The Tacony Music Hall looms like a shabby sanctuary as Lily and I approach, its boarded windows and graffitied exterior concealing the retrofitted headquarters within. My ribs feel like they're trying to stab their way out of my body from the inside, and the adrenaline crash is hitting me hard enough that I'm barely staying upright on the scooter.

  "Home sweet abandoned health code violation," Lily murmurs as she cuts the engine half a block away. We coast to a silent stop in the alley behind the building, wrapping around to the front and tapping our way through Jordan's security system.

  The reinforced door opens before we finish punching in the code, Amelia's face appearing in the gap. Her expression shifts from worry to relief to irritation in the span of seconds.

  "Get in here before someone sees you," she hisses, ushering us through before securing the multiple locks behind us. "Do you have any idea--"

  "Save the lecture," I interrupt, stumbling toward the nearest chair. "I've got about three more functional brain cells left, and they're all focused on not passing out."

  Tasha swivels in her chair at the comms station, multiple screens glowing in front of her. "Holy shit, you actually made it. I thought we were going to be planning a jailbreak next."

  "Almost didn't," I admit, sinking into the chair with a wince. "Captain Devil is... problematic."

  "Problematic how?" Amelia asks, already retrieving the medical kit from beneath the stage. "On a scale from 'Patriot' to 'Illya'.'"

  "Somewhere in the middle," I reply. "Acid blood. Invisible... claw things. Probably more powers he didn't show us."

  Tasha whistles. "Damn. And he still couldn't catch you?"

  "He could have," I say, thinking back to that moment at the window when he simply watched us escape. "I think he chose not to. Once we were outside with civilians around, he backed off."

  Amelia kneels beside me, unceremoniously lifting my shirt off to assess the situation. "Professional, then. Not a zealot."

  "Yeah," I wince as her fingers probe the bruising. "Ouch! Easy with the merchandise."

  "Oh, I'm sorry," Amelia replies with mock sweetness. "Did the illegal vigilante who was specifically told to stay home and heal want gentle treatment after reinjuring herself? My mistake."

  Before I can respond, the side door bursts open and Maggie skates in, breathing hard but grinning like she's just won the lottery. Her costume is disheveled, hair wild, eyes bright with the lingering high of adrenaline.

  "Did you see me hit him?" she exclaims without preamble. "He went flying! Like, actual air time! Captain freaking Devil, and I knocked him on his ass!"

  "We heard," Lily confirms, smiling at Maggie's enthusiasm despite the gravity of the situation. "Nice entrance. Very superhero movie third act."

  "I practiced that move for weeks," Maggie says, demonstrating her force field positioning as she collapses into a chair. "Force concentration at the point of impact, minimal field dispersion... I think I actually dented his spleen. You're welcome."

  "Thank you for saving my ass," I acknowledge. "That was good timing. Let's maybe not be joyful about injuring other superheroes."

  Maggie beams at the praise. "Anytime, fearless leader. Though maybe next time we could, I don't know, stick to the actual plan instead of turning a recon mission into 'let's antagonize the most dangerous villain in Philadelphia'?"

  "This was my plan," I reply, locking my teeth together and beaming. There's a gentle thwap of flesh on flesh as Amelia slaps her forehead with her palm.

  "Speaking of your brilliant strategic decision," Tasha interjects, turning one of her screens toward us. "You're trending. All of you."

  The screen shows a news site with footage from City Hall - shaky phone videos of me confronting Richardson, followed by shots of the parent coalition rising throughout the audience, and finally chaotic glimpses of my confrontation with Captain Devil. The headline reads: "CHAOS AT CITY HALL: VIGILANTE DISRUPTION OR ORGANIZED PROTEST?"

  "That could be worse," I say cautiously.

  Tasha clicks to another site. This one features a close-up of Mom standing amid her parent group, finger pointed accusingly at Richardson. The headline: "GUN DAD'S WIFE LEADS PARENT REBELLION AGAINST ANTI-VIGILANTE BILL."

