Adrian followed the man through a maze of workstations, cubicles, and storage spaces. “How many people have received Agent N so far?” he asked, wondering if the seven that Dr. Hogan had mentioned was the extent of it.

The man’s shoulders stiffened. “I’m afraid that is confidential, Mr. Everhart.”

Of course it was.

Then the man’s posture relaxed, and he slowed his pace so Adrian was walking alongside him. “Though I can say…,” he said, glancing around in a manner that suggested he really wasn’t supposed to say, “that everyone here has been … surprisingly pleased at the reactions from many of our patients. It was an unexpected result, but it has not been uncommon for ex-prodigies to feel, well, a sense of relief, after the procedure. They often talk about their previous abilities as being a burden, as much as a gift.”

Adrian tried to imagine feeling grateful to lose his powers but he couldn’t. The loss would devastate him, and he couldn’t help being suspicious at the man’s words. Either the neutralized patients were just saying what they thought their counselors wanted to hear, or the people in this laboratory were skewing their words to justify using the patients for their tests … against their will, he assumed.

“Here we are,” said the man, stopping outside an unmarked white door.

The door opened and a polished woman smiled out at them. “I’m just finishing up here. One moment.” She stepped back into the room, leaving the door open. Adrian craned his head, watching her approach a simple cot against the wall, where Winston Pratt was lying flat on his back. She leaned over him and touched her fingers to his shoulder, whispering something.

Winston appeared to have no reaction.

The woman gathered up a purse and a notepad and stepped out into the hall. “I’ll be back to see him in the morning,” she said. Then, turning to Adrian, she added, “Try not to upset him if you can help it. It’s been a difficult day.”

“‘Difficult day’?” said Adrian, appalled at the sympathy in her tone. This was the villain who had brainwashed countless innocent children, forcing them to attack their peers, their families, even themselves on occasion. And the people here were concerned that he might be having a difficult day?

Adrian bit back his thoughts and forced a wan smile.

The woman slipped away and Adrian turned back to the small room. A couple of chairs were stationed beside the cot, and a plate of sandwiches, apparently untouched, sat on a side table. The lighting was dim and warm, and the air smelled of a mix of chemical cleaners and lavender room spray.

“Um … shouldn’t he be restrained … or something?” whispered Adrian.

The man chuckled. “He’s not a villain anymore,” he said, slapping Adrian on the shoulder. “What are you afraid of?” He started to walk away. “I’ll be back to get you in fifteen minutes, but if you’re done sooner, have them page me.”

Adrian stood inside the doorway for a long moment, observing the villain on the cot. He knew that Winston must be aware of his presence, but he never took his eyes from the ceiling. He had been changed out of the striped prison uniform into light blue sweatpants and a white T-shirt, and he appeared so utterly disheartened that Adrian felt a twinge of that sympathy he’d criticized the woman for.

“Mr. Pratt?” he said, shutting the door behind him. “I’m Adrian Everhart. We met once before … I’m not sure if they told you I was coming today or not … but I was hoping to ask you some questions.”

Winston did not move, except for his eyelids closing and opening in slow motion.

“I know a lot of people have talked to you lately about the Anarchists, and where they might be hiding out, but there’s a different mystery that I was hoping you could maybe shine some light on.”

When Winston still didn’t react, Adrian perched on the edge of the one of the chairs, resting his elbows on his knees. “Last time I spoke to you, the Anarchists had just abandoned the subway tunnels, and most of them have not been seen or heard from since. I’m told that you’ve been questioned at length on their whereabouts and I believe you when you say that you don’t know where they are.”

No response.

He looked so different from when Adrian had interrogated him before, without the permanent etchings of marionette lines on his jaw or the circles of rouge on his cheeks, without the sinister grin. He still had the ginger-red hair, but it now fell uninspired across his forehead.

He looked so … so normal. He could have been anyone. A math teacher. A truck driver. A shop owner.

Anyone but a villain.

Adrian lifted his chin and reminded himself that, despite his harmless appearance now, the man before him had done despicable things. Losing his powers didn’t change that.

“However,” Adrian continued, “you did give me some really useful information regarding Nightmare.”

This, at last, provoked a twitch in Winston’s cheek.

