I freeze, cigarette held limply between my fingers, as Mom's voice cuts through the kitchen like a guillotine. Her eyes fix on the cigarette in my hand, then the pack on the table. The past half hour of supervillain negotiations apparently weren't enough excitement for one day.

  "Really?" she says, her voice dropping from shocked outrage to tired disappointment. "After everything today, this is what you choose to do?"

  I lower the cigarette, suddenly feeling absurdly young. "I was going to go outside."

  "That's not--" She stops, pinches the bridge of her nose, and takes a deep breath. When she looks at me again, her expression has changed from anger to something more measured. Measured anger. "You know what? Fine."

  "Fine?" I repeat cautiously. That's... not the reaction I expected.

  "If you're going to smoke, I'd rather you do it where I can see you, not sneaking around where you could get jumped by a Nazi psychopath." She pulls out a chair and sits across from me, and then gets up and starts pacing around it instead. She's visibly chewing on ideas, at least for a minute or so. "One. You get one. And only when I'm present."

  I stare at her, cigarette still pinched between my fingers. "Are you serious?"

  "Dead serious. And you're not buying them yourself. Last thing we need is you getting arrested for underage tobacco purchase after negotiating with supervillains." She gestures toward the back door. "Outside. Now. I'm coming with you."

  We step out onto the small concrete pad behind the Music Hall. The night air is cool but not cold, carrying the familiar scent of Philadelphia in fall - a mixture of wet leaves and car exhaust. I light the cigarette with slightly trembling hands, feeling Mom's eyes on me the whole time.

  "I didn't know you smoked," she says after a moment.

  I exhale a thin stream of smoke. "Only sometimes. When things get... you know."

  "I don't know, actually. Explain it to me."

  I take another drag, searching for words. "It helps. With the noise in my head." I tap my temple. "Makes everything slow down for a minute."

  The last thing I need her knowing is that I started smoking from Tasha who gave it to me to manage the effects of taking a probably-illegal superpower enhancing drug. So that I could fake Kate's death by tanking a gunshot more effectively. That can all stay buried until I die.

  Mom doesn't respond immediately. She just watches me, arms folded against the evening chill. Then, "There are healthier ways to manage anxiety, Sam. Your Mom-Mom Leah died of lung cancer from smoking like a chimney."

  "I thought she died of old age?" I ask, trying to sound sensitive about it.

  My Mom's face scrunches a little. "The lung cancer helped. She had another decade or two without it. At least, that's what the doctors told me."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," I answer, trying to feel bad about a person I haven't met.

  "And you don't know if your regeneration will fix cancer. Frankly, I think regeneration might make it worse. Didn't Liberty Belle's cancer get worse because of her super strength?" She continues, running a single hand through her hair. "Imagine a cancer you can't cut out because it just heals back."

  I'd actually rather not, so I just stare at the floor for another uncomfortable minute.

  "Is there anything else I should know about?" she asks, her tone careful.

  "Like what? Am I snorting coke?" I snap, immediately regretting it when I see her flinch. "Sorry. No. Just... occasional cigarettes. When things get bad."

  "Things are pretty bad right now," she concedes.

  "Yeah."

  We stand in silence as I finish the cigarette. When I stub it out against the concrete, Mom holds out her hand for the butt. "I'll throw it away inside. Less evidence."

  "Evidence?" I can't help smiling slightly. "Are you my accomplice now?"

  "Samantha, I have been your accomplice since you came out of my vagina," she says, clearly trying to be funny.

  "Ew," I groan.

  Back inside, Dad is coming down the stairs, laptop tucked under one arm, phone in hand. He looks between us, noticing the lingering smell of smoke but choosing not to comment.

  "I just got a call," he says, setting his laptop on the table. "Forwarded from our landline."

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Police?" Mom asks, immediately tense.

  "School district. They're closing all public schools in Northeast Philadelphia for the rest of the week. Security concerns." He opens his laptop, typing quickly. "Said they'd send all your assignments through the online portal."

  "What security concerns?" I ask, though I already have a sinking feeling I know the answer.

  Dad turns the screen toward us, showing a news site. The headline makes my stomach drop: "BIRD KILLER STRIKES AGAIN: INCIDENTS AT TWO PHILADELPHIA HIGH SCHOOLS."

  "Frankford and Lincoln," Dad says grimly. "Dead animals found stuffed in janitor closets overnight. Security guards were also found bound with zip ties, alive but..." He pauses, glancing at me. "In distress."

  I lean closer, scanning the article. "Any photos?"

  "Police aren't releasing official images, but there are some circulating online." Dad clicks to another tab, showing grainy cell phone pictures of walls painted with red letters.

  "TICKS DON'T PROTECT YOU" reads one.

  "FLEA MEDICINE NOW!" says another.

  Mom's face pales. "Is he going school by school, looking for you?"

  "Looks like it," I confirm, scrolling through more of the article. "But there's nothing here about our house. Nothing about the home invasion."

