Page 166 of Supernova

The humor faded from Hugh’s face.

“Any public grave will be defiled,” she said. “I can’t forgive him for what he did to my family—” Her voice caught. Inhaling shakily, she forced herself to continue, “But hedidgive me something to believe in, and to fight for. His vision for the world wasn’t all bad.”

Hugh nodded in understanding. “A chromium coffin, for Ace Anarchy and his helmet.” He started to turn away.

“Captain?” said Nova.

He paused.

“What would you think if… if a villain happened to fall in love with your son?”

He stared at her, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, though he fought to remain serious. “To be honest, I’m not sure there are such things as villains anymore.” He shrugged. “Maybe there never really were.”

He walked away, returning to his family. Adrian was watching them, an arm around Max, a question in his eye.

Nova smiled, hoping that Hugh was right. Maybe there were no villains.

But watching Adrian and Max, she knew there were heroes.

She was beginning to wonder if she might be one of them.

EPILOGUE

WE WERE ALLheroes in the end.

At least, that’s what people liked to tell themselves.

Which, in her humble opinion, was a heaping load of garbage.

She missed the days when the Renegade Parade actually meant something. Back when people would watch the floats passing by and be awed by what they represented. Gifts and abilities that were truly extraordinary. Power too great to be quantified. Back when the wordsuperherowas more than a marketing device.

That was before “the Supernova,” as they had taken to calling it.

One minute, the world had been in an uproar over the return of the greatest supervillain of all time. Mass panic, mass terror, the media drawling on and on about the end of the world.

And then—destruction collided with creation. Devastation met rebirth.

Suddenly, everyone and their mom had superpowers.

It was the end of heroism as she’d known it, which was prettysad, given that she hadn’t been too impressed with heroism to begin with.

This year, the Renegade Parade had a different feel to it. Rather than putting the Council and their cohorts up on a pedestal, it was about the celebration ofallprodigies, of all gifts, extraordinary and otherwise. It was full of peppy good vibes and people saying things like, “Now anyone can be a superhero!” and whatever other mumbo-jumbo they were buying into these days.

The spectacle was still impressive, to be sure. The floats were alive with flames and ice, lightning and fireworks, towers of suspended water and gravity-defying props and the prodigies at its center—the gears that made it all work.

But they’d gotten rid of the villain floats, which were now seen as disrespectful and uncouth. She wasn’t sure who, exactly, they were supposed to be respecting now. The Anarchists? The villain gangs? Ace Anarchy himself?

Please.

Instead, the villain floats had been replaced with memorials for the warriors who had been lost. Blacklight. Queen Bee. Even that jerk, the Puppeteer, which was the height of irony, given that he’d attacked this same parade just one year before.

There was even a float with a statue dedicated to Callum Treadwell.

Her heart did jolt at the sight of it, but she’d never tell anyone that. Sweet marvels, Callum may have been a ridiculous nerd, but he deserved better than being lumped in with these goons.

She watched from the jostling crowd, arms crossed, scowling at each float that passed. What were they supposed to be celebrating now? The idea that they’d all gone from helpless civilians to courageoussuperheroes? Laughable. So what was it? The second fall of Ace Anarchy? The great equalization?

A return to mediocrity?

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