The flowers arrive while I'm asleep. A modest arrangement of yellow and white daisies with a card that reads "Get Well Soon - The Auditors." When I wake up, they're sitting on the windowsill, catching the afternoon sunlight.

  Maggie and Lily visit again the next day, this time with Amelia in tow. They bring contraband snacks - actual food that doesn't taste like hospital cardboard - and news from the outside world.

  "The doctors outside said you might be released tomorrow," Maggie announces, perching on the edge of the visitor's chair. She's wearing her school uniform, having come straight from class. "How are you feeling?"

  "Like I got hit by a truck, but the truck is getting smaller," I reply, carefully adjusting my position. The external fixator on my leg remains an awkward, medieval-looking contraption, but the wound in my abdomen has closed enough that the dressing has been reduced. There's been a weird churning in my guts that I'm pretty sure is the biopolymer scaffold getting squeezed through layers of skin. Or something. "Better than yesterday."

  Amelia hovers near the foot of the bed, examining me with a critical eye. "You look terrible," she declares, but her voice is gentle. "But better than I expected, considering."

  "Thanks for the flowers," I say, nodding toward the arrangement.

  "That was Tasha's idea," Lily says, hovering near the door like she's ready to bolt. "She wanted to come, but her mom needed the car."

  There's an awkward silence. I can feel the tension radiating from Lily, see it in the way she won't quite meet my eyes. Maggie and Amelia look at each other.

  "So," Amelia says finally, "I've been working on your costume. The damage was... extensive."

  "Unsalvageable?" I ask, feeling a strange knot form in my stomach.

  "No, not completely. I've been able to repair most of it, though some sections needed to be replaced entirely." She pulls out her phone, showing me photos of the torn and bloodied fabric laid out on what must be her workspace. "The Kevlar took most of the damage, which is what it's designed to do. Would've been in much worse shape without it."

  I stare at the images, trying to reconcile them with my fragmented memories of the fight. It's surreal. Dreamlike. Like it happened to a different person entirely.

  "The helmet was a total loss," Amelia continues, swiping to another photo. "But I've been designing an improved version with better visibility and reinforced neck protection."

  "Right," I say, suddenly finding it hard to look at the images. "Good thinking."

  Maggie notices my discomfort. "Maybe we can talk about the costume later?" she suggests, shooting Amelia a meaningful look.

  "Of course," Amelia puts her phone away. "There's no rush."

  Another silence falls, heavier this time. Lily shifts her weight from foot to foot, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket.

  "I think--" Maggie starts.

  "I called them," Lily blurts out, the words rushing out like she can't hold them back another second. "The DVDs. I called them in right after you left. It was me."

  I blink a couple of times. I think I'm on too many antibiotics to be angry right now. But I'm sure it'll come. "Why?"

  "Because I was freaking out," she says, her voice rising slightly. "He was going to kill you, Sam. I was just perched there all night, watching and waiting. I couldn't just... I couldn't..."

  She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "I had a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. So I called them, and I told them about all the opera house stuff too. That's why Fury Forge had the mask."

  I was wondering about how prepared Fury Forge had seemed. "I told you to stay clear," I say, trying to keep my voice even. "I gave a direct order."

  "And it was a stupid order!" Lily's eyes flash. "You were being reckless. Again. Going after him alone was suicide."

  "I had a plan--"

  "Your plan got you gutted like a fish," she interrupts.

  "Your plan got Bulwark in the hospital," I bite back.

  "My plan saved your life because the paramedics got to you faster," she barks.

  "My plan wouldn't have made him escalate in the first place. Maybe he'd still be alive if he didn't go ballistic," I almost shout.

  "Shut the fuck up!" Maggie yells over top of us. "Jesus Christ."

  "I'm not apologizing," Lily says firmly, arms folded over her chest. "I'd do it again. In a heartbeat."

  I look at her. There are deep bags under her eyes barely covered by pale concealer. Her pink hair sticks up everywhere in weird directions, like she slept on it wrong. Her entire body has a tenseness to her I'm not used to seeing.

  "I know you wouldn't," I say finally. "And I'm not asking you to apologize. But we need to talk about chain of command, about team protocols."

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  "What team protocols?" Amelia interjects. "We've been making this up as we go along, Sam. That's part of the problem."

  "You're right," I admit. "We need better protocols. Clearer communication." I shift my gaze back to Lily. "But I need to know that when I give an order, it's followed. Especially in the field."

  "Even if the order is wrong?" she challenges.

  "Yes," I say firmly. "Unless there's time for discussion, which there often isn't. That's how teams work, Lily. It's not a democracy in the middle of a crisis."

  She crosses her arms. "Fine. But that goes both ways. You need to listen to us when we tell you something is too dangerous to handle alone."

  "That's fair," I concede.

  A tentative knock on the door interrupts our conversation. A nurse pokes her head in. "Sorry to interrupt, but there's a delivery for Samantha."

  She wheels in a small cart with a package on it - a simple brown paper parcel tied with string. No markings, no return address.

  "Who's it from?" Maggie asks, eyeing it suspiciously.

  "Messenger service," the nurse replies. "It's been through security."

  After she leaves, we all stare at the package.

  "Ten bucks says it's from Rogue Wave," Amelia mutters.

  I reach for it, wincing as the movement pulls at my stitches. Maggie helps me unwrap it. Inside is a folded note and a small flash drive.

