This, finally, brought Ruby’s head swiveling toward him. “My brothers?”

“Yeah,” said Oscar. “You’ve said how much they wish they were Renegades, right? They might think it’s cool to rub elbows with some of the patrols. Adrian could introduce them to his dads, they could listen to us all talk shop for a while.” He shrugged. “It could be fun for them.”

Ruby studied him for a long time before saying, carefully, “You’re talking about going to a swanky gala … and you think I should bring my brothers?”

Oscar blinked at her. “I like being inclusive?”

Ruby turned to the targets and went to take another shot, but her gun clicked, empty.

“And maybe Nova could invite her uncle?” suggested Oscar.

Nova let out a peal of laughter. “He’s not the gala type.”

“Oh. But … you’ll go?” asked Oscar.

Nova pulled back and Adrian could sense the emphatic no building on her tongue, but then she hesitated. Their eyes met and he saw indecision there. A question. A … hope?

“I’ll think about it,” said Nova.

“Okay,” said Oscar, checking his wristband. “Does anyone know when we get to break for lunch?”

“Maybe,” said Ruby, “after we’ve actually practiced.”

Oscar inspected the gun. He seemed about as enthusiastic about learning to use a new weapon as Adrian was.

“Come on,” said Adrian, raising his gun again. “I’ll buy you a pizza if you hit a bull’s-eye before I do.”

Ten seconds later, he owed Oscar a pizza.

Adrian groaned.

“Okay, I can’t take it,” said Nova, setting her gun down. “I’m teaching you how to do this.”

Adrian chuckled and shook his head at her. “Honestly, Nova, I’ve had some of the best Renegade trainers here try to teach me. It’s just not in my skill set.”

“Oh, please. It’s not that hard.” She came to stand beside him and took the gun from his hand. “You know what the sights are?”

He gave her an annoyed look.

“It’s a legitimate question, given that you apparently don’t use them,” she said. “We’re starting with the basics here.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve drawn a handgun?” he said. “I must have practiced it a thousand times when I first started on patrols. So, yes, I know what the sights are. And the hammer, the barrel, the cylinder … all of it. I understand how gunpowder works and the physics of propulsion. I know how guns work. I’m just not very good at getting the bullet to hit what I’m trying to hit.”

“Okay, smart guy.” Nova returned the gun to him, handle first. “Show me what you’re doing.”

He groaned. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“So you’re okay being mediocre?” She clicked her tongue, disappointed.

He scowled at her, but it was competing with a smile. “What am I aiming at, oh wise teacher?”

“That bull’s-eye,” she said. “The close one.”

“Oh, the close one,” he said. “You’re already setting your expectations low.”

“No, you already set my expectations low. Now stop talking and shoot.”

His lips twisted, but he conceded her point. He lifted the gun and fired.

He heard the dart hit something, but whatever it was, it surely wasn’t the bull’s-eye.

“Okay, for starters,” said Nova, “you need to relax. You tense up when you shoot.”

“Of course I tense up. It’s loud and … loud.”

“You need to relax,” she repeated. “And hold the gun like this, straight up and down. You’re not a cowboy.” She folded her hands around his, locking the gun’s handle between them.

Adrian swallowed. Her hands were smaller than his, but there was a confidence in her touch that surprised him. She’d always seemed so unsure when it came to physical contact … but maybe that was one more thing he’d only imagined.

“Like this,” Nova said, lifting his arms so they were parallel to the floor. Her cheek was against his shoulder now. “And widen your stance. You want strong, stable legs.”

He planted his feet, though his legs didn’t feel strong and stable. If anything, the closer she was, the weaker his limbs became.

“Do you ever think about aiming?” she asked.

“Of course I aim.”

“Could have fooled me.”

His eyes skipped toward hers.

She was smiling, teasing him. Then her lashes fluttered in surprise and she backed away, putting a couple of inches between them.

“I think that’s your problem,” she said, turning toward the targets. “You like to take in the whole world. But you need to stop and focus. In the moment you squeeze the trigger, nothing should exist except you and your target. Here, try again. This time, ignore everything else. Just focus on that one target.”

As he lined up the target in his sights, Nova moved behind him, pressing one hand to his back while the other wrapped around his on the grip. “It’s an extension of your arm,” she said. “Like … like your marker.”

