The package arrives just after lunch, the day before the day of judgement, dropped by the back door by a bored looking man in a windbreaker. I get it first, before my parents can - a bomb? Something else? No, it's just paper in an envelope.

  The past day has been full of homework, tension, and recovering from mild chemical burns. Amelia took the worst of it, but she and Tasha have been working overtime with the surplus medical equipment I am 100% sure Tasha steals from her mom, and we're all... alright enough. But nothing interesting. No art installations. No menace.

  Just this package.

  "What is it?" Dad asks, looking up from his laptop.

  "Don't know," I answer honestly. It could be full of pictures of corpses. "Probably school stuff."

  I take it to my room, locking the door before carefully opening the flap. No return address, no markings, just a standard office envelope. Inside are about twenty photographs, all color prints on glossy paper. Professional quality. Surveillance shots.

  My breath catches as I flip through them. Shrike. Moving through North Philly by night. Standing outside a convenience store in Mayfair that I go to every so often. Leaning against a wall across from the library, hours before he turned it into his latest "installation."

  Most disturbing are the shots showing him with others. A trio of young men with buzzed haircuts, hanging on his words in an alleyway. An older man handing him a leather bag outside a hardware store. A small gathering behind an abandoned building, Shrike at the center, gesturing emphatically while four shadowed figures crouch around him, listening intently, taken from a high angle. No way of distinguishing anyone besides the target.

  I sit heavily on my bed, photos scattered around me. Rogue Wave is following through on their end of the bargain. They're watching him. But they're not stopping him. Just documenting his movements, his gathering of followers, his preparations - and sending me the evidence as if to say, "See? We're doing our job. What happens next isn't our problem."

  My phone buzzes with a text from Tasha: Meeting at 3. Everyone's coming.

  I reply: Got something to show you all.

  I spend the next hour pretending to do pre-calculus homework while my mind races. How many people? How dangerous are they? Will they be at the construction site too? Did he learn charisma at Daedalus, too?

  When Mom checks on me, I force a smile and show her the worksheet I've been staring at blankly for forty minutes. She seems satisfied and heads back to the makeshift office Dad has set up in the main room.

  At precisely 3 PM, Tasha's laptop pings with an incoming video call. The others have gathered at Lily's house for what her parents think is a study group. I slip into the command center while my parents are distracted with their own work.

  "Everyone here?" I ask, sitting beside Tasha as the screen fills with faces. Lily, Maggie, and Amelia crowd together on Lily's bed, their expressions varying degrees of serious. I recognize Lily's bedroom from when I had to stay at her place.

  It's the same, mostly. Just different posters now.

  "Present and accounted for," Maggie says with a mock salute.

  I hold up the envelope. "Rogue Wave sent us a care package. Surveillance photos of our friend."

  "They've been watching him?" Lily asks, leaning closer to her camera.

  "Apparently." I shuffle through the photos, holding key ones up to the webcam. "He's been all over North Philly. And he's not alone."

  "Skinheads," Amelia says flatly when I show the alley meeting. "Lovely."

  "Makes sense," Tasha mutters beside me. "You spend fifteen years in a supermax prison, you're either going to make enemies or followers. Looks like he chose the latter."

  "What?" Lily asks, turning her face a little. "I thought you just stayed alone the entire time except like lunch. Like, meals."

  Amelia tousles Lily's hair. "I will explain the intricacies of prison yard politics later. For now..."

  "How many are we talking?" Lily interrupts, her face taking on a little bit of a stronger focus. "In total, I mean."

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  "Great," Maggie groans. "So not only are we dealing with spike boy, but now his little Nazi fan club too?"

  "They might not all be at the construction site," I say, though I don't entirely believe it myself. "But we need to be prepared for backup. Multiple hostiles."

  "This changes things," Lily says. "Maybe we should reconsider--"

  "It doesn't change anything," I interrupt, more sharply than intended. "We knew this would be dangerous. Now we just know more about what we're facing."

  We spend the next hour going over tactics. Lily will position herself on the roof of the eastern car yard, providing overwatch and ranged support with her bow. Maggie will be on ground level, hiding among some construction materials at the southern edge. Amelia will circle the perimeter on her scooter, ready to provide quick extraction if needed. Tasha will coordinate from the Music Hall, monitoring police channels and our communications.

  Ready to call 911.

  If we need it.

  "I still think this is insane," Tasha mutters as we review the plan for the third time. "You're putting yourself right in his crosshairs."

  "That's the point," I reply. "He wants me. Not you guys."

  "But if he brings friends..." Amelia begins.

