Her heart jolted even now, but this time it wasn’t with sorrow, but resentment.

Damn Adrian Everhart.

It had been more than a month since he had come to this house and drawn her those flowers. When he asked her to go to the carnival with him, on a date that wasn’t a date. Weeks in which her heart had jolted a tiny bit every time she passed that bouquet, every day draining the color from their petals, until they formed one more sad, dejected still-life in this sad, dejected house.

Though, to be fair, the house had become a lot less dejected under Honey Harper’s ministrations. She had embraced their new home with singular devotion, giving Nova the impression that Honey was actually living out some fantasy of homemaking she’d held on to for years, but had kept deeply buried. It was always clear how much Honey hated living in the tunnels, away from flowers and sunshine and breezes. They had been trapped for years, unable to abandon Ace as his health failed him, or to risk making the Renegades suspicious of their activities by moving somewhere closer to civilization.

But since they were forced from their home—away from the tunnels and the cathedral and Ace—it had become clear that Honey, at least, was flourishing with the change. She had spent her weeks merrily toiling away at their new abode, often singing show tunes at the top of her lungs as she worked. Their furniture had been aired out, the floors had been scrubbed, and while the offensive paisley wallpaper still hung in the living room, at least the cobwebs had been swept away. Nova had been surprised at the vigilance with which Honey had attacked the grime throughout the house, and how she hadn’t once heard her complain about a broken nail or calloused fingers. When she’d mentioned that to Honey, she received a knowing wink in return and the sage observation that “A true queen is made not in times of prosperity, but in times of hardship.”

Nova kicked off her boots into a corner of the front room. Leroy was reading a newspaper by the window, where he had hung a mustard-yellow blanket for privacy. Honey despised that blanket and had tried multiple times to replace it with lightweight sheers, but on this, Leroy was firm, insisting that they needed privacy more than beauty. The daylight that filtered through the blanket made the room feel sickly, as if the walls themselves were suffering from late-stage jaundice.

It was Honey’s least favorite room in the house.

A headline at the top of Leroy’s paper read PRODIGY DRUG-THIEF “HAWTHORN” STILL AT LARGE.

But when Leroy lowered the paper, Nova could see he’d been reading the comics pages.

“Rough day, Insomnia?” His reading glasses dropped to the end of his scarred nose, revealing the ring of discolored skin around one eye.

The other Anarchists had all taken to calling her this lately. Insomnia—her Renegade alias. At first it had irked her, but now she didn’t think they were using the name to be mocking. Rather, it was a reminder, always, of what she was doing with the Renegades. She was a spy. A detective. A weapon.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Reaching into her sleeve, Nova retrieved the vial of Agent N she had taken from the training hall and tossed it to Leroy. He made no effort to catch it, letting it bounce off his chest and land in his lap. He folded the paper and picked up the vial, inspecting the liquid. The solution sloshed thickly as he tipped the vial from side to side. “Terrifying stuff.”

“Most patrol units will have finished their training by the end of next week. They’ll start equipping us with it then. We’ll need to be extra careful.”

He turned over the vial and watched as a single air bubble rose through the elixir. “This is for me to keep?”

“For now. Like Ace said, we need to see if we can weaponize it against the Renegades, before they use it against us. Or if we can even replicate it. I might be able to steal more in the coming weeks, but not enough to use against the whole organization.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Also, there was talk of it being effective in gas form. I wonder if that might be a possibility. A gas could be used against more than one Renegade at a time, at least.”

“It will be easy enough to figure out its properties and what sort of combustion would be required for vaporization,” said Leroy. “We’ll also need to determine its reduction in potency as the molecules are diffused, so that we can predict its range of effectiveness. I can get started on all that, but unless you’re also going to obtain some deconstructed hand grenades for the substance, there won’t be much we can do with the knowledge.”

“You figure out how to turn it into a gas, and I’ll start working on a dispersal device,” said Nova. “I have my eye on some explosives I saw in the Renegades’ collection that I think could be altered for something like this. Plus, they’d be easy to steal.”

“Shame that our only reliable contact for explosives is no longer among us.”

Nova ground her teeth. “I’m not sure I would call Ingrid reliable.”

Leroy lifted an eyebrow at her—or what would have been an eyebrow, if the hair hadn’t long ago been singed off. “I was referring to the Librarian.”

