"I need to talk to Derek," I announce to the room. "Alone."

  Tasha raises an eyebrow. "Seriously? Right now?"

  "Yes. Right now." I turn to Derek, who looks like he might topple over at any moment. "You up for a quick chat?"

  He rubs his bloodshot eyes. "Sure. Whatever."

  I lead him to the kitchenette, the only space far enough from the meeting room to have a private conversation. Derek slumps against the counter while I check that no one's followed us.

  "You look like absolute hell," I tell him.

  "Thanks. You look worse." He reaches for the coffee pot, finds it empty, and sighs. "What's so important it couldn't wait until I've had caffeine?"

  I take a deep breath. "I need to talk to Elias."

  Derek freezes mid-reach for a mug. "What?"

  "Elias. Your friend. The one who joined Rogue Wave."

  "Yes, I know who Elias is, dipshit, there's very few of him," Derek corrects, scowling. "And why the hell would you want to talk to him?"

  "Because I need to reach Monkey Business."

  Derek stares at me like I've just grown a second head. "The same guy whose lieutenant beat you half to death on South Street? For any particular reason, or do you figure one method of suicide is better than the other?"

  I hold his gaze. "Rush Order put my dad under Rogue Wave's protection. I need to know if that's real or just talk."

  "That was two questions, and either way, fuck no." Derek turns away, yanking open a cabinet door too hard. "Find another plan."

  "Hear me out," I say quietly. "You remember the video? After Rush Order shot me?"

  Derek's jaw tightens. "Unfortunately."

  "He declared my dad under Rogue Wave's protection. Said it was a direct order to all their 'associates.' That anyone who harmed Gun Dad would answer to them."

  "So what? That was just PR. Making themselves look noble after your dad put a hole in his shoulder. Saving face because a civvie got one up on them," Derek shoots back.

  I shake my head. "No. He said that it was a direct order. And Jordan and I have seen how their contracts work. Rush Order is part of their main cell, that means his words have priority for Monkey Business's contracts. It wasn't a request. It was an order."

  Derek dumps coffee grounds into the filter with unnecessary force. "And you believe him?"

  "I've seen what their contracts do. Yes, I believe him," I reply. "I don't believe in his intentions, but I do believe that he can't cheat the rules of his boss's own power."

  "It's a trick." The coffee maker gurgles to life. "They're trying to make themselves look good. 'Freedom-fighters' instead of drug dealers."

  "Maybe." I lean against the opposite counter. "But what if it's not? What if they're actually sincere about this one thing? Their whole ideology is about 'leveling the playing field.' Isn't it worth finding out?"

  "By contacting Elias?" Derek's laugh is bitter. "He hasn't returned my calls in over a year. Ever since he took Fly."

  "But I bet he's still listening," I push. "Still checking your messages, even if he doesn't respond."

  Derek stares at the coffee maker as if it holds the answers to the universe. "Why would he? He made his choice."

  "Because he was your friend before all this. Maybe still is." I step closer. "I need a way to contact Rogue Wave that doesn't involve walking into a trap. Elias is our best shot."

  "Our?" Derek raises an eyebrow. "I don't remember signing up for this suicide mission."

  "Fine. My best shot." The coffee machine beeps, and Derek pours himself a mug without offering me any. "Look, I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate. But Shrike isn't bluffing. If he can't get to me, he'll go after the people I care about."

  "And your brilliant solution is to ask protection from criminals who peddle superpowers to teenagers?" Derek takes a long sip. "Davis is right. You need to disappear for a while."

  "And leave everyone exposed? You included?" I cross my arms. "Shrike doesn't care who he hurts as long as it hurts me. His whole decision tree is 'whatever causes Bloodhound the most suffering.' That's it."

  Derek's mug pauses halfway to his lips. "What's your point?"

  "My point is that running doesn't solve anything. It just changes the targets." I meet his gaze. "I need all the help I can get, even from people we don't like or trust."

  He sets the mug down with a thud. "You're asking me to betray my principles."

  "I thought you weren't a superhero?" I shoot back, arching an eyebrow.

  "My principles of not doing business with drug dealing supervillains, smartass. That's what you're asking me to betray," Derek replies through grit teeth.

  "I'm asking you to help save lives," I answer.

  Derek stares at me for a long moment. It stretches on. For a while, really. "This is a bad idea. Monumentally bad."

  "All my ideas are bad," I reply with a shrug. "Yet here we are, still alive."

  He sighs, the exhaustion seeming to deepen in his face. "I'll think about it."

  "That's all I'm asking."

  "No, it isn't," Derek counters. "But I'll think about it anyway."

  When we return to the meeting room, everyone falls silent, watching us with wary expressions. Davis has returned, sitting beside my parents. Mom looks like she's been crying, but her face is set in a determined expression I recognize from countless arguments with school administrators.

