And thanks to Nova, herself. She knew she had a choice. She had seen goodness among the Renegades, no matter how much she wanted to pretend it wasn’t there. She could try to ignore their false promises, forget the lies they told the world. She could simply give up.

But Callum had wanted to remind Nova what it was she was fighting for, and it worked.

She was fighting to rid the world of the Renegades, so that no kid would ever again put their faith in superheroes who wouldn’t come. So no one else would have to suffer the heartbreak that she had.

And also, of course, for Ace. He had taken her in, protected her, cared for her.

She would not let him die without a fight.

Exhaling a steadying breath, she checked the faded numbers on the nearest mailbox. Her heart lurched. She’d been so caught up in her own head she’d almost walked right past it.

Her attention jumped from the mailbox to the wrought-iron gate to the long flagstone walkway to … the house.

The mansion.

The … palace, at least in comparison to every home Nova had ever had.

“You can’t be serious,” she muttered.

The entry gate was connected to an old brick wall that lined the estate. The walkway curved around a tiered fountain, which either no longer worked or had been turned off for the coming winter. The large arched windows were trimmed in pristine white moldings. A Greek-style portico framed the front porch and the grand double doors, which were painted a welcoming butter yellow. A series of chimneys erupted from various gables around the roof and the occasional bay window added visual interest to the brick.

Awe and disgust mingled together as she took it in, and she wasn’t sure which was more prominent. She wanted to jeer at how pretentious it all was, but she had to admit that wasn’t entirely true.

The home was … stately, to be sure. It had a subtle classicism to it, like it could have been built at any point in the past two hundred years.

Still, it was far more square footage than three people could possibly use.

Maybe she was just feeling defensive, though. She couldn’t help wondering what Adrian must have thought when he saw the decrepit row house on Wallowridge, when he was accustomed to this.

Gulping, Nova approached the gate. She reached for the handle, when a red light flickered on a device built into the nearest pillar. The light cascaded over Nova from head to foot, then came to rest on her wristband.

“Renegade credentials detected,” said a computerized voice from a speaker disguised in a lamppost. “You may approach the main entrance and present yourself. Warning: Straying from the path could result in loss of life or limb. Welcome to the Gatlon City Mayor’s Mansion!”

The red light blinked out at the same time a lock clunked inside the gate.

Nova pushed on the gate and it groaned and creaked, but once she was through, it swung back of its own accord. She heard the locking mechanism bolt again and buried a shudder.

“Stay on the path,” she said, scanning the flagstone. The vast green lawns to either side were tidy and quaint, like they were waiting for someone to roll out a game of croquet. “Duly noted.”

She made her way to the door and stepped into the shadow of the portico. Two topiaries stood on the steps, taking up residence in ancient stone urns. A knocker on the middle of the yellow door was shaped like a tusked elephant, with the knocker held in its looped trunk.

A small bronze plaque beside the door read:

GATLON CITY HISTORICAL MARKER

MAYOR’S MANSION

This house served as the home for Gatlon City mayors for more than a century prior to the twenty-year period known as the Age of Anarchy, during which Mayor Robert Hayes and his family and staff were murdered in this location.

Beneath this stoic plaque was a smaller, wooden one, with hand-painted words that read, EVERHART-WESTWOOD RESIDENCE: ALL SOLICITING, PICKETING, AND VILLAINOUS ANTICS STRICTLY PROHIBITED!

Before Nova could determine if she thought this was funny or not, one of the double doors swung open.

She jumped back. Her hand reached for her belt before she remembered she hadn’t brought it with her.

“Nova?” said Adrian, haloed by the light of the foyer behind him. “I thought the security system might be pulling a joke on me.” He almost, but not quite, smiled. “What are you doing here?”

A hundred little observations rushed into Nova’s mind at once, rendering her speechless. That the smell of cinnamon wafted from the doorway. That Adrian’s long-sleeved T-shirt seemed tighter than normal, and he was wearing paint-splattered jeans with tears in the knees. That there was a charcoal drawing on the wall behind him depicting the Stockton Bridge at night. That he was pressing a hand beneath his ribs in an odd way, and as soon as he noticed her noticing, the hand dropped to his side.

She picked what seemed to be the least problematic of her thoughts, and said, “You live in a mansion.”

