Nova’s heart galloped, as she imagined Magpie giving the helmet to Captain Chromium or the Dread Warden or even Adrian or—or—

Magpie threw it as hard as she could. Nova’s gaze traced its arc over the bleachers, one hand gripping the rail she’d just vaulted over, her mouth dry.

A pair of hands clumsily caught the helmet.

Nova blinked, dismayed. She stumbled. Callum?

He appeared equally bewildered, almost frightened, as he looked from Magpie to Nova. He was practically alone in the stands, most of the Renegades having made their way to the field to join the fight. He surveyed the helmet that was suddenly in his possession, not with a hungry greed, like some might have. Not with revulsion for its history, either.

He just looked like Callum. Awestruck and giddy.

“What are you waiting for?” Magpie screeched at him. “Put it on!”

Pressing her lips, Nova started moving down the nearest row of seats. Callum was an easy enough target. She just had to get close enough to put him to sleep. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Callum lifted the helmet and dropped it on top of his head.

It made him look like a kid playing dress-up.

Snarling, Nova catapulted into the next row. Callum was not a formidable opponent. She would get the helmet and she would complete her mission.

But she hadn’t gone a dozen steps when she was struck by a thought so staggering, so brilliant, that it made her stumble over her own feet. Her knee smacked the hard plastic arm of one of the seats, but she barely felt the stitch of pain, because …

She was still alive.

She laughed, a little startled by the realization. How many attempts on her life had been made in just the past fifteen minutes? And yet, she had survived them all. She was still standing, still breathing, and …

What was more, she wasn’t the only one.

Frozen in place, Nova peered out across the arena floor and felt as though she was seeing it clearly for the first time. Yes, there had been death. Not only Winston—Winston, who sacrificed himself for me—but others, too, heroes and villains alike. There was havoc. There was ruin.

But amid all that, there was still hope. Hope that things could change. Hope that this wasn’t the end.

Nova’s lungs squeezed. She had been a recipient of Callum’s wonder-inducing superpower enough times to know that what she was feeling was a byproduct of his ability. But she also knew her thoughts were the truth or, at the least, what she believed to be true.

There was still hope that things could be different. That things could be better.

She was not the only one who had been frozen under the weight of this realization. All around her, people were exchanging speechless looks. There was a clarity in their expressions, born out of the stillness of the moment.

Despite all odds, she still had this one precious life. She still had a chance to do things differently. Which meant they all could do things differently. They could choose a different future, a different fate. Together, they could end this senseless destruction. They could choose to rebuild, to create, rather than tear down and destroy. Isn’t that what Callum had been trying to tell her all along?

She realized that Callum was watching her from behind the face of Ace’s helmet, and she knew, beyond a doubt, that he recognized her. He saw her. He knew her.

And still, somehow, he did not look at her like she was the enemy. What would have seemed impossible moments before now seemed not only possible, but inevitable.

Life was full of second chances.

* * *

Not two minutes ago, Adrian had woken up, flat on his back in the Sentinel’s armor, feeling like he’d been struck by lightning, then run over by a truck. He didn’t know what Nightmare had shot at him, but he hoped he never came in contact with one again. In the first few moments after opening his eyes, he’d been confused, hurt, and somewhat shocked that he hadn’t been trampled where he lay. The arena was a disaster. The fight showed no sign of letting up, not until one side was completely demolished.

He staggered to his feet, hoping that the tingling vibrations in his limbs would fade with movement, and started scanning for signs of Nightmare. All his old fury returned, and he swore that this was the last time she would defeat him in a one-on-one fight.

Many times, he had sworn to himself that he would find Nightmare and he would destroy her.

This time, he meant it.

Or, he had.

In the two minutes since then, the battle had fallen into an unexpected cease-fire. Adrian looked around, awestruck not by the mayhem, but by the mere fact that everyone here was willing to fight with such conviction for their own cause. How could they all feel so compelled to risk everything for what they believed? He saw his dads amid the chaos—Simon helping Zodiac to safety; it seemed she might have a broken leg—while Hugh was uncharacteristically still, beaming up at the stands with actual tears in his bright blue eyes.

Adrian was overjoyed to see them both. Knowing that the loss was devastating, but also knowing that it could have been worse.

