The first week after the hospital passes in a haze of painkillers, bad daytime TV, and increasingly tense family conversations. Somehow, I convince Mom that I can sleep in my own bed instead of the couch, which is a victory for my dignity if not my ribs. Every breath feels like someone's driving a knitting needle between my bones, but it's getting better. Slowly.

  Dad's worse off. The bullet tore through muscle tissue in his thigh, and even with physical therapy three times a week, he's stuck using a walker to get around. The dining room has been converted into a temporary bedroom so he doesn't have to navigate the stairs. His physical pain is obvious, but it's the other stuff - the constant phone calls, the reporters camped outside, the flowers and hate mail arriving in equal measure - that's really wearing him down.

  Mom works from home as much as possible, fielding calls from her library job while coordinating what she euphemistically calls her "advocacy network." I've overheard enough to know she's organizing parents of powered teens and their parents across the state, preparing for the legislative hearings in September. When she's not doing that, she's hovering over Dad and me like we might spontaneously combust if she turns her back.

  By the second week, the pain has dulled to a constant but manageable ache. Dad graduates from walker to crutches for short distances. The bruises on my face fade from violent purple to sickly yellow-green. The media frenzy slows from boil to simmer, though we still keep the curtains drawn.

  It's all very domestic. Very normal. I'm going insane.

  "You know what the worst part is?" I ask Tasha, who's sprawled across my bedroom floor with a laptop and three tablets arranged in a semicircle around her. "The motion sensors."

  Tasha doesn't look up from her screens. "The ones your mom installed on all the windows and doors?"

  "Yeah. They're not even hidden. They're just... there. Staring at me." I gesture at the small white device on my windowsill, its tiny red light blinking every few seconds like a judgmental eye. "It's like living in a prison with really nice sheets."

  "And a private bathroom," Tasha adds, tapping something into one of the tablets. "And, you know, no armed guards or communal showers."

  "You know what I mean."

  She finally looks up, pushing her glasses higher on her nose. "I know you're going stir-crazy. But your mom's right - you need to heal. And not just for yourself."

  I flop back on my bed, wincing as my ribs protest. "The team needs me."

  "The team is managing."

  This is technically true. Maggie, Lily, and Amelia have been doing surveillance rotations, keeping tabs on Kingdom activity while staying well away from actual confrontation. Tasha has turned my bedroom into a makeshift command center, coordinating their movements and compiling intel. They visit daily, ostensibly to hang out but really to keep me updated on what's happening in the city.

  It's not nothing. But it's not enough.

  "Any word from Bulldozer?" I ask, changing the subject.

  Tasha shakes her head. "Radio silence since that message saying he was looking into the Richardson connection. Either he hasn't found anything, or..."

  "Or Richardson got to him." I chew my lower lip. "I don't like it."

  "Me neither. But the Pals aren't our biggest problem right now."

  She's right. In the two weeks since the Rush Order incident, Philadelphia has become a tinderbox. Criminals are more visible than ever, "providing security" in neighborhoods where police presence has decreased, usually in suits and ties. It doesn't take a genius to know whose guys those are. Rogue Wave is just positively shitting out Jump in unprecedented volumes, and every day I get to hear about Argus Corps arresting another Jump dealer or blowing up another lab while two more spring up across town.

  And us? We're watching from the sidelines.

  "Anything new on the Jump front?" I ask.

  Tasha swipes through one of her tablets. "Distribution patterns still suggest they're focusing on areas with high protest potential. Mostly South Philly, Center City near government buildings, and increasingly around university campuses."

  "Great. So they're experimenting." I roll onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow. "What about Richardson?"

  "Town hall scheduled for next week at City Hall. Security will be tight - Argus Corps handling the inner perimeter, PPD for crowd control." She glances up at me. "You're not thinking of--"

  "No," I lie. "Just gathering intel."

  "Yeah, sure. With the protests growing, they're tightening security. Pulling away PPD from the fringes of Philly and more towards Center City. Your mom really kicked a hornet's nest," Tasha says, sort of glowingly whining.

  "Business as usual."

  "Pretty much. Except..." She trails off, frowning at something on her screen.

  "Except what?"

