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straight home to bed. As I walk down the hall, I have a flashback to when Draven appeared around the corner. All I had seen was a gorgeous guy, tall and dark and way too hot to be hanging out at a lab.
    I wasn’t wrong. He is too hot to work in a lab. He’s also too dark, too dangerous, and too twisted.
    A villain.
    Draven is a villain , and I can’t afford to forget that. He didn’t kill me this time, but that’s no guarantee he won’t if we ever run into each other again. Forgetting that, even for a second, is like signing my own death warrant.
    With that thought in mind, I round the corner into a world of chaos. At least a dozen heroes—most of whom I don’t even recognize—are working to restore the lab.
    The Cleaners. Definitely the Cleaners.
    A woman with frizzy blond hair—who looks more like an escapee from a hippie commune than a hero—waves her hand over the shards of glass littering the hallway, sending them swirling through the air toward the empty window frame. Another swish of her hand and the shards coalesce like the most complicated jigsaw puzzle ever, filling the space with a cracked version of the pre-Nitro window. A tall, skinny guy with white-blond hair and a nose like a rat flicks his fingers at the glass, and in one melty swirl, the cracks disappear. The window looks good as new.
    Bet Nitro would be pissed to know how easily we fixed his handiwork.
    Inside the lab proper, heroes clear scorch marks off the walls and ceilings, air-sweep spilled chemicals into a containment bin, and repair the half-melted tabletops closest to where Nitro had been standing. A telekinetic hero swoops up a stack of papers and folders from the floor, floating them into growing piles on one of the unmelted tables.
    Must be nice. Seeing all these different powers at work could make a girl crazy if she was the type to dwell on what she doesn’t have. Which I so totally am not.
    Except…I cast another look over my shoulder. That melty-glass power is pretty cool. I’ve never seen that one before. Vending machines wouldn’t stand a chance against that.
    A team of lab assistants goes from cabinet to cabinet, making a list of all the supplies that need to be replaced. When they head back toward my station, I’m jolted out of stunned observation.
    “No,” I shout, blocking the path. “This is mine. I’ll handle the inventory.”
    They look at each other and shrug before moving on to the next cabinet. Mom may be okay with other people touching her research, but mine is off limits.
    I make a quick sign that reads KENNA’S STUFF DON’T TOUCH in big red letters, and then draw a giant skull and crossbones on it before taping it to the door. With the kind of chemicals around here, the Cleaners should take the warning seriously.
    “Excuse me,” a woman says.
    She points at the floor beneath my stool where an ooze of green liquid is seeping out in an ever-growing circle. It looks like Mom’s Dissolve All—an acid formula that will liquefy any nonorganic material, so it’s safe to touch but incredibly difficult to contain. My stool starts sinking as the acid melts the legs.
    I move away and let the woman do her job. I watch as she uses her hands to sweep the goo into a special organic container. Gross.
    “Ooof.” Someone knocks into me, sending me stumbling.
    “Sorry,” the guy says without taking his gaze off the ceiling.
    I need to grab my stuff and get out of here. I’m in the way, and if I’m not careful, I’ll get hurt. Or worse, not hurt—as in my immunity will show, and then where will I be? Grounded for life, that’s where.
    Avoiding situations that might reveal my immunity is an art.
    On my way out, I collide with another person. God, could I be more useless? I start to apologize, then realize I’ve crashed into Riley. Damn .
    He clutches his smartphone to his chest. “Kenna. Hi, hello.”
    “Hey, Riley,” I answer.
    “Terrible business here tonight,” he says, gesturing at the lab around us.