He gathers the blueprints together, about to slide them back into his portfolio when Tasha speaks up.

  "Mr. Feldman knows about this?" she asks, ever practical. "He's okay with renovations?"

  Davis nods. "I've had preliminary discussions with him. He's supportive - seems to think it would increase property values in the area."

  "Of course he does," Amelia mutters, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

  "So you've been talking to our landlord about our headquarters without telling us?" I can't keep the edge out of my voice.

  Davis has the decency to look a bit sheepish. "I needed to determine feasibility before bringing this to you. There was no point discussing a pipe dream."

  "Who else knows about this?" Lily asks, leaning forward on her knees. "The DVDs?"

  "Multiplex is aware in general terms," Davis admits. "And a few city officials who'd be involved with funding and zoning."

  "Zoning," I repeat, something clicking. "And why is John Horvath involved? My grandfather's business partner?" I tap the signature in the corner of the blueprints. I didn't forget. I'm not stupid.

  Davis hesitates. "John has experience with municipal projects and was willing to do the preliminary designs as a favor. A total renovation on this scale isn't something that comes cheap."

  "A favor to who?" I press. "My parents? Pop-pop? He lives in New York. What are you doing in New York?"

  "A favor to me," Davis says firmly. "And to the community. I promise the fact that your dad is a city planner and your mom works at the Philadelphia library system has nothing to do with the fact that we want to establish this program."

  I snort. I'm not gonna press him on the New York thing. But I'm keeping track, Davis. "Right. Total coincidence."

  "Your parents aren't involved in this decision, Sam," Davis says. "Though I would hope they'd support it."

  "They probably would," I mutter. That's what bothers me - everyone around me thinking they know what's best without asking.

  Tasha tries to redirect the conversation. "What's the timeline for something like this? Realistically."

  "For full implementation? Three to six months for renovations and basic infrastructure upgrades," Davis says. "Bring the HVAC fully up to code, address electrical and plumbing issues, make the place ADA compliant. Jordan's already done impressive work, but there's more needed for official approval."

  "And in the meantime?" Amelia asks. "What happens to us?"

  Davis takes a deep breath. "That's actually something I wanted to discuss. We already have several cases - powered youth who need guidance and support. I was hoping you might be willing to start meeting with them, even before the renovation is complete."

  "Us?" Maggie blinks. "Like, as tutors or something?"

  "More like peer mentors," Davis explains. "We'd arrange meetings at neutral locations - libraries, community centers - until this space is ready."

  "Libraries," I repeat, looking at him. "You mean like where my mother works?"

  Davis shakes his head quickly. "Not specifically. I promise I'm not trying to rope your family into this."

  "But you want us - a bunch of teenagers - to counsel other powered kids?" Lily asks, sounding surprisingly enthusiastic. When she says it, it sounds like something you could look forward to, and not an insane idea for stupid idiots. "That's actually kind of cool."

  "What are these 'cases' exactly?" Tasha asks, making air quotes. "And why do they need us rather than actual professionals?"

  Davis leans forward. "Because professionals can't relate to them the way you can. They're kids like you - some younger, some your age - who are struggling with powers, with identity, with choices. Some are homeless. Some have families but no support. All of them need people who understand what they're going through. And I don't want to put pressure on you, I really don't, but I feel a moral obligation to get to them before Rogue Wave does, or the Kingdom, or one of the dozens of other small time gangs hanging off their wake looking for krill."

  I feel a strange tightening in my chest.

  "So you're asking us to be the adults you wish you'd been for us," Amelia says, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp.

  "Yes," Davis admits simply. "That's exactly what I'm asking."

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  The room falls silent as we absorb this. I'm trying to wrap my head around it - us as mentors, guides, while still figuring out our own mess. It's laughable, except it also makes a weird kind of sense.

  "Who are these kids?" I finally ask.

  Davis pulls a folder from his portfolio. "I believe you may have met one or two of them. Zara Khan, Liam O'Connor, there's a recent move to Philadelphia, one Alex Kirby. And we have a transfer from the Whitford Institute in Chicago, one Jasmine Walker."

  "Powers?" Tasha prompts.

  "I don't know what the Whitford Institute is," I point out. I don't comment on the fact that he's been trawling my old traumatized civilian superhumans therapy group for charity cases. Keep that one inside.

  "Varied. Nothing world-ending, but challenging in different ways. No cases like Mr. Federov. To my knowledge, nothing totally involuntary," Davis answers, turning his head to me. "And it's a psychiatric inpatient-outpatient facility for superpowered youth. The only one in the country, in fact. I've been... shopping for social workers. As you can imagine, it's not a well populated field."

  Right. That's why you want me to be a social worker instead. Volunteer labor from a sixteen year old is cheaper than a PhD in a super-narrow field. I told you, I'm not stupid.

