The smoke was beginning to thin and he spotted Ruby and Oscar a dozen feet away. Ruby was on her knees. Her wire was wrapped around her own neck and she had her fingers curled between it and her throat, desperately trying to keep it from strangling her. Her fingers were bleeding, the blood glinting as it began to crystallize. Oscar knelt beside her, his expression frantic as he tried to help her loosen the wire.

Adrian could see no sign of the villain through the smoky veil.

He curled his armored fingers, pressing a fingertip into the wall. He drew the first thing that came to mind—the simplest thing he could manage. A circle traced into the dust. A single curved line sprouting from its top. A few scratches bursting at its tip.

A bomb.

A wick.

And a spark.

“Oscar,” Adrian grunted as he pulled the bomb from the wall. “Take cover!”

Oscar’s eyes widened. He grabbed Ruby beneath the arms and hauled her behind one of the coffins.

Adrian let the bomb fall. It rolled a few inches from the wall and exploded.

The flash was blinding. The blast pummeled against Adrian’s body and knocked a hole through the wall. Adrian fell forward, landing on his hands and knees. He immediately clapped a hand to his chest and retracted the suit, though he was left coughing from the smoke and dust in the air. The room was darker now. The explosion must have toppled one of the candelabras, extinguishing what little light it had provided.

He crawled across the floor, searching for Ruby and Oscar as he blinked the debris from his eyes.

He found Ruby’s garrote first—the wire tangled with a pile of bones. It was coated with tiny red gems from where it had cut into Ruby’s skin.

“Smokescreen?” he said. “Red Assassin?”

“H-here,” Oscar responded, coughing.

A furious roar drew Adrian’s attention upward.

Ace Anarchy was no longer levitating. His simple, loose-fitting robes were splattered with white dust, and the fabric fluttered as he held his arms outstretched to either side. He stood in the center of the catacombs, his face contorted with a rage that had been nonexistent moments ago. His mouth curled, almost grotesque in its anger.

Adrian braced himself for an attack. He expected the sharp bloodstone to fly up and try to stab him, or Oscar’s cane to try to club one of them over the head, or even to be pummeled by a thousand bones.

He heard the sound of stone grating on stone.

Adrian scrambled to his feet, unsure where the noise was coming from—until he witnessed the heavy lid of one of the coffins. It slid off the sarcophagus and crashed to the ground, driving a crack through the stone.

Adrian’s jaw fell. His heart pummeled against his chest as the entire coffin turned first onto its side, the weight of it shaking the compromised cathedral foundation around them. The bones of a centuries-old corpse were flung from its shell.

Adrian stumbled back a step. He had heard stories of Ace Anarchy ripping buildings off their foundations. Knocking bridges into the water. Sending tanks crashing through store windows.

But that was when he was strong. That was when he had the helmet. Before Max took some of his power.

To actually see him controlling something that must have weighed a ton or more, even now, was petrifying. He could crush them. Easily.

Except, Ace wasn’t lifting the tomb.

Adrian peered into his face again. Though hostility burned in the villain’s eyes, it was met with strain. His face contorted with concentration. His teeth grinding and his skin damp with sweat.

Perhaps he could move something as heavy as a sarcophagus, but it wasn’t easy.

With renewed courage, Adrian charged at him, his fist preparing to swing, even as his brain scrambled to formulate a plan. He and Oscar had sparred plenty in the training rooms, but it was rare that he had to use those skills in actual combat.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

Ace Anarchy glanced once in Adrian’s direction and the fallen candelabra flew up and caught him in the stomach. Adrian grunted and fell, gripping his abdomen.

He snarled and looked up in time to see the coffin roll over one more time.

Ruby and Oscar screamed and curled into each other. Adrian saw Oscar wrap his arms protectively around Ruby’s head moments before the coffin closed over them, sealing them inside. Their muffled yells continued, followed by fists pounding against the inside of the stone prison.

Ace Anarchy slumped and Adrian could see him trying to catch his breath.

“I will deal with them later,” he said, wiping his brow with his sleeve. He fixed his gaze on Adrian and cocked his head, studying him. Then his eyes glinted with something like interest, perhaps even amusement, and Adrian knew that he recognized him. He wasn’t sure how. They had never met before, and Ace Anarchy had disappeared—died, they all thought—when Adrian was just a kid.

But he had been lurking down here all this time. Hiding. Waiting. Guarded by Phobia, and maybe the rest of the Anarchists too. They could have provided him with information about Captain Chromium and the Dread Warden. They probably would have told him about how they had adopted Lady Indomitable’s orphaned son. Maybe they had even brought him tabloids and newspapers, so he could stay informed of his enemies.