  "Well?" Tasha prompts. "Secret meeting over?"

  I take a deep breath and face the room. "I have an idea."

  Dad shifts in his seat. "Why do I already not like the sound of this?"

  "Because you're smart," I reply. "Look, we're talking in circles. Witness protection leaves everyone else vulnerable. Security details are temporary. I don't trust the NSRA as far as I can throw them since they tried to steal Belle's stuff. And hiding out here just postpones the inevitable."

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "So what's your idea?" Amelia asks, arms crossed.

  "Rogue Wave."

  It only takes a second for the objections to start.

  "Absolutely not," Mom says, her voice sharp.

  Davis stands up. "Sam, that's--"

  "Hear me out," I cut him off. "Rush Order publicly declared Dad under Rogue Wave protection. It wasn't just PR - it was a binding contract for their associates. If they meant it, then that protection already exists. I'm not making a deal - I'm cashing a check they already wrote."

  "They're criminals," Davis says flatly. "Drug dealers. Terrorists, according to some definitions."

  "I know exactly what they are," I reply. "But they also have eyes and ears across the city. Contractors who follow their orders. People who would notice someone like Shrike."

  "This is insane," Mom interjects. "You want to trust your father's safety - our safety - to the same people who nearly killed you?"

  "No," I say, meeting her gaze. "I want to verify if the protection they claimed to offer is real. Then I want to see if it can be extended."

  "Extended?" Dad's voice is dangerously quiet. "To include you?"

  "To include everyone Shrike might target," I correct. "It's not about making a deal with them. It's about holding them to a public declaration they already made. I'll let them box my head in for fifteen more concussions if that's what it takes."

  Tasha shakes her head. "Sam, they're just going to use this to try to recruit you. Or worse."

  "I know the risks."

  "I don't think you do," Davis says, his voice hardening. "The moment you open that door, they'll exploit it. This isn't just dangerous - it could be illegal."

  "More illegal than being a vigilante at age 16?" I challenge. "Really, being a vigilante at all. This whole situation is stupid. But this is the world we live in and by G-d I have to fucking deal with it. Besides, I'm not asking them for drugs or weapons or anything criminal. Just information. Surveillance. The same things they're already doing."

  "And what do they get in return?" Lily asks quietly.

  I hesitate, then decide honesty is the only path forward. "A chance to prove their ideology isn't complete bullshit. They claim to be about 'leveling the playing field' and 'empowering the little guy.' Fine. Let's test that. They put my dad under their protection. Now they can put their money where their mouth is."

  Maggie fidgets with her sleeve. "What if it's a trap?"

  "It probably is," I admit. "Everything is a trap. Everyone wants to trap me. Everyone wants a fucking piece of this. I'm SICK OF IT!"

  That shuts everyone up. I grip my hair in my hands and start tugging, hoping the pain will bring me back to Earth. Not, for, like, an extended freakout. Just a little one. Couple of seconds. Palms over face. Deep breath, Sam. We're good. "I'm tired of just reacting to every crisis life throws at me because I decided that this nice lady who seemed to have my best interests in mind needed to know that I could tell she was dying. Maybe I should've just become a paramedic, but I didn't, so we're a little stuck here, aren't we?"

  "Sam," Davis starts.

  When I snap at him, it's not even with any control behind it. Just my neck whipping in his direction so hard it cracks like a gunshot. "Quiet. Look at the fucking world we live in, dude. There's 'civilian Jump patrols' doing neighborhood watch for any black kid that walks a little funny. My school has more security guards than teachers and I'm in a not so great Philadelphia public school. People take a pill and just fucking explode into pieces. The prison containing the most dangerous supervillains - by the way, insane fucking sentence to say - just got busted open by some random military operatives who haven't been caught much less identified, and now one of those supervillains is after me, personally."

  Everyone is looking at me like I've grown three heads. I don't care.

  "Every six months they crank a new notch of militarism I didn't think they had. A supervillain is in city hall and is sponsoring bills across the nation to make being a superhero illegal. Excuse me, youth vigilante, but we're all intelligent people here, right? We know that's what she's going for, yeah? Sounds great! Where do I sign up for this wonderful existence. This is a world I'm just jumping to get borned into. Fuck you guys," I breathe out, feeling exhausted. "I wanna go home."

  Mom stands up, walking toward me with a deliberate calm. "Sam, I understand you're scared. We all are. But contacting a criminal organization isn't a solution - it's another problem."

  "At least it's a problem with a potential upside," I counter, feeling the fight drain out of me. My outburst has left me hollow. "Look, I'm not eager to talk to these people. But they're already involved whether we like it or not."

  "And how exactly do you plan to contact them?" Davis asks, his tone more resigned than confrontational now.

  I glance at Derek, who avoids my gaze. "I have an idea about that too."

