys, knocking them over in one fell swoop, so that he could start all over again. This time arranging them as opposing army lines preparing to face off in battle. Heroes on one side, villains on the other. “I’ve never met the Librarian’s granddaughter. Why would she risk herself to help me like she did?”

Adrian pondered this, watching as the figures were slowly pitted against one another. “Maybe she had a connection to the Roaches. Maybe she knew your biological parents or something.”

Max scoffed. “The parents who tried to kill me? In that case, you’d think she’d be more than willing to finish the job. And also, it doesn’t explain how I ended up with her power. If she really did steal the Vitality Charm, then she was protected from me—fine. But then how did I put that nurse to sleep?”

“Well … again, maybe you had some interaction with her when you were a baby. Her grandfather probably sold arms to the Roaches, so you could have come in contact with her.”

Max shook his head. “If I’d been able to put people to sleep my whole life, I think I would have known about it.”

“Maybe not, though,” said Adrian. “You haven’t exactly had a lot of human contact.”

Max grunted. “I would have known.”

Adrian looked away. He didn’t want to doubt Max, but … he knew there had to be some explanation, some piece to the puzzle they didn’t have.

Because Nova wasn’t Nightmare. Nova was innocent.

“Anyway,” he said, studying the spot over the dresser where a mirror had recently hung, its silhouette crisply outlined by the faded paint color around it. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble to have all the mirrors taken down. I’m sure Nightmare still has the Vitality Charm, which makes you vulnerable until we can find her and get it back.”

“The Tuckers didn’t seem to mind about the mirrors. They’re pretty easygoing about stuff. Did I tell you that Turbo got into Mrs. Tucker’s desk and shredded apart a bunch of her old photos and postcards? She tried to pass it off as no big deal, but I felt horrible.”

Adrian grimaced. “Well, it’s not your fault. I’m the one who created him.”

“I know. Maybe next time you can make, like, a sloth. Or a platypus.”

Laughing, Adrian glanced around the bedroom, which was about 50 percent toys, 40 percent dirty clothes, and 10 percent bedding. He wondered how Max or the twins ever managed to find anything, but he figured he’d probably been just as messy at their age. No wonder his dads never dared venture into his basement unless they absolutely had to. “Where is Turbo, anyway?”

Pressing his lips, Max pointed to the top drawer of the dresser, which was pulled open a few inches. “Sleeping.”

Adrian stood and peered inside. The creature was curled up on top of a wad of T-shirts. Adrian slipped his hand inside and scooped Turbo into his palm, then slid down next to Max again. They both spent a moment watching the little dinosaur, who had not stirred at Adrian’s touch. That was unusual in itself. Plus, his coloring was off—more ash-gray than before—and his breaths so shallow Adrian almost couldn’t feel them against his skin.

“He doesn’t look so good,” Adrian murmured.

“I know,” said Max. “It’s been like that since yesterday. I tried to feed him last night and all he ate was two little bacon crumbles. He usually loves bacon.” He gently took Turbo out of Adrian’s hand. “I knew it would happen eventually. But … I’m gonna miss him.”

“I can draw you another one?”

Max shook his head. “Don’t do that. He’s irreplaceable.”

Adrian didn’t argue. He knew the feeling.

Cradling Turbo in one palm, Max returned his focus to the arranged battle scene, appraising the figures like a warlord preparing his strategy. But when he looked up at Adrian, there was stark worry in his face. “About Nightmare and the mirrors…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m putting the Tuckers in danger by being here, aren’t I?”

There was no point in denying it. Max’s presence would always come with heightened danger. Instead, Adrian said, “You would have been putting the hospital staff in danger, too.”

“But I could go back to headquarters.”

“You’re not going back to headquarters.”

“But … wouldn’t I be safer there, too? At least until you find Nightmare?”

Adrian drew his knees closer, draping his arms around them. “Do you want to go back?”

It took Max a long moment to answer. “I like living here, but … I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

A sharp pain jabbed Adrian’s chest. He knew Max carried a lot of guilt over the superpowers he’d stolen in his short lifetime, and he knew no amount of justifying it would make the kid feel any better. It wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t have helped it, and besides—he’d stopped Ace Anarchy, which was worth a lot more than a few powers stolen from time to time.

As if reading his thoughts, Max added, “I’ve been having nightmares about Ace Anarchy.” He picked up one of the action figures, a muscled, gray-clad man in a cape and helmet that might have been loosely modeled after the infamous villain. “I keep dreaming that he comes after me, but this time, instead of him getting weaker when he gets close to me, it’s the opposite. I get weaker, while he gets stronger and stronger.”

“Just dreams,” said Adrian. Reaching forward, he plucked the doll from Max’s hand and held it up. “I met Ace Anarchy, remember? He doesn’t look anything like this. He’s not that scary anymore, just a frail, cranky old man. And, in a few days—”

“He’ll be dead,” Max murmured.

Adrian tossed the figure into the middle of the battle. It landed facedown in the carpet.

Defeated.

Max stared at it a long moment, then picked it up and set it back into the line of combatants. “So,” he said, his tone more upbeat, though Adrian sensed some strain. “What are you going to do about the missing comics?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s time I come clean, though. Tell everyone the truth.”

Max turned to him, surprised. “Really?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel like I’m ready, but it also makes me sick to my stomach to think of Nightmare holding this secret over me. Whatever she’s planning, if I outed myself first, it would take away her ammunition. And besides, with everyone so focused on Ace Anarchy and the Agent N publicity and Genissa Clark’s threats and now the ongoing search for Nightmare and the rest of the Anarchists … maybe the whole Sentinel thing won’t seem like such a big deal? It could kind of blow over, you know?”