  "It's more than that," Tasha continues. "When they're not beating up drug dealers, there's a lot of armored van protection. Like, remember when the Kingdom busted those two guys out from a prisoner transport? It looks like Argus Corps is getting tapped for van duty now too. I guess on the outside, to make it look like they're taking the security threat of the Kingdom seriously, but..."

  I sit up straighter, ignoring the twinge in my side. "Will you stop trailing off ominously and just tell me things already, buddy?"

  She rolls her eyes. "Maggie and Lily tried to get closer yesterday, but Captain Devil was on site personally." Tasha lowers her voice, though we're both on secure connections. "They backed off before being spotted."

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  "In English?" I ask, scrunching my face up.

  "The PPD, or some organization with access to armored trucks, is transporting a lot of stuff. Argus Corps is protecting that stuff. We are not sure what the stuff is," Tasha explains.

  I sigh, rolling my shoulders. "I'll send Councilman Davis an email but I doubt anything will come of it. I just don't think we have the firepower for that sort of operation. Not without Jordan."

  Tasha blinks at me a couple of times. I blink at her back. Why are we blinking?

  "Any word from Patriot?" I ask, trying to sound casual, change the subject.

  Tasha shakes her head. "Nothing direct. But Argus Corps has been conducting 'community safety inspections' in Tacony, especially around the Music Hall. I think they're looking for us."

  "Let them look." I lie back down, staring at the ceiling. "Not like they'll find anything with us all stuck here."

  Tasha doesn't respond immediately, which is unusual for her. When I glance over, she's chewing her lip, staring at her computer screen. I hear a little trilling noise. The usual notification sound.

  She stares at her screen and I watch an indistinct, red video reflected in her glasses. Out of politeness, I try not to watch the whole thing. I only hear little buzzing sounds from her headphones and see the very distinct shape of Rush Order in her eyes.

  "What is it?" I ask, pretending I don't know.

  "I probably shouldn't show you this," she says slowly. "You'll just get ideas."

  "Now you have to show me." I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing only a little.

  Tasha shares her screen, navigating to a HIRC channel called #RogueWaveOfficial. A video sits pinned at the top of the feed, thumbnail showing a familiar red-jacketed figure.

  "This dropped about an hour ago," Tasha explains, clicking play.

  The screen shows a video thumbnail with Rush Order's bandaged face. The title reads simply: "A MESSAGE FROM ROGUE WAVE." I press play before Tasha can change her mind.

  The video opens with Rush Order sitting in what looks like a dimly lit apartment, his red jacket and beret as vibrant as ever. His left arm is in a sling, and numerous small bandages dot his face where my teeth cut him during our fight. He grins directly at the camera, showing off his pearly white veneers. Or maybe he just takes great care of his teeth.

  "Heeeeey, Philadelphia!" he greets, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture before wincing and adjusting his injured shoulder. "Rush Order here with a special message for all you fine citizens and contractors. First, huge thanks to everyone who participated in our little scavenger hunt last month. The response was frankly overwhelming – turns out people really do want to level the playing field!"

  My stomach drops.

  "By now you've all seen the footage. Me versus Bloodhound on South Street. Epic confrontation of ideologies, blah blah blah. And then - plot twist! - Gun Dad enters the chat." Rush Order mimes a gun with his fingers. "Bang! Suddenly I'm leaking all over my favorite jacket."

  He leans forward, his expression growing more intense.

  "Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Rush, aren't you pissed about getting shot?' And honestly? Not really. That's the beautiful thing about our philosophy at Rogue Wave. We respect individual agency. We respect direct action. And we respect anyone with the balls to step up and take power into their own hands. That's the American Way, after all, isn't it?"

  He sits back, spreading his arms in a magnanimous gesture that makes him wince when he moves his injured shoulder.

  "That's why today I'm officially declaring Gun Dad to be under Rogue Wave's protection. This is a direct order to all our associates: No harm comes to this man. None. Zero. I want him treated like visiting royalty wherever he goes. Don't make it obvious, obviously."

  I freeze. No.

  No. No!

