Four faces stare at me through their respective windows like I just suggested we set ourselves on fire for fun.

  "Sam," Amelia says slowly. "Are you high right now?"

  "What? No, I'm--"

  "Because that would explain the monumentally stupid thing you just said," Maggie interrupts. "And I say that as the person who usually says the monumentally stupid things."

  "I'm just saying we have a location, we should--"

  "Walk directly into whatever they've set up for us?" Lily cuts in. "Because they KNOW we were tracking them now, Sam. They know we have the tech, they know we're investigating, and they know exactly where they dumped the tracker. If I were Kingdom and I wanted to catch whoever's been poking around, I'd stake out that hospital and wait."

  "Or booby trap the route between the safehouse and the hospital," Amelia adds. "Every block along Ridge Avenue could be under surveillance. Every turn he took could have cameras watching for whoever shows up to investigate."

  "They've had sixteen hours to prepare," Maggie says. "Sixteen hours to set up whatever they want. We'd be walking into prepared ground."

  I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Because they're right. Of course they're right.

  "Okay," I say. "Okay, you're right. We're not going tonight. Obviously. I'm too fucked up to go anywhere anyway."

  "Not just tonight," Amelia says firmly. "Not at all. Not without knowing what we're walking into."

  "So we just... don't use the information?" I ask. "We tracked him for sixteen hours and we just sit on it?"

  "No," Lily says. "We call the DVDs. That's what Davis gave you the tip line for."

  I shake my head. "We can't."

  This gets everyone to stare at me again, but less in annoyance and more in fear.

  "Why not?" Lily asks.

  "Because what if it IS a trap?" I lean forward, ignoring my ribs' protest. "What if Kingdom set this up expecting a professional response? We call it in, the DVDs send a team to investigate, and they walk right into an ambush. Someone gets hurt, maybe killed, because we led them there."

  The call goes quiet.

  "That's not..." Amelia starts, then stops. "That's actually a good point."

  "Surprisingly thoughtful," Maggie adds. "Are you SURE you're not high?"

  "Fuck off." But there's no heat in it. "I'm serious though. After Tasha got hurt yesterday, I can't-- I'm not sending the adults into a situation where I know they might get hurt. Not without warning them it could be a trap. But if we warn them it's a trap, they're going to ask how we know, and then we have to explain the tracker, and then--"

  "And then we're explaining how we conducted an investigation that led to us tagging a Kingdom operative," Amelia finishes. "Which puts us in legal trouble and makes anything they find potentially inadmissible. You can't exactly stalk people without a warrant. It's pretty illegal to use consumer trackers like that to stalk someone non-consentingly."

  "Without a warrant," Tasha reminds us.

  "Right, without a warrant," Amelia adds.

  "Fruit of the poisonous tree," Tasha mumbles. "Constitutional law. Fourth amendment. I learned about it in-- wait, no, I learned about it from a TV show. But it's real."

  "It's real," Amelia confirms. "If they find evidence based on our illegal investigation, defense attorneys can argue it's tainted."

  "So we're fucked either way," Maggie says. "We don't call it in, we waste good intel. We do call it in, we either send them into a trap or compromise any evidence they find."

  "That's why I mentioned laundering it," Tasha reminds us again. "What's that called?"

  "Parallel construction," Amelia answers.

  "Generally considered sort of an asshole move," Tasha grumbles.

  "Or we wait," Lily suggests. "Give it a few days. Let Kingdom think the threat passed. Then tip the DVDs when their guard is down."

  "Security footage gets overwritten," Amelia counters. "Most systems cycle every thirty days, some as short as seven. We wait too long, we lose the camera evidence."

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  "Do we even know if the hospital has cameras pointed at the dumpster area?" I ask.

  "Most hospitals do," Amelia says. "Liability reasons, theft prevention, that kind of thing. But we'd need a warrant to access them, which brings us back to the same problem."

  We sit in silence for a moment, all of us staring at our respective screens, trying to think of a solution that doesn't exist.

  "We need to sleep on it," I say finally. "We're all exhausted, Tasha's high, I can barely think straight. Let's table this until tomorrow when we can actually make a good decision. Maybe I do just be honest with the DVD. I'm not sure yet."

  "Agreed," Amelia says. "But we need to decide fast. The longer we wait, the more evidence degrades."

  "Tomorrow," I repeat. "We'll figure it out tomorrow."

  "Where are we even meeting?" Maggie asks. "Music Hall's out of commission."

  "My house, probably," I say. "Rogue Wave's got my dad under protection, every federal agency in Philadelphia probably has eyes on our block after the Shrike thing, and anyone crazy enough to attack here after all that would have to be actually insane. It's probably the safest place in the city for us right now."

  "Silver lining," Lily says. "Your house is the unofficial superhero DMZ."

  "Yeah. Hooray." I rub my eyes. "Okay, I'm done. I need to sleep before my brain falls out."

  "Same," Tasha says, yawning. "This has been very educational but I'm going to pass out now."