  "I don't understand why you need us for this," I say, having figured out the answer about two sentences ago in my train of thought. "Why not just start the center without our involvement? You don't need our permission to help other kids."

  Davis fixes me with a steady gaze. "Because I'm going to do this regardless. It's just a matter of whether you all and the Music Hall are included, or not."

  The words hit me like a shock of cold water. It's something I might say—that same stubborn determination, that same 'this is happening with or without you' energy. I wonder if I've infected him with my attitude, or if he's always been this way and I just never noticed.

  "And if we say no?" Tasha asks.

  "Then I find another building, another approach," Davis says simply. "But I think that would be a loss for everyone involved. Especially the kids who need this now, not six months from now."

  Maggie, who's been unusually quiet, finally speaks up. "I think we should do it."

  We all turn to look at her.

  "I mean, helping other kids figure out their powers? That's what we wanted all along, right? To make things better, not just fight bad guys?" She shrugs. "Seems like a no-brainer to me."

  "It's not that simple," Amelia counters. "There are questions about oversight, about liability. What happens when one of these kids makes a mistake? Who takes the blame?"

  "The same people who should have been taking it all along," Davis says quietly. "The adults."

  I'm staring at the blueprints, trying to imagine the Music Hall transformed. Our secret headquarters becoming official, legitimate. The hidden becoming visible. It makes me feel exposed, vulnerable. But also, weirdly, seen.

  "Can we have some time to think about it?" I ask finally.

  Davis nods, gathering his materials. "Of course. But I do need an answer within the week. These kids can't wait indefinitely."

  "A week," I repeat. "That's fair."

  He stands, straightening his tie. "I've left my personal cell number. Call anytime if you have questions. And Sam..." He pauses. "This isn't about fixing the past. It's about building something better for the future."

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

  "I want to be clear. I'm sure from your perspective this seems like an adult going over your head, trying to build infrastructure on your backs without asking, even trying to manipulate you. And, well, I can't pretend it's not that. At least a little bit. But if you don't want to be involved, there's other abandoned buildings the government can buy on the cheap. There's other ex-Young Defenders I can reach out to. There's other families I've contacted. Other landlords. The Smalls aren't the only people involved in their child's superheroics. All you need to do is say 'no', and it's out of your hands," he says, trying to assure me, I assume. But all I can do is kind of gawk at him.

  "The Auditors aren't unique or special. There's a team just like it in West Philly, and a trio of youths in Center City that have been causing problems for the Kingdom, just like you all have been. You’re one option among several - but politically, you’re the team I trust most to work with."

  "That's weird," is all I can sort of stammer out. That makes him laugh.

  "We'll be in touch," he promises.

  As Lily shows him out, the rest of us sit in stunned silence. The Halloween candy lies forgotten on the floor, suddenly childish compared to the decision before us.

  "Well," Amelia says finally. "That was unexpected."

  "Is it, though?" Tasha asks. "After everything that's happened? Someone was bound to try something like this eventually."

  "Yeah, but Davis?" Maggie shakes her head. "I never pegged him as the revolutionary type."

  "He's not," I say, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. "He's a politician trying to salvage his conscience."

  "That's harsh," Lily says, returning from the door.

  "Maybe," I admit. "But that doesn't mean he's wrong."

  I reach for the blueprints Davis left behind, tracing the outline of the Music Hall - our Music Hall - reimagined as something else. Something bigger than us. The private office with the lock stares back at me like a bloodshot eye.

  "What are you thinking, Sam?" Tasha asks quietly.

  I look up at my friends - my team. All waiting for me to make a call.

  "I'm thinking about Zara," I say honestly. "She's, what, 12? 13 now? I wasn't paying a lot of attention during group therapy. It was very... You know, mandatory group therapy."

  I know that's not really an answer.

  "So you want to do it?" Maggie asks.

  "I don't know," I admit. "Part of me thinks it's exactly what we should be doing. Another part thinks it's a trap, a way to bring us under institutional control."

  "Maybe it's both," Tasha suggests.

  "We should sleep on it," I say finally. "Talk again tomorrow when it's not Halloween anymore."

  "Speaking of," Lily says, "I'm keeping all the Twizzlers. Non-negotiable."

  And just like that, we're back to being teenagers sorting Halloween candy. But something has shifted, a tectonic plate moving beneath us. Whatever we decide about Davis's proposal, we can't un-hear what he said. Can't un-see the system he described. Can't pretend we're just kids playing superhero anymore.

  I stare at the pile of candy before me, suddenly not hungry. The plush shark from my costume lies discarded on the floor, its fake felt teeth harmless and cartoonish. Nothing like real teeth. Nothing like real danger.

  My phone buzzes with a text from Mom: "Heading home soon? Dad's making hot chocolate."

  I type back: "On my way. Save me some marshmallows."

  I pick up the shark from the floor, and turn it over a couple of times in my hands.