Dinner is pizza from Lorenzo's, which we eat at the kitchen table with a side of awkward silences. Dad, still adjusting to the cane, keeps dropping his napkin and refusing help. Mom looks exhausted, her curly hair escaping its clip in all directions like she's been running her hands through it all day. I'm preoccupied with thoughts of Belle's notebooks and Pop-pop Moe's company.

  "So," Mom says after we've demolished half the pizza, "how was the first day in the archive room?"

  "Good," I say, trying to sound casual. "The Morrison Collection is pretty interesting. Lots of stuff about the early days of powers in Philadelphia."

  "I'm glad you're taking it seriously," she replies. "The grant deadline is critical for the library's budget next year."

  I take a deep breath, deciding to test the waters. "Actually, I was thinking... I have some historical materials that might be worth adding to the collection."

  Both parents look at me with identical expressions of confusion.

  "What historical materials?" Dad asks, reaching for another slice.

  "Liberty Belle's notebooks," I say. "The ones she left me in her will. They document her cases, her investigations, her observations about the system. They're primary source materials about superhero work in Philadelphia going back to 2013."

  Mom's eyebrows rise slightly. "Those are your personal property, Sam. And they contain sensitive information."

  "I know, but that's why they're valuable, right? They're firsthand accounts of someone who was actually doing the work, not just observing from the outside. And a lot of the cases are closed now, so the sensitivity isn't as much of an issue."

  Mom and Dad exchange one of those married-people looks that contain entire conversations.

  "I'm not suggesting just dumping everything into public access," I clarify. "But maybe the historical parts, the older cases, could be preserved?"

  Dad looks thoughtful. "It's not a bad idea. Belle's perspective would be valuable for researchers. And if the notebooks stay private, all that knowledge dies with... well, with Sam's memory of them."

  Mom sets down her pizza, her librarian face taking over. "There are serious ethical and legal considerations. Those notebooks contain information about individuals who may not have consented to being documented. Cases that might still be sensitive. Potentially private or protected information."

  "But isn't that true of a lot of historical materials?" I counter. "The Morrison Collection has newspaper articles naming people who were arrested but maybe never convicted. It has speculation about powered individuals' identities. How is that different?"

  "Published materials have already gone through editorial and legal review," Mom explains patiently. "Belle's notebooks are raw data, collected by a private individual without institutional oversight."

  I try another angle. "Wouldn't it be better to preserve them properly? Right now they're just sitting in a box under my bed. What if something happens to them?"

  Mom sighs, and I can see her professional instincts conflicting with her parental concerns. "I'm not saying no, Sam. I'm saying it's complicated. Materials like that would require careful evaluation, processing, appropriate restrictions, and legal review before they could be added to any collection."

  "So... maybe?" I press.

  "I'll speak with Director Hayes about it," she concedes. "But Sam, you need to understand - even if the library were interested, this would be a separate project from the Morrison digitization. That grant has specific parameters and deadlines we can't adjust."

  "I know," I say quickly. "I'm not trying to derail that. I just think Belle's work deserves to be preserved too."

  Dad has been quiet, but now he clears his throat. "Rachel, it's not a bad idea. Especially given the current political climate. Belle's observations about the system could be valuable context for the coalition's work."

  Mom gives him a look that suggests he's not helping, but I seize on this connection.

  "Exactly! Belle was documenting failures in the rehabilitation system years ago. She was tracking what happened to powered individuals after they were incarcerated. That's directly relevant to what you're fighting for now."

  "You've been reading them," Mom observes. It's not a question. She doesn't seem unamused, either, just observant.

  "Just today," I admit. "After seeing the Morrison materials about early heroes, I got curious about Belle's early cases. That's all. Nothing crazy."

  Mom's expression shifts subtly. I've piqued her interest.

  "I'll talk to Hayes tomorrow," she says finally. "But no promises, Sam. And in the meantime, you need to focus on the Morrison Collection. That's your priority right now."

  "Absolutely," I agree, trying not to seem too eager. "Total focus on Morrison. One hundred percent."

  Dad snorts, not fooled for a second.

  The conversation shifts to coalition matters - logistics for the upcoming hearings, transportation arrangements, coordination with parent groups from other states. The coalition has grown exponentially since the City Hall confrontation, spreading across the Northeast with regional chapters forming as far south as Virginia and as far west as Ohio. Mom's been working overtime to maintain some semblance of organization in what started as a grassroots movement and is rapidly evolving into a legitimate political force.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  My phone lights up with another Auditors update, and I glance down discreetly.

  Tasha: Patrol report - Kensington quiet tonight. One attempted mugging stopped by Moonshot. Jump distribution seems down since last week.

  Lily: Confirmed. My routes through Fishtown showed minimal activity. Either they're lying low or moving operations.

  Amelia: Interesting timing with the hearings approaching. Stay alert for pattern changes.

  I suppress a sigh. They're out there patrolling while I'm stuck at the dinner table. But at least they're keeping me in the loop.

  I listen with half an ear, my mind still on Belle's notebooks and the Daedalus Contractors tab. Why was Belle investigating the companies that built the prison? And why hadn't Pop-pop Moe ever mentioned that Liberty Belle had investigated him? Did he know?

  After dinner, I head back upstairs, ostensibly to finish homework but actually to continue exploring Belle's notebooks. I pull the box out from under my bed and flip back to the Daedalus Contractors section.