  "Group chat tomorrow," Amelia says. "We'll coordinate then. Everyone get some rest."

  We say our goodbyes and the call ends. My room feels very quiet suddenly, just me and my laptop and my phone with its dead tracker app.

  I should go to bed. I should absolutely just go to bed.

  Instead I stand up - slowly, carefully, everything hurting - and head downstairs.

  Mom and Dad are in the living room. Mom's got a book open but she's not really reading it, just staring at the same page. Dad's laptop is open but he's looking at Mom, not the screen. They both look up when I come down the stairs.

  "How are you feeling?" Mom asks immediately.

  "Tired. Sore. Everything hurts but nothing's broken." I sit down in the armchair across from them, careful not to jar my ribs. "Music Hall's going to be out of commission for months. Water damage, insurance nightmare, the whole thing."

  "Davis called earlier," Dad says. "He mentioned that. He also said Argus Corps is trying to investigate."

  "Yeah. He's holding them off for now." I pick at a loose thread on the armchair. "So, uh. We need a new place to meet. For the volunteer stuff. The mentorship program. And also, uh. The... other stuff. You know. The stuff that I haven't been doing."

  "Here," Mom says immediately. "Use the house."

  I blink. "What?"

  "Use our house," she repeats. "The dining room table is big enough for meetings. You can use the living room for whatever activities. We'll stay out of your way."

  "Are you sure? It's going to be like, four or five teenagers hanging out multiple times a week."

  "We're sure," Dad says. "Besides, this way we at least know where you are. And after yesterday..." He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't have to.

  "Okay. Yeah. That would actually be really helpful. Thank you."

  "Also," Dad continues, "you and Tasha are going to need new computers. For school, for the program, for whatever else. You said that guy destroyed a bunch of your stuff including your laptop, and I assume Tasha's did too."

  "Yeah, hers got pretty smashed up," I answer, not really looking anyone in the eye.

  "I can get you both lappads," Dad says. "Nothing fancy - basically just internet and office programs, enough to do homework and stay connected. But it'll hold you over until we can afford something better."

  "That's--" I stop. "That's really generous. Thank you."

  "It's coming out of your Hanukkah presents," he adds. "Both of them. So don't expect much else this year."

  "That's fair." It is fair. It's more than fair, actually. "And you're getting one for Tasha too?"

  "Show of good will to the Reynolds," Mom says. "Their daughter got hurt while doing volunteer work--" I hear her euphemism, because she knows the sort of stuff the Auditors get up to, but I don't think she can tell - was this Auditors stuff, or actual Support Group stuff? "--with ours. It's the least we can do."

  I nod slowly. It's practical. It's the kind of gift that says 'sorry your daughter got hurt in our orbit' without actually saying that out loud. Way more useful than flowers or an apology card. At least, I bet that's what my Dad is thinking. I assume automatically, with no evidence, that my Mom is going to include flowers with it.

  "Thank you," I say again. "Both of you. For... all of this. The house, the computers, for not--" I gesture vaguely. "For not freaking out."

  "Oh, we're freaking out," Mom says. Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "We're just trying to do it productively."

  "Your mother had two glasses of wine before you got home," Dad adds.

  "Three," Mom corrects. "But it was the light stuff. I'm trying to... use it a little less when I'm stressed out."

  "That's good, I think," I reply, trying not to sound or feel small. "Is this where you tell me I can't do the volunteer work anymore?"

  "No," Dad says. "We like Davis's plan. We don't like the heroics, but you were legitimately staying in your, you know, your headquarters, not doing heroics. I don't like that the danger came to you but we live in Northeast Philly. Theoretically, there could be a drive-by in the next five minutes. Like your Mom said a bit ago, we can't put you in a giant... what was it, a hamster ball?"

  "Yes, Ben, a giant hamster ball. Even if it drives us insane," Mom adds. "Which it does. Constantly."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be sorry. Just..." She looks at me, and there's something raw in her expression. "Just keep coming home. That's all I ask. Keep coming home."

  "I will. I promise." It's a promise I can't really make, but I make it anyway because it's what she needs to hear.

  We sit in silence for a minute. The house is quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the distant sound of a car passing outside.

  "Go to bed," Dad says gently. "You look like you're about to fall over."

  "Yeah. I think I am." I stand up, grimacing at the way my ribs protest. "Thanks again. For everything."

  "That's what parents do," Mom says. "We drive ourselves crazy trying to keep our impossible children safe."

  I head back upstairs, moving slowly, each step reminding me of the fight, and then the fight before that, and the fight before that. My room is exactly how I left it - laptop still open, phone still showing the dead tracker app, everything exactly the same except now I have more problems and fewer solutions.

  I check my phone one more time. The tracker app shows the last known location: Roxborough Memorial Hospital. Signal lost.

  Tomorrow we'll figure out what to do about the DVDs. Tomorrow we'll regroup and plan and be strategic about it.