He scoffed. For as long as Nova could remember, this had been one of Ace’s most hated phrases. That vague, altogether subjective notion of a so-called greater good. What did it even mean, he had often asked. Who got to decide what constituted that greater good, and what was worthy of the sacrifice in its favor?

“What is anarchy but our right to have our own thoughts, and to speak them? To have our own desires, and to use our own resources to obtain them? To not have to live in fear that everything we have worked so hard to procure will be taken from us against our will? And yet…” He sighed, and his voice grew quiet. “I must concede that it is not human nature to allow anarchy to prevail. A new ruling order will always rise up and claim power. In the past, I allowed other gangs and their leaders to become that ruling order.”

He surveyed the prodigies around them, many who had fought alongside them at the arena. Nova wondered how many of them he recognized as gang members from years past.

“So long as we were no longer faced with persecution, and those that I loved were well cared for”—his gaze settled briefly on Nova—“then I did not bother myself with how the city was run, or who was profiting and who was suffering as a result. I did not wish to become the ruling elite I have always despised. I did not believe it was my place to choose the winners and losers of this world, as previous tyrants had chosen. But we must have a vision going forward. My friends. My companions. This time, I do have a vision.”

Ace lifted his arms. “When a society collapses, a new master will rise up to replace the old. This time, we will be that master. We will be the new ruling order. If humanity is so determined to have a king to follow and a god to worship, then we will be those kings. We will be those gods.” His voice rang through the tower. “But first, we must destroy the Renegades and everything they have built.”

Nova’s skin tingled. She knew she should be happy to see him so spirited. This was what she wanted, too, she reminded herself. No Renegades. No Council. No villain gangs. Only the Anarchists—invincible to all the world.

With no superheroes to save the day, society would correct itself. No one would lie around waiting for handouts, expecting to be rescued. People would accept their own responsibilities. Defend their own families. And when someone mistreated another human being, their punishment would come from society itself, not some clueless government.

This was what she had fought for.

But not anymore. She had a vision of her own and, for the first time, it did not align with Ace and his ideals. Not entirely.

And so, she raised her voice and declared, simply, “No.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ADRIAN STOOD SHIVERING for a long time, listening to the groans of compromised steel beams and the trickles of broken plaster.

The villains were gone.

The arena was in shambles. The Renegades were in shambles.

But he had faced Ace Anarchy a second time and survived, again. That was no small feat.

“Adrian…”

Simon’s voice from behind him was subdued, and it brought back a shock of memories that had been buried in the storm Ace Anarchy had created.

With a strained gulp, Adrian closed his fist. The clear, shimmering tower dissolved into the air like the remnants of sparklers raining down on them.

Thinking of sparklers made him think of Evander.

He shuddered as he turned to face Simon, braced for disappointment, maybe even anger. His identity as the Sentinel was revealed. He’d had no choice, and yet, he wasn’t sure he was ready for the fallout.

But Simon appeared more relieved than anything as he climbed painfully to his feet. They stared at each other, catching their breaths. Some of the swelling on Simon’s face and arms was starting to go down, the pain gradually receding from his eyes.

Simon held out his arms.

Adrian exhaled and fell into the embrace. Simon flinched and Adrian quickly loosened his grip. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Simon. “We’re all right.” Pulling away, he looked around. “We need to take stock of the injured, prioritize the wounds for any healers who weren’t neutralized, get everyone else to the hospital. I need to check on Tsunami—”

“I’ll get her. You help Dad get those shackles off.”

Adrian ran toward the collapsed wooden stage, upturned and splintered so that it resembled a pile of old lumber more than the platform it had been only hours before. He started pulling the debris away, and soon was joined by others—those who were still strong enough to help. Behind him, he could hear Simon shouting orders, urging the Renegades to help the wounded and start gathering their dead.

Adrian had cleared away half the wooden planks before he finally spotted Tsunami’s white boot. “Please, oh, please,” he murmured, moving faster to reach her. Soon they had uncovered her body. Her eyes were closed and a stream of dark, drying blood covered half of her face, the result of a deep gash to her head.

Adrian fell beside her, searching for a pulse.

At first, he couldn’t be sure if he was mistaking his own thrumming heartbeat for hers. But—no, there it was, faint but steady. “She’s alive!” he cried, even as someone was pressing a cloth to the wound on her head. Others started clearing a path so she could be taken to where a handful of healers were setting up to tend to the wounded.

