The fourth operator was reaching for his walkie-talkie, probably confused as to why the other three lights had fallen motionless, when Nova’s fingers reached out from the shadows and brushed the back of his hand. She caught him as she had the others, then released a long exhale.

Phase one complete.

Down below, Ace was being led back onto the field, while a parade of men and women in lab coats marched out to join the prisoners, each one holding a syringe.

The spectacle of it was too surreal. It felt more like a choreographed stage production, like it had all been planned with more consideration for the pictures that would later appear on the fronts of newspapers than for the dignity of those involved.

Nova examined the trusses that held the light fixtures and speaker boxes, a complicated maze of metal scaffolding crisscrossing the ceiling of the arena. She pulled herself onto the railing surrounding the spotlight’s platform, reached for the nearest overhead truss, and hauled herself up the rigging.

Blacklight had the honor of signaling for the neutralization. All of the inmates were to be neutralized simultaneously, and so he began by counting down from ten. Nova did her best to ignore what was happening below, focusing instead on putting one hand in front of the other as she crawled toward the center of the building.

She did pause, though, when Blacklight reached number one. She peered down through the metal bars.

She could only see the tops of their heads—the prisoners, the lab technicians, the Council. Winston and Ace. She couldn’t see any of their expressions. She was too far away to tell if any of the prisoners flinched as the needles were plunged into their arms.

A second passed. Then two. Ten seconds. Twenty.

Even from her bird’s-eye view, Nova could tell when the technicians began to stir uncomfortably. She saw the Council shifting in their seats, trading looks with one another. She noticed Dr. Hogan checking her wristwatch.

The arena was quiet enough that she heard one of the journalists cough from their box.

Not all prodigies had physical characteristics that indicated their powers, but plenty did. Not just Nova’s yellow-skinned friend, but also Colosso, who was more than ten feet tall, and Billie Goat, who had vicious pointed horns growing from the top of her head, and the Scrawl, who regularly had blue-black ink overflow from her lips and stain the front of her jumpsuit. By now, all of those characteristics should have been fading away. By now, those villains should have been reduced to average humans.

But, as the Renegades were beginning to realize, that wasn’t happening.

Even the inmates were squirming uncomfortably, unsure if they were supposed to feel something different.

Nova spotted a flicker of movement from the otherwise motionless stands. She did not need a close-up view to know that it was a small paper crane, crafted from the most delicate pink-and-gold paper.

She smiled.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE AUDIENCE’S ATTENTION shifted from the row of prisoners on the field—who had apparently not been neutralized—to the paper bird fluttering over their heads. Adrian stared, his brow pinched with suspicion, as the bird made a full circle over the stands before dipping down and hovering in front of Captain Chromium. He snatched it from the air, crumpling its wings in one fist. His visage was already dark as he unfolded the square of paper. There must have been something written on the inside, because his scowl deepened before he crushed it again and threw it onto the stage. He was about to speak when a voice boomed throughout the arena.

“Ladies and gentlemen, prodigies and prisoners, superheroes and scientists…”

The voice did not seem to be coming from the overhead speakers. If anything, it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

“We do apologize for the delay in today’s Renegade-sponsored programming,” the voice continued, with an edge of sarcasm. “While your honorable Council members sort through these technical difficulties, we hope you’ll enjoy this free entertainment, compliments of … the Crane.”

Adrian frowned at his team, who were all sharing the same baffled look.

“The Crane?” said Ruby. “Wasn’t he at the trials?”

“The origami guy?” said Oscar.

Adrian saw them then. Everyone saw them—hundreds, perhaps thousands, of paper cranes in the most beautiful array of pastel and jewel tones soaring into the arena. Adrian leaped to his feet. He wasn’t alone, as the stands all around him erupted with concern.

But only a little concern, Adrian noted.

They were just paper cranes.

“They’re coming in through the air vents,” said Danna. She was gripping the railing, her knuckles white.

“Could it be a diversion?” asked Ruby.

Adrian didn’t respond. He had no answers, but he had a feeling that Nightmare and the Anarchists had something to do with this.

He loosened his collar, making easier access to the zipper tattoo.

The cranes spread throughout the audience, hovering inches over their heads. One was caught by Fiona Lindala, or Peregrine, who was standing in the next row with her beloved bird of prey perched on her shoulder. Adrian watched as she unfolded the paper, the falcon’s head bobbing curiously. All around him, Renegades were doing the same. Snatching the paper birds from the air. Unfolding them to uncover their secrets.