“How intriguing,” Ace said, eyes narrowed in quiet contemplation. “I do believe you know my niece.”

Then he grinned, that same cruel grin, and raised his arms overhead.

Adrian clenched his fist. The cylindrical tattoo on his forearm began to glow—molten hot. His skin warmed.

The shelves behind him rattled and he imagined Ace pulling them down on top of him. Crushing him, or trying to.

Adrian held his fist toward Ace. Peeled open his fingers.

But before he could shoot, Ace Anarchy coughed and fell, crumpling to one knee. The shelves quieted.

Adrian hesitated.

With an enraged roar, Ace slammed his fist into the ground. He swiped one arm over the floor and sent a wave of bones flying toward Adrian. He ducked behind one arm, but the bones clattered against him, harmless.

Ace screamed again, reminding Adrian of a child throwing a tantrum. The villain sat back on his heels, panting and dripping. His eyes, so calculating before, now spoke of frenzied desperation. He waved both arms this time, and Adrian let himself be battered by the remains. There was little force behind them.

Ace Anarchy had exhausted himself.

The villain hissed and crumpled forward again, curling his fingers through the eye sockets of a skull. “Damn you,” he groaned. “Damn you and your Renegades and your Council. They did this to me. They turned me into this.”

Adrian allowed his arm to sink, though the tattoo continued to burn. “You did this to yourself.”

Ace chuckled. “You’re a fool.”

“What did you mean, when you said I know your niece?”

Ace became calm, his expression almost gloating. “I believe you know her as Nightmare.” His mouth stretched wide. “Among other things.”

Adrian’s jaw twitched. “Then I’m sorry for your loss.”

“No, I don’t think you are.”

Adrian lifted his palm toward the villain and fired.

The concussion beam struck Ace Anarchy in the chest. He fell backward, his legs turning at an odd angle as he collapsed onto the sea of bones, one hand still gripping the skull.

Adrian stared at his fallen body, worried that the blow might have killed him. It had always been intended to stun, more than injure, but Ace Anarchy was frailer than most of the opponents Adrian faced. Silent and still now, it was easy to see just how frail.

But when Adrian stepped closer, he saw that the villain was breathing, if shallowly.

He spun toward the sarcophagus. “Oscar? Ruby?”

“We’re okay,” came the muffled reply. “Is he dead?”

“No—but unconscious. Hold on.”

He transformed into his armor again, though even with the Sentinel’s strength it took every ounce of willpower he had to lift the tomb off his friends. They were curled into each other, skin plastered with dust, Ruby’s fingers speckled with jewels. Though neither said anything, they seemed hesitant to separate, even when they were free.

Oscar stood up slowly and leaned against the side of the sarcophagus, his breaths coming in short gasps. Reaching down, he laced his fingers through Ruby’s and pulled her up beside him. “You all right?”

She gaped at Oscar, dumbfounded, and nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”

Oscar nodded back at her.

Their eyes were shining, their bodies leaning toward each other, and if Adrian had ever seen the makings of a kiss before, he was certain he was seeing one now.

He cleared his throat loudly, and the two jumped apart, though their fingers stayed entwined.

“Ace,” he said, slowly, clearly, “Anarchy.”

“Right,” said Oscar, running a hand through his dusty hair. “Right.” Picking up his cane, he stumbled toward Ace and nudged his foot. “What do we do now?”

“We have to the alert the Council,” said Ruby.

Adrian considered the destruction wrought from their fight. “You’re right. They’ll have him taken to Cragmoor. And we still don’t know why Danna can’t transform. If he had one of her butterflies trapped somehow—”

“Wait,” said Ruby. “Do you have your marker?”

Adrian frowned, then removed his gauntlet and handed the marker to her. “Why?”

“I have an idea.” Ruby crouched beside Ace Anarchy and started to write something across the skull in his hand. In crisp block letters that weren’t at all like her normal loopy handwriting, she spelled out a message.

CONSIDER THIS A PEACE OFFERING.

—THE SENTINEL

“There,” she said, capping the marker and handing it back to Adrian with a satisfied smile. “We’ll tell them Danna led us here, and this is what we found. The Renegades need to know that you—that the Sentinel isn’t a villain, and you—he—you…” She shut her eyes, gathering her thoughts. “You should get some credit for Ace Anarchy’s capture. Maybe it will help your case. When you do tell them the truth.”