Nova curled her nose, almost embarrassed. “There’s been some debate around headquarters about whether or not Captain Chromium would be affected by Agent N. He couldn’t be injected, given that no needle could puncture his skin, but it’s unclear whether or not the liquid would harm him if he swallowed it, or the gas if he breathed it in. If you come up with any theories one way or the other, I’d love to hear them.”

He tapped a finger against his chin. “I’ll see what I can find, though I’m not sure how much I can accomplish with such a small test sample. And without access to the Renegade labs, their tests, their supplies … and, of course, the boy.”

A shiver traipsed down her spine. Max had been brought up several times in their conversations lately, ever since she’d told them about Agent N. Nova couldn’t help feeling like telling the Anarchists about him had left Max vulnerable somehow, and she hated it.

“Do your best for now,” she said, turning away. “I’ll try to bring you more samples after my next training session.”

She plodded up the stairway to the bedroom she shared with Honey. It was a relief to peel the Renegade uniform off her skin and change into her own clothes. She had just finished pulling a T-shirt over her head when Honey threw open the door and sauntered into the room, her hair in a towel and a silk bathrobe tied at her waist. The smell of oat-and-honey soap wafted after her into the room, mingling with the cloying scents of Honey’s perfumes, body creams, and cosmetics.

“Oh, sweetheart!” Honey cooed. She pulled the towel from her hair and began squeezing water from her curls. “You’re back early today. Isn’t there enough murder and mayhem happening on the streets to keep the Renegades busy?” Dropping the towel onto the floor, she stretched one pale arm toward the mattress in the corner of the room. A handful of black wasps that had been crawling over her bed linens zipped toward her, alighting on her shoulder and knuckles. Nova watched one disappear into the opening of Honey’s sleeve.

“Our schedules were adjusted for Agent N training.”

“Oh? Does that mean you saw that darling Everhart boy today?”

Nova’s gut clenched. “I pretty much see him all the time.”

“Good.” Honey sat in front of her vanity mirror and began picking a wide-toothed comb through her damp hair. “I went to see Ace this morning. He wanted to be sure you’re staying close to him like he asked, and keeping your ears open for anything that might be useful regarding the Council.”

Nova’s skin prickled. It made her uncomfortable to think of the other Anarchists, Ace especially, talking about her when she wasn’t there. “You can tell Ace that I see him plenty,” she said, pacing to the window. She pried open two of the cheap plastic blinds and peered into the alley. A plump bumblebee was wandering over the glass, trying to figure out how to get inside.

“And? How are things going?”

Nova’s mouth dried as she tracked the bee’s movements.

How were things with Adrian?

“Fine,” she spat.

It was true. They were fine. Always fine. He was as friendly toward her as he had ever been. Always welcoming. Always ready with an encouraging smile and a kind word. Always so damned nice.

“That doesn’t sound fine,” Honey mused.

Nova thrust open the window and waited for the bee to zip inside. She turned away, enjoying the cool air on the back of her neck. She expected Honey to be watching her, but no. Honey Harper was fully involved with her vanity mirror, tracing thick black eyeliner along her lower lash line. It was a daily ritual for her, and one that Nova found as baffling now as she had in the tunnels.

It wasn’t like Honey could leave the house, and Nova doubted she cared much about getting dolled up for Leroy or Phobia.

“How was Ace when you saw him?” she asked.

Honey dipped her lashes suspiciously. “You’re dodging.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Nova went on, ignoring the accusation, “maybe we can start taking him out for walks. No one ever goes to the cathedral ruins. If he could get out in the sunshine, get some fresh air—even just for a few minutes a day—it could help him, right?”

Honey stiffened. “Take him for walks? He’s not a dog.”

“I’m serious.” Nova gestured at Honey. “Being out of the tunnels has been so good for you, for all of us. Maybe if we could get him out of those catacombs, let him breathe again—”

Honey rose from her chair. “He is Ace Anarchy. Have you forgotten? If anyone were to see him—”

“We’ll be careful.”

“He would be murdered on sight or locked away in that horrible prison.”

“He’s already in prison!”

“Absolutely not. It isn’t worth the risk.”

Nova huffed and peered out the window again. It was a beautiful day—crisp and breezy, with flashes of sun streaming through the clouds. Sometimes she worried that Ace’s weakness was as much in his mind as his body. To be locked away from the very society he had tried to help …