  "If he breaks his promise, I break mine. Either this is mano-a-mano, or it isn't. If he tries to gang up on me, I give you guys full permission to call in all the cavalry. All of it. Even throw the NSRA tipline something even if they won't get to it in the morning. Alright?" I offer, one final compromise. Something in me that feels like a trapped animal feels a sense of nagging, gnawing anger - why won't you guys just let me do what I have to do? - but I push it down.

  "Fine. I'm happy with that," Tasha says, smiling a strained sort of grimace.

  Lily excuses herself briefly for a bathroom break partway through, and returns with chips.

  We continue talking turkey.

  "I'll be watching the site with high-up drones all day," Tasha lets us know. "The best part about going to school from home because an insane Nazi is freaking everyone out is that nobody will bother me when I have cameras open on another monitor."

  "And what if he brings a lot of friends?" Lily presses. "More than we can handle?"

  "...Then I'll abort. Call the cavalry and I decide that it's the better part of valor and run," I say, sighing.

  The meeting continues for another half hour, ironing out details, contingencies, and extraction plans. By the end, we're all just... exhausted. Emotionally. Mentally. Like wrung out towels.

  "Get some sleep," I tell them as we wrap up. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

  "And hopefully Shrike's last," Maggie adds darkly.

  The video call ends, leaving Tasha and me sitting in silence for a moment.

  "They're scared," she says finally.

  "I know," I admit. "So am I."

  "Not too late to call this off," she suggests, though her tone indicates she knows it's futile.

  I shake my head, gathering up the surveillance photos. "Yes, it is."

  The next day passes with excruciating slowness. Online classes drag on forever. Lunch with my parents feels like an exercise in deception as I force myself to make normal conversation while planning what might be a life-or-death confrontation mere hours away.

  "You seem distracted," Mom says over dinner, studying my face with motherly concern.

  "Just tired," I lie. "And sick of being cooped up."

  "I know, honey," she sighs. "But it's for the best until they catch this guy."

  If only they knew I was planning to catch him myself. The guilt of my deception weighs heavily, but not as heavily as the thought of Shrike continuing to terrorize the city, gathering more followers, hurting more people - all because of me.

  By 10 PM, my parents have retired to their room, exhausted from another day of working remotely and worrying constantly. I wait until their light goes out before slipping into the command center where Tasha has been monitoring screens since she got here. A different set of screens than the one at her house, of course.

  I nod, checking my gear one last time. Costume hidden under loose clothes. Tracking spray containers filled. Bandages and gauze packed just in case.

  "How are the others?" I ask.

  "En route to their positions," Tasha replies, checking her phone. "Lily just texted. She's setting up on the car yard roof. Maggie's about ten minutes out. Amelia will be here soon. Everything's situation normal."

  Normal. As if anything about this situation is normal.

  The minutes tick by with agonizing slowness. 10:30. 11:00. 11:15.

  "Still clear," Tasha updates. "No sign of Shrike or his buddies. Maybe he's going to pussy out."

  "I should head out soon," I say, checking the time. "I want to be there early, get the lay of the land."

  Tasha grabs my wrist before I can stand. "Sam. Are you sure about this?"

  I meet her gaze. "No. But I'm doing it anyway."

  She sighs, releasing me. "Then be careful. And keep your earpiece in at all times."

  "Yes, mom," I say, trying for levity.

  "I'm serious," she insists. "The moment - the moment - things go south, you get out of there. I'm not letting you do anything this insane a second time. You get one shot at this plan and then we're going back to Mr. Davis for the Witness Protection offer if this goes pear shaped."

  "Got it," I promise, though we both know it's not that simple.

  At 11:25, Tasha's drone feed picks up movement at the northern edge of the construction site. A lone figure, tall and thin, walking purposefully toward the center of the lot.

  "He's here," she hisses. "And alone, from what I can see."

  My heart rate spikes. "Tell the others. I'm heading out."

  She looks like she wants to argue further but instead turns back to her monitors, typing rapidly to alert the team.

  "Bike time," she says, her voice tight with worry. "Go shut this creep down."

  I've been in costume all night, underneath a sweater. It feels like it's been ages since I've been in full armor, full padding, although I'm not sure what good Kevlar will do against spikes like his. What else do I need? I snap in the chemical filter that Amelia made for my helmet, over Fury Forge's oxygen mask, just in case he tries to do more pepper spray and bleach shenanigans.

  Amelia - Gossamer is waiting for me, domino eyepiece and an N-95 framing her face. She revs her scooter once and it lets out an anemic, anticlimactic little squeal.

  One way or another, this ends now.