Realization spread over Stingray’s face. The amateur mistake he’d just made. Then he tipped onto his side with a heavy thump.

With him unconscious, Nova returned her attention to her wound. She pressed one palm over it and her hand pulled away damp with blood.

Injured and in pain, yes, but she wasn’t paralyzed like Stingray believed.

She rubbed the blood off on the side of her pants and dug a hasty bandage and some healing salve from the kit at her belt, securing it tight around her leg. She could feel the warm press of the Vitality Charm trapped between her jacket and her sternum.

Poison, disease, and evidently venom like Stingray’s too. The Renegades had been fools to stash the medallion away in their vault, without any appreciation. It was just one more example of their arrogance.

With the wound attended to, she turned her attention to the screens.

She spotted Frostbite guarding the main entrance, and Aftershock patrolling the back half of the ground floor. It took longer to find Gargoyle, but finally she spotted him making his rounds near the laboratories on the mezzanine level.

None of them appeared concerned, which was a relief. Stingray must have been confident enough in his ability to take down Nightmare. He hadn’t bothered to alert the rest of his team.

Removing his wristband, Nova stuffed it into her belt, then stepped over Stingray’s sleeping body. Nova approached the controls. She had studied the installation paperwork at length, the coding, the backup software, the fail safes, the alarms. She had planned for various scenarios until her eyes crossed.

In the end, it took just under eight minutes to disable the cameras throughout the building. She shut them all down, sending the system into dead air.

Eight minutes felt like an eternity, but with the security down, her job would be made a lot easier.

Adrenaline was coursing fast through her veins as she left the security room. She barely gave a passing glance to the sleeping woman beneath the drinking fountain. No one had come for her.

The building was mostly empty, but this woman was a reminder that not everyone had chosen to go to the gala that night. There could be more surprises.

She needed to be cautious. Stingray had been cocky and it cost him. Nova wouldn’t make the same mistake.

She arrived at the elevators, but hesitated. Changing her mind, she headed back for the stairwell. Her leg groaned, but she fought through the pain. She focused on counting floors. She kept her mind on the job ahead.

She paused when she reached the artifacts department, just long enough to check how her bandages were holding up. A spot of blood had seeped through the wrappings, but the burning sensation around the wound had faded to a dull throb.

She opened the door.

A familiar scene greeted her. The two desks inside the reception area, one sterile and neat, the other cluttered with Snapshot’s knickknacks. The lights were out, the floor silent and deserted. Nova marched through the filing room and used Stingray’s wristband to unlock the door to the vault. The only sounds were her own footsteps thudding on the floor as she passed among the dimly lit shelves.

She went to prodigy weapons first and claimed the so-called Silver Spear. The Captain’s own pike, the one he had used to try to destroy the helmet. Tried, and failed. She hefted it from its shelf—eight feet long and cool in her hand. It felt strong and sturdy, but not too heavy. It was perfect, actually. Elegant. Sharp. Superbly balanced.

She propped it against her shoulder and made her way to the restricted area.

Standing at the end of the aisle, she could see the chromium cube on its shelf, looking exactly as it always did. Shiny, solid, and faintly mocking. Lost in the shadows and the clutter of other random relics. Like the object it contained was hardly worth noting.

Setting her jaw, Nova shuffled the pike from hand to hand. Someday, this weapon would probably live inside a museum, she thought, where people could contemplate the tool they believed had destroyed Ace Anarchy’s helmet. They would talk about the good deeds that Captain Chromium had done. How he lifted society from the despair it had fallen into. How he had defeated the most destructive supervillain of all time. People would talk about the first Renegades and how they had been brave enough to fight for a world they believed in, and that … that was …

Nova winced, shaking the thought from her head.

Those first Renegades, including Captain Chromium, might have helped a lot of people, but they hadn’t helped her.

“Get out of my head,” she growled, her fist tightening around the javelin.

On the other end of the aisle, Callum stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing the same wrinkled clothes he always wore. She had wondered, passingly, why he wasn’t at the gala. Maybe there would simply be too many ungrateful people loitering around for him to stand it.

He seemed more thoughtful than afraid as he took in Nova, with her dark hood and metal mask and the chromium pole in her grip.