  "Police keeping it quiet?" Dad suggests. "Maybe Davis is pulling some strings, or they're just not commenting on home invasions nowadays. That would be nice. I'm a little tired of having a personal media circus, I'll admit," he says, trailing off into a mumble, gesturing towards his less good leg.

  "What's this about West Philadelphia?" Mom points to another headline further down the page.

  Dad clicks on it, bringing up a new article. "More dead animals found scattered around Drexel University campus. No messages, though."

  "Drexel? That's where you two went to school," I point out.

  Mom and Dad exchange troubled glances.

  "He's looking into our backgrounds," Mom says quietly. "Trying to find connections."

  "Or it's a copycat," Dad counters. "The article says these animals don't have the same puncture wounds as the others. Just snapped necks, BB wounds, stuff like that. It sounds to me like someone desperate for the attention."

  "Either way, he's getting desperate," I say, skimming the rest of the article. "He can't find me through normal means, so he's escalating. Checking schools, terrorizing staff, leaving messages he hopes will flush me out."

  "The schools are closed, so that's something," Mom says, though she doesn't sound convinced it will help.

  "And look at this," Dad says, clicking yet another link. "Argus Corps is committing 'one hundred percent' of their resources to hunting down Shrike."

  I groan. "Great. Just what we need. Richardson's personal surveillance crew crawling around Mayfair."

  "Better than nothing," Dad argues.

  "Not if Patriot decides this is a great time to relitigate his grudge with me, once he learns who Shrike is targeting and why," I point out.

  Before Dad can respond, there's a knock at the side entrance. We all freeze, exchanging wary glances.

  I pull up the security feed on my phone. "It's Lily," I say, relief washing over me. "She must be here for her shift."

  Dad releases a breath he'd been holding. "Let her in. I'll make some coffee."

  I unlock the door remotely, and a minute later Lily appears in the doorway, bundled in a thick jacket with a backpack slung over her shoulder.

  "Hey," she says, dropping her bag on the floor. "How's bunker life treating you?"

  "Could be worse," I reply, gesturing for her to join us at the table. "Did you see the news?"

  "About the high schools? Yeah." She unzips her jacket, revealing what looks like body armor underneath. "That's why I came early. Police are all over Northeast Philly, and Argus Corps is setting up checkpoints on major roads."

  "Checkpoints?" Dad asks, pausing mid-coffee scoop.

  "Looking for Shrike," Lily confirms. "They've got his mugshot plastered everywhere. The good news is they're taking this seriously. The bad news is they're stopping basically everyone who looks even remotely suspicious. Derek make it home okay?"

  "Yeah. He got home, sent me a text, and presumably went nap nap," I say, trying to keep good humor about the whole situation.

  Dad finishes setting up the coffee pot and joins us at the table. "What else is happening out there?"

  "Panic, mostly," Lily replies. "After what happened at the schools, people are freaking out. There are parents pulling kids out of private schools too, even though they weren't targeted. Social media is blowing up with 'Shrike sightings' all over the city."

  "And our arrangement?" Mom asks carefully. "Any... evidence of that yet?"

  Lily glances at me, then back to Mom. "I noticed someone following me about three blocks from here. Young guy, not trying very hard to be subtle. When I stopped and stared at him, he just nodded and kept walking. Didn't feel threatening."

  "Surveillance," I say. "They're already watching the area."

  "Great," Dad mutters. "Just what we need. More eyes on us."

  "Speaking of which," I say, pulling a notebook toward me. "I need to make that list for Monkey Business. Names of people who need protection."

  "Are you sure that's wise?" Dad asks. "Every name you give them is someone they can leverage later."

  "I know," I reply, tapping my pen against the paper. "But what choice do we have? If Shrike can't get to us, he'll go after people we care about."

  "Your call," Lily says, though her expression is troubled. "But remember, you're essentially putting these people on Rogue Wave's radar. Forever."

  "I know," I repeat, staring at the blank page. "Trust me, I know."

  The first name I write is Derek Taylor. Then Magdalene O'Brien. My hand hovers over the paper as I debate who else to include. Kate? My old middle school friends? Teachers? Where do I draw the line? "How many people do you think they can realistically watch?"

  "That depends on how extensive their network really is," Mom says. "And how much they're willing to commit to this agreement."

  But what I'm thinking to myself isn't that. What I'm thinking is this - that if Shrike's main threat is neutered, that means I can investigate him freely. Without worrying about retaliation.

  He said "don't play with me", but what he doesn't know is that I'm all games, all the time.

  As I continue writing names, I can't shake the feeling that I'm making a deal with the devil. But what other choice do I have? Shrike is hunting through schools, terrorizing staff, leaving messages only I would understand. He won't stop until he finds me - or until I find him first.

  And somewhere in the back of my mind, Rush Order's words keep echoing: "Maya Richardson wasn't in Harrisburg during the hearings. Whoever was there wasn't Maya."

  I glance at my laptop, wondering if I should try to verify that claim. Is it even possible? And if it's true, what does it mean?

  But one crisis at a time. Everything else can wait.