He chuckled. “It’s nothing like my marker.”

“Don’t argue with me.”

His smile broadened.

“Imagine your arms absorbing the kickback,” Nova continued, “and sending all that energy through your feet and into the ground. That will help keep your body loose so you don’t tense up every time you fire.”

But he couldn’t think of anything beyond the closeness of her. Her hand between his shoulder blades. Her arm grazing his. He found himself wanting to stall. Wanting to draw out this moment just a little longer. He inhaled and it carried a bit of a shiver with it.

He felt her go still.

“Whenever—” Her voice scratched and she cleared her throat. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Am I supposed to be shooting something?” Adrian whispered, startling her.

“The target,” she said dryly. “Ignore everything else.”

He turned his head enough that he could meet her eyes again. “You want me to ignore everything else?”

She held his gaze, but her confidence was swept away. He watched as color bloomed across her cheeks. Great skies, she was beautiful.

Adrian gulped and looked away. He gripped the gun even tighter, found the target, and fired. But he forgot to set up his stance. Forgot to relax his shoulders. Forgot to focus.

The dart went wide.

He grinned sheepishly, stepping back until they were no longer touching. “Like I said, I’m hopeless.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

NOVA STOMPED DOWN the back alley behind the dilapidated row houses, hands clenched at her sides.

What was wrong with Adrian? She was doing her best to flirt with him, and making a complete fool of herself in the process. She couldn’t possibly be any more obvious. But either Adrian was the most oblivious boy this side of the Stockton Bridge, or—

Her teeth gritted.

She really hated that or, and she found herself growing more livid every time she thought of it.

Or … Adrian just wasn’t interested in her anymore. Maybe Nova had lost her chance when she’d run away from him at the carnival.

Ace had told her to stay close to Adrian Everhart, and she was doing her best. She understood the reasons behind it. She knew that Adrian’s trust could lead to a weakness in his fathers. Which was precisely why it was so infuriating every time he turned away from her, or avoided eye contact, or dodged her touch. Again and again.

It was making her mission more difficult. She hated that.

Her annoyance had nothing to do with the sting she felt in her chest every time Adrian proved that what he’d once felt for her was over.

And, apparently, her best efforts weren’t going to bring it back.

A flash of gold fluttered in the corner of her vision and Nova froze. A monarch butterfly was flitting around a patch of ironweed that had gone rampant in one of the neighbors’ neglected yards.

Nova’s pulse thrummed as she watched the insect dither over one purple bloom before moving to another, methodical in its hunt for nectar. Her feet, still sporting her Renegade-issued boots, were cemented to the alley’s cracked asphalt. She told herself that she wasn’t afraid—her, Nova Artino, afraid of a butterfly? But the gooseflesh on her arms suggested otherwise. What if Danna had been watching her today when Nova had taken the vial of Agent N? She’d been careful, but had she been careful enough?

The butterfly moved to the stand of plants on the other side of the garden. A swallow trilled from a power line overhead. Nova almost hoped the bird would soar down and snatch the butterfly into its beak, because then she wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not the creature was really one of Danna’s spies.

She wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the day wondering whether Danna was following her.

She wouldn’t be terrified that Danna had already discovered her secret.

She was beginning to contemplate the odds of the butterfly staying put long enough for her to run into the house and find something to capture it with when the creature finished its meal and took off, flittering up and over the row house and toward the next road.

At least it was flying away from headquarters.

It was probably just an ordinary butterfly, she told herself. Nothing to worry about.

Nova trudged the rest of the way toward her own weed-infested yard, ignoring the deafening buzz of Honey’s beehives as she stomped into the shadow of the crumbling row house. Her hands shook as she yanked open the sliding glass door and trudged into the dingy kitchen. They continued to tremble as she unclasped the buckle of her utility belt. She dropped it onto the counter beside a coffeepot half full of long-cold coffee and an assortment of vials and beakers, remnants of Leroy’s latest work.

She tore off the wristband next and tossed it onto the table where a plain gray vase sat forgotten. A bouquet of flowers that had once flourished at the tip of Adrian’s marker now stood shriveled, the dead, papery heads hanging forlornly from their stems.