Adrian blinked, then considered the entryway, as if it had been a long time since he’d stopped to really take in his surroundings. “The Mayor’s Mansion, yeah. You didn’t know that?”

“No, I did,” she said. “But I didn’t expect … I mean, it’s an actual, literal mansion.” She gestured at the lawn. “You have a fountain in your yard.”

A slow grin crept over Adrian’s face. “Don’t freak out, but there’s a carriage house in the back. Oh, and the attic used to be servant’s quarters. There’s even a bell system that connects to all these little buttons throughout the house, so if the mayor’s wife wanted a cup of tea, she’d just have to push one of the buttons and a servant would come and take her order.” His eyes twinkled. “Classy stuff, right?”

Nova gaped at him. “Tell me you don’t have servants.”

Laughing, Adrian stepped back. “No servants. Do you want to come in? I was warming up cinnamon rolls for dinner.”

“What, you don’t eat seven-course meals every night?”

“Only on Sundays. Is that a yes?”

“That’s a yes.” Nova held her breath as she crossed the threshold, her focus roving from the intricate crown moldings to the crystals dripping from the chandelier. She glanced at Adrian’s abdomen and could detect a squarish lump beneath his shirt. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Adrian said quickly, pressing a hand to the spot again, then waving the question away. “I was, uh … unpacking some boxes with a box cutter and it slipped and got me. You know how they always say to cut away from yourself? I finally understand why.”

He turned and she followed after him, frowning. Adrian was a lot of things, but clumsy wasn’t one of them. It was difficult to imagine him making such a mistake.

They passed an oak staircase that curved upward to the second floor and an arched doorway through which she could see a grouping of chairs and sofas and a piano in the corner, though even from here she could see a layer of dust on it.

“Is that a parlor?” said Nova.

“No, it’s a formal parlor,” said Adrian. “My dads hired a fancy interior designer to put it together a few years ago, and I don’t think we’ve used it since. They insist it will come in handy, though, once we start inviting foreign dignitaries to visit and they need a place to ‘host’ them.” He made quotes in the air.

Nova expected to be taken to a kitchen, but instead Adrian led her down a narrow staircase into some sort of basement. The aroma of cinnamon grew thicker around them.

Nova realized with a start, as her foot landed on plush carpet, that she was in his room.

His bedroom.

She must have hesitated in the doorway a second too long, because when Adrian turned back and noticed her expression, he tensed himself. “We can take these back upstairs, if you want,” he said, lifting an aluminum tin full of sticky-sweet cinnamon buns. “I was just going to … um”—he gestured toward a shut door on the other side of the room—“work on this project … thing. But we could go watch a movie or something…” He hesitated, a crease forming between his brows. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I just … wanted to see you,” said Nova. Adrian’s eyes widened behind his glasses, almost imperceptibly. She had been practicing those words the entire walk, trying to find a way she could say them without blushing. She was not entirely successful. “Are your dads home?”

He shook his head. “Still at headquarters.”

Good. She would have full access to search the house, though she hoped the medallion would be found here, in his room. She just had to knock Adrian out first.

“Is everything okay?” Adrian asked.

“Yeah. Yeah,” she said. “Just … curious. A movie sounds nice.” She meant it. A movie was easy. Comfortable. Completely without pressure.

Not to mention that people fell asleep during movies all the time, and there was nothing at all suspicious about it. All she needed was an excuse to put her hand on his. A brush of a finger against his knuckle. That was all she needed.

“Okay. Cool. There’s a TV upstairs.”

Nova nudged her chin toward the TV set on top of a small entertainment console. “That one doesn’t work?”

“Uh … it does. I just … didn’t want to assume … I mean, whatever you want to do.”

For the first time in what felt like days, Nova felt the tension in her chest start to loosen. She had been frustrated over her failed attempts to flirt with Adrian, to get close to him. But she’d just gotten here, and it was obvious that her presence flustered him.

The thought of it sent a satisfying surge through her veins. That must be what Honey felt like, to know the sort of power she wielded over people. Nova even dared a small, teasing smile, and thought Honey might have been proud.

She took a step closer to Adrian. “Are you not allowed to have girls in your room?”

He chuckled. Then he took a step back, though it was subtle. “Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had one.”

Nova flushed, that moment of confidence gone as quickly as it had come. “Well. I trust you not to try anything … inappropriate.”