At the bottom of the stack of drawings, she found a collection of pages stapled together. Nova lifted them from the box and a small, surprised laugh escaped her.

On the front page—in much more skilled artistic style than the images of the nightmare monster—was a drawing of a young, dark-skinned boy wearing a white straitjacket, with a patch on his chest that read Patient Z. He was strapped to a chair and a collection of electrodes and wires were plugged all around his shaved head, each one connecting to various machines. A stereotypical mad scientist hovered over him, scribbling onto a clipboard.

A title was printed boldly across the top: Rebel Z: Issue 1.

Her mouth twitching around an amused smile, Nova turned to the first page. It showed the kid from the cover trying to buy a candy bar at a convenience store, but being turned away when he didn’t have enough coins in his pocket. Newspapers on a stand by the register sported headlines warning about missing children and government conspiracies.

A caption read, “I was the doctor’s twenty-sixth victim.”

Holding the stapled pages by their spine, Nova flipped through the rest of the book. Images of the boy flashed by, along with a bunch of other children, being locked in jail cells and subjected to various tests by the scientist and his minion nurses. The last page showed the boy crying over the body of a girl—Patient Y. The final dialogue bubble read, “I will find a way out of this, and I will avenge you. I will avenge you all!”

At the bottom: To be continued …

Shaking her head, smiling openly now at this glimpse into Adrian’s eleven-year-old imagination, Nova reached for Issue 2 in the box. Her fingers had just closed around it when she heard a door open at the end of the hallway.

She froze.

Footsteps.

Immediately her brain clamored for an excuse. Adrian decided he wanted me to see these old comics after all. I was just going to bring them downstairs to look at and …

But her excuse went unneeded. The footsteps thumped down the stairs.

Nova listened, motionless. At some point during her search, the water had stopped running through the pipes.

She stuffed the comics into the box and closed it, pushing it back onto the shelf. She grabbed the folder detailing headquarters plans and the list of international dignitaries.

She approached the door and peered out. The double doors across the landing were cracked open, blue light spilling out along with the sound of the evening news.

She frowned. She had only heard one of them go downstairs, so the other was still in there.

Options: wait for them both to fall asleep, then slip in to search the room. Or create a diversion to lure them out.

The first option seemed the least risky.

She would wait. And if Adrian woke up in the meantime, well, she would just put him to sleep again.

She had all night.

When she was sure the coast was clear, she slid into the hallway and scurried back down the stairs, keeping close to the wall where there was less chance of making the old nails squeal beneath her feet. She reached the foyer and was rounding the column when she heard whistling again.

It was coming from the hallway. She would have to walk right by it to get back to the basement.

Flinching, she turned the other way and darted through the door into the dining room, closing it quietly behind her. Pulse thrumming, she took in the room with its fancy wood paneling and glittering chandelier and the scattered piles of junk mail. She considered diving under the table, but that would appear far too suspicious if she was caught. Instead, she slipped the file beneath a particularly chaotic stack of mail and rushed into the kitchen, where the dishwasher was running and the smell of garlic hung heavy in the air.

She could no longer hear the whistling.

She held her breath.

Then the door to the dining room opened, and the whistling started up again.

Cursing, Nova ran for the best hiding place she saw—the closet that Simon had said would be turned into a pantry someday.

She ripped it open. Her feet halted. She reeled back in surprise.

A wooden rod across the top might normally have held coats and jackets, but she found herself staring, unbelievably, at the Dread Warden’s black cape and Captain Chromium’s shiny blue bodysuit. Both were tucked into plastic bags with dry cleaner tags dangling from the hangers. Lumped together on the floor beneath them were six sets of Renegade-issued boots, and a utility belt, not unlike Nova’s own, hung from a peg on the back of the door.

Her jaw fell.

There it was.

The Vitality Charm, hanging around the neck of the Dread Warden costume, glinting in the kitchen’s light.

What was it doing in a broom closet?

Swallowing hard, she reached in and unhooked the chain from the hanger. It was heavier than she expected, roughly the size of a silver dollar, with the hand and serpent engraved into its dark surface.

She almost laughed. She couldn’t believe she had found it—actually found it, actually succeeded.

She clasped it behind her neck and tucked the medallion beneath the collar of her shirt. The iron was warm against her skin.