  "Your mom is trending harder than you are," Lily observes.

  Another click. Another headline: "PARENTS OF POWERED KIDS COALITION LAUNCHES WEBSITE, GAINS 20,000 SIGNATURES IN HOURS."

  "Wait, what?" I lean forward, ignoring the protest from my ribs. "Show me that one."

  Tasha expands the article, which features screenshots from a sleek, professional-looking website called ParentsOfPoweredKids.co.us. The site includes resources for families, testimonials, legal information, and a petition opposing Richardson's legislation. According to the article, the coalition had been organizing for weeks, with dozens of local chapters already established across Pennsylvania.

  "Your mom's been busy," Amelia remarks.

  "This wasn't spontaneous," I say slowly, the pieces clicking into place. "She knew I was going to show up at the town hall. She was ready for it."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "Well, yeah," Tasha says with a snort. "You're not exactly subtle, Sam. And those motion sensors? Totally a trap."

  "A trap?"

  "She wasn't trying to keep you in," Lily explains gently. "She was making sure she knew exactly when you left. So she could be ready."

  I stare at the screen, processing this revelation. "So my big rebellious moment was..."

  "Part of her plan all along," Amelia finishes. "You created the distraction while she delivered the real message."

  "Ouch," Maggie winces. "Parental judo. That's gotta sting worse than acid blood."

  I'm not sure how to feel about this. On one hand, it's mildly humiliating to realize I was playing into Mom's strategy rather than boldly defying her. On the other hand, I'm impressed. And a little proud.

  "Any news about Mom specifically?" I ask. "Was she arrested?"

  Tasha shakes her head. "Nothing on police channels about arrests. The protest dispersed after you left with Captain Devil in pursuit. Most of the parents just... walked out. Security didn't have the numbers to stop them once they moved as a group."

  Relief washes over me. At least I didn't get her arrested. Small victories.

  "Richardson is already spinning it," Tasha continues, bringing up another window. "She's holding an impromptu press conference right now."

  The video shows Richardson on the steps of City Hall, composed despite the earlier chaos, speaking to a cluster of reporters. "--unfortunate incident demonstrates exactly why this legislation is necessary," she's saying. "Masked vigilantes disrupting public discourse, endangering civilians with reckless confrontations. The parents who were manipulated into participating--"

  "Manipulated?" I sputter. "They organized themselves!"

  "--have legitimate concerns that deserve to be heard in the appropriate forum. But allowing children with extraordinary and dangerous abilities to operate without oversight is not the answer. It's a recipe for tragedy."

  I shake my head in disgust. "She's good. Making it sound like Mom's coalition are just confused parents being exploited by vigilantes. God, she's actually good at this."

  "She's a politician," Amelia says, applying antiseptic to a scrape on my arm that I don't even remember getting. "It's what they do."

  "But people aren't buying it," Tasha adds, scrolling through social media responses. "At least, not everyone. Look at the comments."

  The responses are mixed, but many express support for the parents' coalition and skepticism about Richardson's framing:

  "My daughter has temperature regulation powers. She's not a weapon, she's a kid!"

  "tell us about Dick Duvall!"

  "If the system worked, we wouldn't need vigilantes OR parent coalitions."

  "Still plenty saying you're dangerous and should be locked up," Maggie points out, reading over Tasha's shoulder. "But hey, that's democracy baby!"

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. I check it warily, half-expecting angry texts from Mom or Dad. Instead, it's from a number I don't recognize:

  Unknown: Nice work tonight. -JD

  "Councilman Davis," I murmur, showing the others.

  "That's crazy," Lily observes. "That's significant."

  "It's not enough," I say, pocketing the phone without responding. "The state hearings are still coming in September. Richardson has major backing."

  "Yeah, but now there's organized opposition," Tasha says. "Your mom's coalition is picking up steam. Look at this--"

  She pulls up another window showing a map of Pennsylvania with dots representing local chapters of the Parents of Powered Kids coalition. Dozens of dots spread across the state, concentrated in major cities but appearing in smaller communities too.