He saw a group of men and women wearing the Cragmoor prisoner’s uniform and recalled Nova’s plea to give them a chance for rehabilitation. He thought of his mother, who had died defending the people of the city she loved. He thought of his dads, who had worked tirelessly these past years to rebuild their fallen society.

Was it possible that the lines that had divided them for so long could be approached with a bit more understanding, blurred with a bit more empathy, even erased altogether with just a bit more compromise?

He was so startled by the thought that he actually started to laugh. He kept searching the crowd, wanting to find his friends and ask them if they, too, felt that they’d been going about things all wrong, all this time.

He didn’t see Oscar, Ruby, or Danna in the confusion—but his attention did fall on Nightmare.

She was in the stands, gripping the back of one of the seats, scanning the arena with apparent awe. Until her gaze latched on to him.

Logically, he knew it could have all been in his own head. His practical thoughts fought to stay in control, reminding him that there was no real way for him to know what Nightmare was thinking. But, somehow, he felt like there was an understanding that passed between them in that moment.

I have fought to protect the people I care about. I have fought to defend my beliefs.

I see now that you have, too.

Are we really so different?

Nothing had changed.

And yet, everything had changed. Two minutes ago, he would have killed her. But in the light of this wonderful clarity, nothing but a truce would suffice.

Nothing but a chance for peace, for compassion, for—

A shadowy form gathered at the edge of his vision. Adrian cocked his head, feeling the disturbance in this stunning new reality like a knife slashing through tissue paper.

Phobia appeared in the stands, standing behind a boy who was, inexplicably, wearing Ace Anarchy’s helmet. The boy didn’t seem to notice Phobia towering over him.

It was as though it were happening in slow motion. One moment, Adrian’s thoughts were full of wonder and possibilities and truth. Of second chances and hope.

The next—they were nothing but horror.

“No!”

His scream made Nightmare shift to see what had caught his attention.

Phobia swung his scythe. The blade punctured the boy’s abdomen, slicing from his navel to his breastbone.

The world stilled. The air left Adrian’s lungs and refused to return.

He heard a scream, and thought it might have been Nightmare.

As the boy collapsed, Phobia withdrew the blade, sending blood splattering across the stands.

He took hold of the helmet with one skeletal hand and lifted it off the boy’s head.

Callum Treadwell. Wonder.

“One cannot be awed who has no soul,” Phobia said, and it seemed almost as though there were humor in his brittle voice. “Just as one cannot be brave who has no fear.”

Adrian blinked. He was still in shock at the senselessness of it. Dazed not only by the sight of Callum’s lifeless body slumped over a seat, but by the jumble of worldviews crashing through his thoughts.

Heroes and villains. Friends and foes. And those words … that phrase …

One cannot be brave …

A sour taste filled Adrian’s mouth. He gaped at Phobia and felt the injustice of Callum’s death surge through him as the words that had haunted him for nearly his whole life burrowed into his skull.

Phobia.

It was Phobia.

And now, standing over Callum’s body, Phobia held Ace Anarchy’s helmet. He lifted his voice so all would hear him, even as the spell of wonder evaporated from their minds.

“You have all fought bravely,” he said. “And now … it is time for you to know fear.”

Then he was a phantom, an inky, transient monster soaring like a bird of prey over their heads, his cloak like darkness. He dropped into the center of the arena, making no noise as he stepped across the platform and lifted the helmet overhead.

The helmet left his grip, hovering in the air for a moment, before settling onto Ace Anarchy’s shoulders.

Ace Anarchy lifted his head.

The shackles on his wrists sprang loudly apart and fell to the dirt.

“Master of Anarchy,” Phobia rasped. “Rise again, and let us watch them fall.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

THE MOMENT THAT Ace Anarchy was in possession of his helmet, everything changed. He did not stand so much as float upward, his spine straightening and his hands flexing, as if he were regaining feeling in his extremities.

The arena began to tremble. Wood splintered and metal groaned. Seats were yanked up from where they had been bolted in the stands and sent soaring toward the Renegades who still had enough strength to fight, pinning many of them in place. The steel trusses that held the light fixtures were torn from their structures, dropping onto Ace’s enemies, curling around them into makeshift cages.

Adrian felt like he was watching the scene unfold from somewhere outside of himself. None of it felt real—not the armor heavy on his skin, not the blood dripping down the bleachers, not Ace Anarchy suddenly, impossibly, returned to power.