Fiona cried out in surprise, drawing Adrian’s attention back to her. Her eyes were wide, though perhaps in more surprise than pain. She dropped the crane, but it left behind another creature.

A chubby, fuzzy, black-and-yellow bumblebee sitting on her palm.

Adrian had barely registered the sight before the peregrine shot forward and caught the bee in its beak.

“It stung me,” Fiona said to no one in particular, picking the stinger out of her palm.

Then there were more. More bees, almost adorable in their plumpness, leaving the protection of the paper cranes and buzzing toward the nearest Renegades.

“Queen Bee,” said Adrian, swatting one away. All around, he could hear disgruntled gasps, though the sounds were more of annoyance or surprise than anything else. It wasn’t fun to be stung by a bumblebee, but compared to daily life as a Renegade, it wasn’t exactly petrifying, either.

Danna’s face was contorted in disbelief. “Why bumblebees? Why not hornets or wasps or…?”

Adrian yelped in surprise and clapped a hand to the back of his neck. His fingers came away cradling the furry body of a bumblebee. He tossed it to the ground and reached back, rubbing where it had stung him.

Around them, people were crushing the bees in fists and under boots, tearing the beautiful paper cranes into shreds. Baffled. Confused.

Until a sickening wail began to rise up around them.

It started with Peregrine, who was gaping, horrified, into her companion’s intelligent eyes. “No,” she cried, stretching one finger to stroke the bird’s wing. But the bird ducked away. It walked down the length of her outstretched arm, staring at her like it wasn’t sure whether or not she was edible. “Pern, please, it’s me.”

The peregrine shifted its head away, its talons digging into her forearm. Then it spread its massive wings and leaped into the air, soaring over the stands. Fiona cried out, reaching, but she had no hope of catching it. Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t sense him anymore,” she stammered. “He doesn’t understand … what’s happening?” She looked around, searching nearby faces for answers. “My power. It’s gone.”

Realization struck Adrian like a gunshot. He scanned the audience, as all around, expressions morphed into panic. Renegades inspecting their outstretched hands as they felt their powers drain away. As scales sloughed off of baby-soft human skin, as sixth-sense antennas retracted beneath human hair. A girl made of smoldering black embers watched as her skin mutated into plain human flesh. A boy with horns on his back cried out as the horns snapped off and were left like discarded nail clippings on the ground. Sparks extinguished. Energy evaporated. Shadows dispersed.

The voice returned, echoing and amused. “If you’re one of the unlucky Renegades who have just received a tiny sting, we urge you to remain calm. You’re bound to experience some slight discomfort, maybe a bit of queasiness, but in just a few moments you’ll be back to normal. Completely, utterly normal.”

“Agent N,” said Adrian. “The stingers have Agent N on them.”

Oscar cursed and squished a bumblebee beneath the butt of his cane, even though Adrian was pretty sure it was already dead.

“The syringes must have had a decoy,” said Adrian. “The Anarchists switched it out somehow.”

“Adrian,” said Danna. “Your powers?”

He shook his head. “My tattoo should protect me. But something tells me this isn’t the worst of it. Come on, I need to find a place to transform.”

“We’re coming with you,” she said.

He slipped from the row, preparing to dash up the stairs to the back of the arena, but he was stopped by a voice, meek and trembling.

“Guys?”

He turned back. Danna and Oscar paused, too, all of them staring at Ruby.

Her face was pale, her eyes watering and round. In her right palm, she held a dead bumblebee.

In her left was the red stone that always hung from the wire at her wrist.

Adrian’s heart sank. “Ruby … no…”

They all watched as the stone began to melt, dissolving into a sticky, bloody mess over her fingers, dripping down to the concrete floor below.

Ruby swallowed and tried to put on a brave face, despite her shock. “My brothers,” she whispered, “are going to be so disappointed.”

* * *

Nova was halfway across the first lighting truss when she realized what was happening. She gripped the edges of the cold steel, peering down at the audience as their cries went from bewildered to horrified.

She pressed a hand to her earpiece, hoping that maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was misinterpreting the situation, unable to see clearly from so far away.

“What is going on down there?”

Honey’s voice crackled. “Can’t you tell? We’re finally winning.”