  "No," Derek says firmly.

  "You said you'd think about it."

  "I've thought about it. Answer's still no."

  Dad watches this exchange with narrowed eyes. "What are we missing here?"

  I sigh. "Derek knows someone in Rogue Wave. Someone who might listen."

  Derek's glare could melt steel. "Throwing my business around now?"

  Davis doesn't explode like I expected. Instead, he just looks tired. "This isn't just crossing a line, Sam. This is erasing the line entirely."

  "Rush Order publicly declared Dad under their protection. That wasn't my choice, but it's already done. I wasn't going for Rush Order, I was chasing down Elias because he was hurting people with Jump. Rush Order intercepted me. Then Dad intercepted him. And this all could've been avoided if we didn't fuck up trying to catch Elias the first or second time like a year and a half ago. And the only reason I know about this in the first place is because a walking nuclear missile almost killed me so I got put in the Alcoholics Anonymous for Traumatized Superhumans. G-d," I breathe out again, feeling like vomit is dripping out from the corner of my lips with every word.

  The room falls silent again, but this time it's different. I can see everyone mentally scrambling for alternatives, coming up empty.

  "Let me get this straight," Dad says finally. "You want to contact Rogue Wave to confirm if their 'protection' of me is genuine. Then what?"

  "Then we figure out if it can help us against Shrike," I say. "Look, I'm not saying we trust them. I'm saying we use the resources available to us. All of them."

  "Including criminals," Mom states flatly.

  "Including people who already publicly offered protection," I counter. "The same people who have eyes and ears across the city through their contracts. The same people who have a vested interest in maintaining their reputation."

  "That's insane," Tasha replies.

  "So is a Nazi breaking into my bedroom at three in the morning," I reply, too exhausted for true anger now. "So is a guy who makes spikes appear out of nowhere threatening to impale everyone I know. So is expecting the same system that let him escape to protect us."

  No one has an immediate response to that.

  "Sam," Davis says eventually, his voice deliberately calm. "I understand your frustration. I do. But this path has consequences beyond just dealing with Shrike."

  "We have legitimate options we haven't exhausted," he continues, leaning forward. "The Delaware Valley Defenders have safe rooms designed specifically for this scenario. The NSRA has specialized units trained to track escapees like Shrike. These are resources already in place, already funded, already operating."

  "To babysit my family while my friends get picked off?" I counter. "The DVDs are stretched thin as it is. The NSRA couldn't even keep Shrike in Daedalus."

  "That doesn't mean throwing yourself at criminals is the answer," Mom interjects. "And what happens when they demand payment? When they ask you to do something for them in return?"

  "I'll deal with that if it happens," I say. "But right now, Shrike is the immediate threat. Everything else is hypothetical."

  "No, it's not hypothetical," Dad says firmly. "It's inevitable. These people don't offer protection out of kindness. If you open this door, Sam, we're all walking through it. Your whole team. Your mother and I."

  "Then come up with something better!" I snap.

  "What about limited contact?" Tasha suggests reluctantly. "We don't ask for protection - we just ask if they've seen anything unusual. Informational only."

  "That's still engagement with a criminal enterprise," Davis points out. "Once that relationship exists, it's nearly impossible to control where it leads."

  Derek suddenly laughs - a short, harsh sound. "You fought a man made out of nuclear bombs and lived. Now you're scared of a guy with pointy sticks?"

  "I'm not scared for me," I say quietly. "I'm scared for everyone else. My life isn't worth shit."

  The room falls silent once more. My Mom looks at the floor. My Dad looks at my Mom. Everyone else is looking in a different direction, none of which are at me.

  "If we do this," Mom says finally, her voice tight, "I need to be there. Whenever you make contact, however you do it, I'm present. That's non-negotiable."

  "Mom--"

  "Non-negotiable, Sam," she repeats. "You want to talk to drug dealers? Fine. But you don't do it alone."

  Dad clears his throat. "And we set a timeline. One week. If this approach doesn't yield actionable results in seven days, we go with Davis's plan. The Defenders, the NSRA, whatever it takes. I'll move you across the country if I have to. I'll move you to fucking London."

  I blink at my Dad.

  "Okay?" He adds, a new coat of anger in his face that makes me want to start crying.

  Davis sighs heavily. "I can't endorse this. Legally, I shouldn't even be in this room."

  "Go complain to Clara about it," I mumble.

  Davis blinks at me.

  "Let's be clear," Dad says, looking me directly in the eyes. "You're not asking permission, but neither are we. You're telling us what you're going to do. But we're telling you how it's going to happen."

  I meet his gaze. "I'm asking for a better idea. If anyone has one that actually addresses all the threats, I'm all ears."

  No one speaks.

  "If anyone has a better idea," I repeat into the silence, "now would be the time."

  The silence stretches on. Derek hands me his phone.