  "And it's not just Pennsylvania anymore," Tasha continues, zooming out to show similar activity beginning in New Jersey, New York, and Maryland. "It's spreading."

  "How fast?" I ask, leaning forward despite the pain.

  "Hard to say exactly. But the website's crashed twice from traffic in the last hour. And there's calls for similar town hall confrontations in Pittsburgh, Allentown, and Harrisburg next week."

  "Holy shit," Maggie breathes. "You guys started a movement."

  "Mom started a movement," I correct her. "I just... helped."

  "By causing a scene and getting your ass kicked," Amelia adds helpfully, securing a fresh bandage around my ribs. "Very heroic."

  I stick my tongue out at her. "Whatever works."

  "Speaking of your ass," Lily says delicately, "shouldn't you be, you know, getting home? It's been like an hour and a half since you set off the motion sensors."

  Reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water. Right. I broke my promise, triggered the alarms, and disappeared. No matter how this played into Mom's larger plan, there will still be consequences.

  "Shit," I mutter. "Yeah, I should go," I say, looking around for my backpack. "Fuck, my clothes. Did I leave them in the bathroom?"

  "I've got civilian clothes you can borrow," Lily offers. "They'll be a little big, but better than showing up in a vigilante outfit."

  While I change in the bathroom, I can hear the others still discussing the events at City Hall, their voices a mix of excitement and concern.

  "--could try to identify the parents who spoke up," Maggie is saying.

  "They knew the risk," Amelia replies. "They're adults making their own choices."

  "Still, we should keep an eye on them," Tasha suggests. "Maybe offer protection if the Kingdom tries anything."

  I emerge in Lily's borrowed jeans (rolled up at the ankles) and oversized sweater (sleeves pushed up to my elbows), my Bloodhound suit bundled into a backpack. "If you guys are planning my next several misdemeanors, can we maybe wait until I'm done with whatever punishment I'm about to get for this one?"

  "Bold of you to assume we need your permission," Maggie says with a grin that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "You okay to get home? I can escort you if you want."

  "I'll manage," I say, though the thought of the walk home makes my ribs ache preemptively. "Lily already saved my bacon once today."

  "Let us know when you're home safe," Tasha says, not looking up from her screens. "And... what your mom says."

  The unspoken question hangs in the air: How much trouble am I in? Will I still be allowed to lead the Auditors? Is this the end of Bloodhound?

  "I will," I promise, slinging the backpack carefully over my shoulder. "Keep monitoring the news. Let me know if anything major happens."

  "Like the revolution your mom apparently started?" Amelia asks dryly.

  "Exactly like that," I confirm. "Something tells me this is just the beginning."

  As I head for the door, Lily follows me, her expression concerned. "Sam... are you sure you're okay? That was intense back there."

  I pause, hand on the doorknob. Am I okay? My ribs are screaming, I've probably reinjured everything that was healing, I've been publicly humiliated by a professional politician, and I'm about to face parental justice for breaking a direct promise.

  Eh. I handled Illya. This will be fine.

  "Yeah, I'm good," I grin.

  The walk home feels impossibly long, each step a negotiation between pain and progress. My mind races with potential scenarios for what awaits me at home. Grounding? Increased restrictions? Confiscation of my gear?

  As I turn onto my street, I notice our house is fully lit despite the late hour. Grandma Camilla's Lexus is still in the driveway, along with Dad's car. Mom must have gotten a ride home with someone else.

  I pause at the edge of our property, steeling myself for what comes next. Through the front window, I can see movement - Mom pacing in the living room, her hair wild from running her hands through it. Dad in his wheelchair, stationed by the window like he's been watching for me. Grandma Camilla in the kitchen, aggressively making something that probably involves comfort food.

  I take a deep breath, wince at the reminder of my ribs, and start up the walkway to my front door.