Adrian scooped Kasumi into his arms. She felt fragile, but he had known her long enough to know her small form was deceptive. She was strong. She would make it through this.

Once he had handed her off to the healers, Adrian made his way through the wreckage, searching for more survivors. Dust coated the inside of his lungs. Smoke stung his eyes. The ground was littered with dead bees and bits of plaster, melted plastics and scorch marks, puddles of filthy water and broken glass.

He started to take stock of their losses, though the sight of so many casualties made him feel like he was being pulled apart, bit by bit. Adrian didn’t know all of his peers well, but he knew enough to have an idea of which of them still lived with their parents, and who had children of their own. Who had been challenged at the trials and who had chosen to work in administration rather than be sent out on patrols. He knew they all believed in their purpose—to seek justice, to protect the weak, to defend the innocent.

He saw Genissa Clark’s body sprawled against a wall. And in the stands, stubborn Magpie slumped onto the stairs. He saw Winston Pratt in a pool of blood, and Callum Treadwell—Callum—who had almost managed to end the slaughter when he had the helmet. Who, for just a moment, had shown them a different path.

He saw Evander Wade. Blacklight. Adrian had idolized him when he was growing up, convinced that he was by far the coolest of the Renegades’ founding members. He had seemed so carefree, so suave, so quick with a joke.

Now he was dead.

Thunderbird had been neutralized. He spotted her tending to the injured, and almost didn’t recognize her, not only because she no longer had the black wings folded at her back, but also because her face was swollen and burned where Cyanide had touched her. She had always been intimidating, not only with the massive wings, but also with the bolts of lightning she could conjure with a snap of her fingers. Though Captain Chromium often received the credit for being the most powerful of the group, Adrian had often suspected that Thunderbird was actually the strongest—she just wasn’t the type to flaunt it. That argument could never be made again.

Simon was also forever changed. The Dread Warden was gone. Simon Westwood would never again be invisible, would never vanish in the blink of an eye.

But at least, Adrian thought, he would be able to visit with Max now, for as long as he wished.

It was a small consolation, but consolation nonetheless.

If Tsunami was all right, she and Captain Chromium would be the last of the Council with their abilities intact. It was a harrowing thought.

The damage wrought upon the Renegades that night was inconceivable. Not only in lives, but in superpowers, too. How many had been stung by those bees? How many superheroes had been lost?

He sought out his dads. Hugh had managed to free himself using the chromium pike to break apart the shackles, and he was now working to clear the rubbish away, searching for anyone else who might have been caught beneath a crashed wall or fallen truss.

Adrian was heading toward them when something crinkled beneath his boot. He paused and looked down. It was a square of pink-and-gold origami paper, still showing the creases where it had been folded into the delicate crane. Adrian recognized it as the crane that had flown directly to Captain Chromium, before everything had dissolved into chaos.

He picked it up and flipped over the paper, reading the message printed there.

Everyone has a nightmare.

Welcome to yours.

Jaw clenching, he shredded the paper in half, then fourths, tearing it apart until it was nothing but confetti fluttering to the mud.

“Adrian?”

He jolted and was relieved to see his friends tromping toward him through the debris.

Adrian beamed, overwhelmed with joy to see them all alive. He met them halfway, accepting a tight hug from Ruby, a clap on the back from Oscar. He wrapped an arm around Danna’s shoulders, each of them leaning into each other, sweaty, stricken, and exhausted.

With a groan, Oscar collapsed onto a bench that had once been in the upper stands, but was now on the field, sunk halfway in mud. He started massaging the joints of his legs, which Adrian had never seen him do in public, no matter now tough a fight had been. This battle had pushed them all to their limits.

“Ruby, how are your … wounds?” said Adrian, not sure how to distinguish between old wounds and new. Ruby had taken off the gray uniform jacket, revealing a plain tank top and the bandages that she had always kept wrapped over her arm and shoulders. She had never stopped bleeding, not since the attack that had first awoken her powers years ago, but this was the first time Adrian had seen those bandages soaked through with actual blood.

“No more crystals,” she said, and he couldn’t tell if her tone was sad or simply truthful. “Now they won’t stop bleeding. I’m fine, though. I’ll talk to one of the healers after they take care of the people who really need help.”