  Belle's notes are typically thorough - a list of the primary firms involved in designing and constructing Daedalus, their specialties, key personnel, and contract values. Horvath-Small Ltd. is listed under "Environmental Engineering - Weatherproofing, Disaster-Proofing, and Containment Systems."

  There are notes about meetings Belle had with various contractors, trying to understand the facility's design principles and potential vulnerabilities. Most declined to speak with her, citing confidentiality agreements. But there's a notation beside Horvath-Small that makes my heart skip:

  "Morris Small - potential source? Former principal engineer, retired 2010. Expressed ethical concerns about 'certain design specifications' but reluctant to elaborate."

  Pop-pop Moe talked to Belle about Daedalus? And had "ethical concerns" about it? This is completely new information to me. In all our conversations about his work, about heroes, about my own activities, he's never once mentioned anything more detailed about Daedalus other than that he worked on it.

  I flip through more pages, finding scattered references to my grandfather. Belle seems to have met with him several times, though her notes are frustratingly vague about what exactly troubled him regarding Daedalus. There are mentions of "containment priorities overriding humanitarian considerations" and "design compromises that may exacerbate psychological effects of isolation."

  The last note in this section, dated just a few months before Belle's death, simply reads: "M. Small reluctant to discuss further. Claims no knowledge of private contractors beyond construction phase. Suggested investigating operational security firms instead."

  I sit back, mind racing. Was this what Belle was working on before she died? Was she uncovering problems with Daedalus that went beyond simple budget cuts and rehabilitation failures? And why was Pop-pop Moe so reluctant to talk about it?

  Wait, is there anything about me in here? I skim through the piles but don't find anything interesting. It's probably all in that loose-leaf notebook at the bottom labeled in sharpie "YD" - Young Defenders. Haha. Right.

  The next morning, I arrive at the library early, eager to catch Director Hayes before the day gets busy. I find her in her office, already surrounded by paperwork despite the early hour.

  "Sam," she greets me, looking surprised. "Your mother isn't here yet."

  "I know," I say. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something. Something for the archives."

  Hayes gestures to the chair across from her desk, her expression curious. "The Morrison digitization?"

  "Actually, it's about another potential collection," I explain, sitting down. "I have a set of notebooks from Liberty Belle - her case files and investigations from 2013 until her death. I was wondering if the library might be interested in preserving them as historical documents."

  Hayes's eyebrows rise. "Liberty Belle's personal records? How did you come to possess those?"

  "She left them to me in her will," I explain, explaining nothing.

  Recognition dawns in Hayes's eyes. Then, a narrowing, followed by an opening. "Ah, yes. Now it all makes sense. You're..."

  I nod. "Yeah. But I figure if you work with my Mom, and my Mom trusts you, that you're good people,"

  Hayes laughs. "I appreciate the vote of confidence. I'd be more careful about that, though, if I were you."

  "I also think there's currently enough scrutiny on the Small family that nobody will do anything to us because they'd almost certainly get caught," I point out.

  Hayes laughs even harder. "That's true! But, anyway... these notebooks - what do they contain exactly?"

  "Her case notes, observations about various powered individuals she encountered, documentation of systemic issues she identified in how the city and state handled powered criminals. There's stuff about the early days of Daedalus, rehabilitation programs that were cut, problems she saw developing years ago that are still relevant today."

  Hayes leans forward, professionally intrigued despite herself. "That does sound potentially valuable from a historical perspective. But I imagine there are significant privacy and legal considerations."

  "Definitely," I acknowledge. "Some cases are still sensitive. Some individuals might not want to be named. But a lot of it is already public knowledge or deals with closed cases. I thought maybe..."

  Hayes taps her pen against her desk, thinking. "I'm not going to say no outright, Sam. This kind of primary source material is exactly what historical collections should preserve. But we would need to approach this very carefully."

  "Of course," I agree quickly.

  "I'd need to consult our legal counsel about potential liability issues. We'd need a formal deed of gift transferring ownership. We'd need to establish access restrictions and possibly embargo periods for sensitive materials. And we'd need a qualified archivist to process everything properly... And probably to contact the NSRA, FBI, maybe even the CIA, just to make sure they won't indict us for trying to archive it."

  "All of that makes sense," I say, trying not to sound disappointed at the layers of bureaucracy between me and preserving Belle's legacy.

  "And to be clear," Hayes continues, "this would be entirely separate from the Morrison digitization. That project has specific parameters and an imminent deadline. We can't divert resources from it right now."

  "I understand," I assure her. "My Mom said the same thing when I brought it up with her. I won't pretend to know how this stuff works but it sounds like you lose all the money if it's not done by the deadline?"

  "More or less," Hayes answers, studying me for a moment. "Let me talk to our legal team and see what might be possible. In the meantime, perhaps you could prepare an inventory of the notebooks? Something that gives us a general idea of their scope and content without revealing sensitive details."

  "I can do that," I say, feeling a small surge of hope. It's not a yes, but it's not a no either. And an inventory gives me legitimate reason to keep exploring Belle's records systematically.

  "Good," Hayes nods. "We'll talk about this more once I've consulted with the appropriate parties. For now, though..."

  "Morrison Collection," I finish for her. "Got it."

  As I leave Hayes's office, I spot Mom arriving for her shift. She raises an eyebrow at me coming from the director's office, but I just give her a small smile and head for the stairs to the archive room. I've got digitization work to do, an inventory to plan, and a growing mystery involving my grandfather and a prison for supervillains.