“Nightmare,” he said, scanning the shelves. “What are you here for?” He sounded honestly curious. Nova could practically see his mind working, trying to determine which of the hundreds of objects here would be most appealing to an Anarchist who was supposed to be dead. He started to come closer to her, scanning the shelves, until his focus landed on the chromium box and he paused. “It’s the helmet, isn’t it?”

Nova angled the point of the javelin toward him. “You can’t stop me,” she said, taking a step closer. He did not move back. “Don’t try to be a hero.”

His gaze dropped to the pike. Then he came closer to her, putting himself between Nova and the chromium box.

Snarling, Nova marched forward, until the point was only inches from his abdomen. “Move.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched, and a memory flashed through Nova’s mind. The world laid out before her. The ocean glittering beneath a vibrant sky. A city pulsing with life. A thousand little miracles, and more occurring every day. A million little things to wonder at. And Callum had showed her that. Callum had—

A guttural cry was torn from Nova’s throat. She spun the pike around and lunged forward, knocking the butt end into Callum’s chest. He grunted and fell to the floor. “Great skies,” he gasped. “What was that for?”

“Stay out of my head.”

Callum lifted himself onto his elbows. He looked like he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. “I didn’t do anything.” Then his brow tightened in confusion. “Wait … you know who I am? What I can do?”

Nova glowered. “I know my enemies.”

He sat up a little taller, rubbing his chest where she had struck him. “Listen.”

And she wanted to listen. She really wanted to listen. To hear what he would say. What wisdom he could impart from the ridiculous way he saw the world. Because she liked the way he saw the world. She wanted to see it that way too. Somewhere deep inside, she wanted to believe that there might be a way for all the world—Renegades and Anarchists, prodigies and civilians—to coexist inside some sort of harmonious equilibrium. No war, no power struggles. No heroes, no villains.

But Callum’s outlook was flawed. It would only work if everyone saw the world the way he did.

And the painful truth was that no one saw the world the way he did.

“No,” she said, startling him.

“No?”

“No. I won’t listen. It’s too late for that.”

Tucking the pike behind her, she bent over and pressed her fingertips to his brow. Callum didn’t flinch, but the flash of disappointment stung just as much.

Once he’d fallen asleep, Nova shook out her hand to rid herself of the sensation of unleashing her power. It felt different this time, using it against someone who she couldn’t quite see as her enemy despite what she’d said. Even Adrian, for as much as he filled her with yearning, had always still been the enemy.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped over Callum’s body and propped the pike against the shelf. She reached for the cube. As her hand neared it, the bracelet warmed against her skin. Pursing her lips, Nova rolled back the hem of her sleeve. The star was glowing brighter than it had all day—almost blindingly bright, sending deep shadows dancing over the shelves. She half expected it to explode, or maybe disappear, like it had when she had first tried to grab it out of the statue’s outstretched hands. But when it did nothing more than pulse warmly for a few seconds, she turned her attention back to the box.

Inhaling, she lifted the cube and turned it from side to side, inspecting it from every angle. Each side was identical to the others, with no apparent markings or weaknesses.

She set the cube on the floor and picked up the pike again. She took a step back and prepared herself for what she was about to do, though she didn’t have any idea what was going to happen. She’d imagined this moment a hundred times since the Captain had made that offhand remark at dinner.

Or I could make a sledgehammer to take to it, if I was feeling destructive.

She had hoped that once she was here, holding the pike and standing over the box, the next step would seem obvious. But all she had was a distant hope that this would work.

“This will work,” she murmured, tightening her grip on the pike. “Please, let this work.”

She raised the pike overhead, braced herself, and slammed the point into the center of the box.

The contact reverberated through the metal and into her arms, clattering down to her bones. Nova stumbled back.

The chromium box had skidded a few feet away but was otherwise unharmed.

Not even a dent.

Snarling, Nova tried again, harder this time. The metals pinged loudly and again her arms shook from the impact. The box crashed into the nearest shelf, making the whole unit tremble from the blow.

Still, no sign that it was weakened.

Desperation welled inside of her. No, no, no. It could not all be for nothing.

This had to work.

She turned the pike over and tried again, this time swinging it like a battle ax. It thudded hard against the box. Her body jolted from the impact. She swung it again. Again. Again.

Reeling back, Nova stared at the pike in disgust. She was panting, though as much from outrage as exertion. This had to work. She needed that helmet and she didn’t have any other options.