  "Now, Bloodhound," Rush Order continues, pointing at the camera, "you're still fair game. No hard feelings about the teeth thing - it's actually pretty metal - but let's just say I'm looking forward to a rematch once my shoulder heals up. Consider it a professional courtesy, one heavy hitter to another."

  He winks, then grows more serious.

  "For everyone else watching: Pay attention. What you saw on South Street wasn't just a fight. It was a demonstration of what happens when ordinary people take power back from those who hoard it. One man with a gun stood up to a super-powered 'villain' and won. Let that sink in."

  Rush Order leans toward the camera again, voice dropping conspiratorially.

  "The suits want you afraid. They want you docile. They want you dependent on their protection, their laws, their heroes. But Gun Dad showed us there's another way. Direct action. Self-reliance. The power to shape your own destiny. Bloodhound fought for what she believed in and nearly beat a thirty-something year old man even though she's, like, twelve. That's awesome. You're awesome! Kids like Bloodhound are the future of America. The future of the world!"

  He sits back, gesturing expansively.

  "So what's stopping you? The tools are out there. Guns in stores. Jump in the streets. Potential in your veins. All you need is the will to use them."

  The video ends with Rush Order flashing a peace sign and grinning. "Freedom isn't given. It's taken. See you in the streets, Philly."

  The screen goes black.

  For a long moment, Tasha and I sit in silence. Finally, she says, "He's using your dad as leverage."

  "Yeah." I hand the tablet back to her, mind racing. "By publicly 'protecting' him, he's actually painting a target on his back. The Kingdom will see it as a challenge."

  "And he's activating all their sleeper agents to watch for threats to Gun Dad," Tasha adds. "Creating thousands of eyes on the street, all looking for anyone who might be connected to your family."

  I nod, the pieces falling into place. "Plus, he's framing Dad as some kind of Second Amendment hero, using him to push Rogue Wave's whole 'power to the people' narrative. Ugh! It's so fucked. They're using him as bait! If Kingdom agents go after Dad, Rogue Wave looks like the good guys for trying to protect him. If they don't, Rush Order gets credit for keeping him safe, because you can't prove a negative."

  "And either way, they get more conflict between Kingdom and non-contracted civilians," Tasha adds. "Plus, they just encouraged everyone to buy guns."

  "Fuck me," I gasp, trying not to throw up.

  Tasha sets the tablet aside, watching me carefully, like she's dealing with a rabid animal. "So what do we do about it?"

  That's the question, isn't it? What can I do, stuck here with motion sensors on every exit and ribs that scream if I move too quickly? Dad's trapped in his makeshift ground-floor bedroom, vulnerable. Mom's organizing a resistance movement that's now firmly on the Kingdom's radar. And my team is operating without their leader, potentially in the crosshairs of both Argus Corps and the Kingdom.

  "We need more information," I say finally. "Specifically, we need to know what Richardson's planning for that town hall."

  Tasha's eyebrows shoot up. "You're not seriously thinking about--"

  "I'm not thinking about anything," I interrupt, glancing meaningfully at the motion sensor on my window. I lie back down, mind spinning. "And if anyone knows any capes that are free and not currently trying to manage the increasingly-burning city of Philadelphia, I'd love to have an extra eye or two here. To make sure nobody tries to assassinate my Dad.

  "Already on it." She turns back to her array of screens, fingers flying across keyboards. "Also, your mom texted. She's bringing home Chinese for dinner."

  "Cool."

  I stare at the ceiling, hugging my ribs.

  The Rush Order video changes things. It puts a target on Dad's back while simultaneously elevating Bloodhound's reputation. Dangerous, but also an opportunity. Richardson is holding a town hall, accelerating her legislative agenda, and likely planning something bigger. Meanwhile, I'm stuck at home with healing ribs and overprotective parents.

  But the reputation boost from Rush Order's backhanded endorsement could be leveraged. Bloodhound showing up at Richardson's town hall would draw attention, create disruption, maybe even force her to reveal something she'd rather keep hidden. But, it would also make it really seem like I'm working with Rogue Wave. Am I ready for that heat?

  And even if I am, I'd need to bypass Mom's motion sensors, sneak out of the house, and break my promise to both parents – all while dealing with ribs that still scream if I move too quickly.

  Alright. Sure. Game on.