“I don’t know how much they keep you informed around here, but we were able to track Nightmare down to her hiding spot at Cosmopolis Park.”

Winston’s eyes shifted toward him, then straight back to the ceiling.

“Have you heard about the fight that happened there between Nightmare and the Detonator?” pressed Adrian. “Did you know that they’re both dead?”

He waited, and after a long silence, Winston’s head listed to the side. He seemed to be considering Adrian.

“Both dead?” the villain said, feeling out the words. “Are you sure?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure, of course, no matter how convinced of Nightmare’s death the rest of the world seemed to be. But Winston didn’t need to know that.

“The Detonator killed Nightmare with one of her explosives, and one of my teammates killed the Detonator. I saw it happen.”

Winston made a sound that suggested he was unconvinced by Adrian’s story.

“Here’s the thing,” said Adrian, leaning forward. “Before Nightmare was killed, she was overheard using a phrase. A … slogan, of sorts. She said, ‘One cannot be brave who has no fear.’ Do those words mean anything to you?”

Winston scowled. Then he sat up, without warning, and swung his legs over the side of the cot. He mimicked Adrian’s stance, leaning over his knees, studying him.

A chill ran down Adrian’s spine, but he refused to show his discomfort. Holding Winston’s gaze, he squeezed his hands together until one of his joints popped.

“Lady Indomitable,” Winston whispered. The name hung between them, filling up the silence, feeling like a shared secret somehow, until Winston leaned back and brought his knees up, crossing his legs on the cot. All signs of melancholy vanished and he sounded almost cheerful as he began to talk. “Did you know, she once got hold of my hot-air balloon and flew it all the way into the next county. I wasn’t in it at the time. Was busy robbing a bank or something.…” He snapped. “No, no, a warehouse, that’s right. The balloon was supposed to be our getaway vehicle. Didn’t quite work out that way, obviously. Took me almost a month to track it down. She’d left the thing in a cow pasture, can you believe that? Meddling little Renegade.” He stuck out his tongue.

Gaping at him, Adrian stammered, “She was my mother.”

“Well, clearly. You look just like her, you know.”

Adrian’s mouth opened and closed for a minute, trying to determine the importance of this story, if there was any. Unless …

Unless.

Rage flared in his chest. “Did you do it?” he barked, jumping to his feet.

Winston pushed his back against the wall, startled.

“Did you kill her? Did you murder her because … because she stole your balloon?”

“Did I…?” Winston let out a shriek of a laugh and clapped his hands to the sides of his face. “Did I kill Lady Indomitable? Goodness gracious, no.” He paused, considering. “That is, I would have, had the opportunity ever presented itself.”

Adrian snarled, his hands still clenched into fists.

“But I didn’t!” he insisted.

“But you know who did, don’t you? You know she was found with that note—those words on her. ‘One cannot be brave’—”

“‘Who has no fear,’ yakkity-yak. Trying a bit too hard to be profound, isn’t it?” Winston yawned exaggeratedly.

Adrian lowered himself back to the chair. “Who killed her? Was it an Anarchist? Are they still alive? Are they still out there?”

The look behind Winston’s eyes changed then. No longer hollow and distressed as they had been when Adrian had first arrived, nor jovial and worry-free.

Now he appeared to be considering something.

To be … calculating.

For the first time since he’d entered the room, Adrian could see the villain this man had once been. Or was still, despite what everyone wanted to believe.

“I will give you information, but I ask for something in return.”

Adrian tensed. “I’m not in a position to bargain with you.”

“I don’t ask for much. You can even run my request by that Council of yours if you’d like.”

Adrian hesitated, but Winston kept talking without waiting for a response.

“When I was a child, my father gave me my first puppet—a wooden marionette with orange hair, like mine, and a sad face. I named it Hettie. Well, the last I saw of Hettie, he was fast asleep in his little bed right next to mine—on the subway platform at Blackmire Station.” His expression turned pleading. “Bring me Hettie, Mr. Renegade, and I promise I will tell you something you want to know.”

CHAPTER TEN

“ADMIT IT. You had a bit of a thing for him.”

Nova turned her face to Honey, her jaw dropping with disgust. They were crammed into Leroy’s beloved yellow sports car, Nova straddling the center console between Honey and Leroy. “I did not.”