The kitchen door opened and Nova spun around.

Simon Westwood yelped in surprise and, ever so briefly, flickered invisible. Then he was back, clutching his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Nova sputtered. “I was … um. Looking for … a snack! I just remembered that the pantry was”—she pointed toward the dining room door—“that way, right? At the end of the hall. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Simon waved her apologies away. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s a big house. Easy to get confused.” Having recovered from his surprise, he meandered to a tall cupboard and pulled it open. “We keep most of the snack foods in here. Where’s Adrian?”

“He fell asleep,” she said, shrugging sheepishly. “He seemed so tired at dinner. I didn’t want to wake him.”

“Ah.” He gestured at the open cupboard, stocked with a variety of cookies and chips. “Well, take whatever you want.”

“Thanks.”

Simon grabbed a candy bar for himself, which surprised Nova. She wouldn’t have pictured Simon Westwood as having a sweet tooth. Shaking herself into movement, she shut the closet door and went to peruse the snacks.

Simon was halfway back to the door when he glanced back at Nova. “I know I probably shouldn’t say anything, but … you know, you’re the first girl Adrian’s ever brought home to meet us.”

She flushed. “Actually, I came here to see him, so … I’m not sure we can count it as him bringing me home.”

With a chuckle, Simon nodded, his wavy hair tumbling over his forehead. “Fair enough. Though … I think he would have eventually.”

Her blush deepened, which she hated. Were all parents so awkward?

The thought brought a twinge of pain to her chest. She would never know what it was like to be embarrassed by her father, and she would never invite a boy over to meet Uncle Ace.

“Good night, Nova,” said Simon, walking out of the kitchen.

Her shoulders fell, releasing the built-up tension, and she cast her gaze toward the ceiling in relief.

Deciding to come back for the hidden folder before she left, Nova headed back downstairs.

Adrian was still sound asleep. She took a moment to inspect his face, telling herself she wanted to make sure he was still in deep. The planes of his cheeks, the cut of his jaw, the lips that were no longer such a mystery, yet were more enticing than ever.

“I’m so sorry you had to be the enemy,” she whispered.

Then she crept back into the mural room. There was one last thing she needed from this house.

The jungle assaulted her senses even more strongly now that she could compare it to the real world. The birds were still up in the boughs, squawking and tittering, and the intoxicating perfume of the flowers engulfed her.

From the doorway, she could only see a glimpse of the statue’s shoulder and a sliver of its hood. Nova made her way through the brush until she was standing before it again.

In her childhood dream, this was as far as she’d gotten. She could clearly remember the sensation of awe she’d had when she stood before this statue, caught up in that whimsical, unconscious state. Even now, she felt swept away by the impossibility of it. The sheer miracle of this tiny star brought into being.

She had wanted to touch it in the dream, but she never had the chance. She woke up too soon.

Her hands trembled as she lifted them, fingers outstretched. Some quiet instinct told her that she had to sneak up on the star. Like if she moved too fast, she would frighten it away.

It glowed, as if it were aware of her presence. When she was mere inches away, she realized that the star had begun to shift in color, from vibrant white to something mellow and rich. A copper gold, just like the material that her father used to cull from the air.

Nova brought her hands together, cupping them around the star. Its warmth pulsed against her palms.

Exhaling, she brought her cupped hands back to her chest. As her heart tapped a furious beat, she dared to part her thumbs. Just enough. Just enough to see the star clasped within.

It flashed suddenly, blinding her. Nova stumbled back, turning her head away.

The flash left a glaring spot against her eyelids that refused to fade for a long time, as she blinked and squinted into her hands. The imprint of light in her vision started to disperse and she looked around in awe, seeing flickers of thin, golden veins pulsing in the air all around her.

Nova squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her knuckles into them.

When she opened them again, the strange patterns of light were gone, and so was the star.

Nova’s chest tightened with disappointment, but it was followed by a self-deprecating laugh.

What had she expected? That she could take it with her? That she could keep this star forever, to remember this one blissful night? A night that had been built on lies and deception?

Sighing, Nova trudged back through the foliage. She was nearly to the door when a glow caught her eye.

She froze. A shadow had flickered across a fallen tree trunk. She turned, searching for the source of light, and the shadows shifted again. There was nothing behind her.