  The note is handwritten on expensive stationery:

  We understand your concern that our arrangement regarding Nolan might not extend to his followers. Let us assure you that it does. As a gesture of good faith, we've taken steps to ensure that none of his associates will target individuals on your "no-go" list.

  When the time comes, we'll call upon you for assistance with a mutual enemy you may be familiar with - the Kingdom of Keys' Mr. Polygraph. His activities have become problematic for us both.

  We have been given access to a means of temporarily removing powers through non-lethal methods and will need him neutralized during an important operation. To be clear, we don't want to make you an accomplice to any crime - your role would simply be facilitating a meeting between him and us.

  Your actions against Nolan have earned considerable respect in certain circles. Honor among superhumans, as they say.

  Until our paths cross again,

  -Monkey Business, Esquire

  "Well, that's not ominous at all," Maggie says, reading over my shoulder.

  I stare at the note, feeling a cold weight settle in my stomach. The flash drive sits innocuously beside it, containing who knows what.

  "What's this about Mr. Polygraph?" Amelia asks, frowning.

  "It's... complicated," I sigh, rubbing my temple. "I made a deal."

  "Great timing," Lily replies, sitting down in the chair for friends and family, running her hand through her hair. It's longer than it usually is. When's the last time she got a trim? "Now he won't bother anyone from beyond the grave."

  "Not unless someone gets a really weird superpower," Maggie jokes, but nobody laughs.

  "Sam," Lily talks, sort of over Maggie, sort of not really. "I don't think I'm as smart as you. But even I can see it was just pre... Like. He was going to go berserk anyway. He sent out a presser. Didn't you say to him that someone would've called 911 anyway? I heard that through the comms. You're better at school than me, but I've been a superhero longer than you, and I've got like four years on you. I don't want to belittle you but. I don't know. I don't think you could've ducked him going crazy."

  I grit my teeth together and clench my face. "Right, but now Bulwark also got gutted and Fury Forge is on crutches. And that has ripple effects on the entire city."

  "So we were both being reckless and stupid. At least for me it's in-character," Lily snarks, which is a really unfamiliar verb for me to mentally pin on her. "You're our leader, Sam. That means you can't act like the cowboy, okay? Cowgirl. I was really scared. I was really scared the whole time and I'm still really scared."

  I nod, trying to pull myself back down to Earth. Deep breaths, Sam, even if they hurt your partially crushed trachea. It's fine. You're not an authoritarian. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to lie and say I'm convinced all of a sudden. But I think I'm reacting funny" - really great way of phrasing that, Sam - "because I'm cranky and scared too and I don't want to be, like, team dictator."

  "It's okay, Sam. I don't mind team dictator. I'm not good at strategy or tactics and I don't know the difference between them very well. You just need to... I don't know. We need to trust each other when we're like Oh Sam This Is Stupid," Lily says, smooshing her face with her cheeks as she talks, clearly exhausted emotionally. "You're really stubborn! Which is good sometimes. But sometimes it's also bad."

  "Tell me about it," I mumble.

  The conversation shifts to lighter topics after that - school gossip, Tasha's newest obsession with some obscure beetle species, the ridiculous cafeteria food at Maggie's school. It's a welcome distraction, but I can feel the earlier tension still simmering beneath the surface.

  As visiting hours come to an end, Amelia hesitates by the door. "I should have the costume finished by the time you're discharged," she says. "I'll bring it by your house?"

  "About that," I say, the words catching in my throat. "I've been thinking..."

  They all turn to look at me.

  "I don't think I want to be Bloodhound anymore."

  Everyone stares at me like I've just shot a dog.

  "What do you mean?" Maggie asks carefully, sensing some sort of bomb she has to defuse.

  "I mean..." I struggle to articulate the feeling that's been growing since I woke up in this hospital bed. "Every time I think about putting that costume back on, I feel sick. Like, physically ill. I can't even look at pictures of it without my stomach turning."

  "That's normal after trauma," Amelia says gently. "It'll pass."

  "Maybe. Maybe not." I stare down at my hands, noticing how pale they look against the hospital sheets. "But right now, the thought of being Bloodhound again... I just can't."

  "So what, you're quitting?" Maggie asks, her voice sharp. "After everything?"

  "Not quitting superheroics entirely," I clarify. "Just... not as Bloodhound. At least not for a while. You know, like Akilah and Devonte did. Time for a new name. A new face. And maybe just... I don't know. A vacation. "

  The room falls silent again. I can see them processing, exchanging pointed looks as everyone seems to do, trying to understand.

  "The team can continue," I say, although nobody mentioned it not continuing. "I'm not abandoning you all. I just need... space. A different approach maybe."

  "A break," Amelia suggests.

  "Something like that."

  Maggie reaches out, squeezing my hand. "Whatever you need, we're here for you. Take all the time you need."

  "But don't take too long," Lily adds, a hint of her usual energy returning. "Crime doesn't take vacation days."

  Despite everything, I find myself smiling slightly. "No, it doesn't."

  As they prepare to leave, Amelia hangs back once more. "I'll still finish the costume," she says. "It'll be ready whenever you are. No pressure."

  I nod, grateful for her understanding. "Thanks. I'll text you some more details for the costume. I have some ideas on what we can do with it."

  After they're gone, I'm left alone with my thoughts and the note from Rogue Wave. I fold it carefully and tuck it beneath my pillow, out of sight but not out of mind. The flash drive I slip into the drawer of the bedside table, unwilling to examine its contents just yet.

  Outside my window, the city continues to scream. Quietly, quietly, silently.