Friday afternoon finds me in the silent reading room of the Parkway Central Library, fidgeting with a stack of pamphlets Davis provided. "Powered Youth: Understanding Your Changing Body" stares up at me with its cheesy stock photo of diverse teenagers giving thumbs-up. I flip to another: "Managing Powers in Public Spaces: A Guide for Teens."

  "These are awful," I mutter to Maggie, who's arranging chairs around a study table. "Did he seriously expect us to hand these out?"

  She glances at the pamphlets and snorts. "The 'Powers and Puberty' one has a flow chart for 'When to Tell Your Crush You Have Abilities.' Spoiler alert: the answer is always 'after extensive counseling and with parental supervision.'"

  "Because nothing says teenage romance like your mom sitting next to you while you reveal you can see blood through walls." I toss the pamphlets into my backpack. "We're not using these."

  "Agreed," Maggie says, checking her watch. "Davis should be here with the kids any minute. You ready for this?"

  "No," I admit. "I don't know what we're supposed to be teaching them. How not to get murdered by bigots? How to hide your powers from the government? Not exactly uplifting material."

  "Maybe we're just supposed to... talk to them?" Maggie suggests. "Show them they're not alone?"

  "That sounds suspiciously like therapy," I grumble. "Which is what they were already getting."

  "Yeah, but from adults who don't have powers," she points out. "This is different. We've been where they are."

  Before I can respond, I notice Davis entering the reading room, accompanied by two familiar figures. Zara looks even younger than I remember, barely thirteen now, with her dark hair pulled back in a neat braid and glasses that seem too large for her face. Beside her, Liam has shot up at least six inches since I last saw him, now gangly and awkward at fifteen, his blonde hair buzzed short on the sides.

  They both spot me at the same time, recognition flickering across their faces.

  "Sam?" Zara says, her voice caught between surprise and confusion.

  "Hey," I reply, raising a hand in awkward greeting. "Long time no see."

  Davis ushers them toward our table, beaming like he's just arranged a particularly successful blind date. "I believe you all know each other from Dr. Jensen's group?"

  "Yeah," Liam says, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "You were the one with the teeth and the short hair."

  "Still am," I confirm. "And you're... Liam."

  He grins slightly. "Still am."

  "Maggie?" Davis prompts, gesturing to her.

  "Maggie O'Brien," she introduces herself with a friendly wave. "No powers that need explaining in a library."

  Liam's eyes widen slightly. "O'Brien? From South Philly?"

  "Born and raised," Maggie confirms. "You say that like it's strange to see someone named O'Brien that lives in South Philly."

  "Do you know my sister Erin? Erin O'Connor? She would've been a few years ahead of you at Goretti."

  "OH!" Maggie almost shouts loud enough to bother the rest of the library. "Those O'Connors! Your sister sold me weed once,"

  "You smoke weed?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "I thought that was more of a Jordan and--"

  "Maybe you should not be having this conversation with a city politician present," Davis comments, chuckling. He looks pleased, at least. Then, he claps his hands together. "I'll let you all get settled. I've prepared some activities--" he gestures to a folder he's carrying, "--but feel free to adapt as needed. The goal today is just to establish a rapport and identify areas where Sam and Maggie might provide guidance."

  He sets the folder on the table and gives us an encouraging smile. "I'll be in the reference section if you need anything. Take your time, get to know each other."

  And with that, he retreats, leaving the four of us staring at each other across the table.

  Wow.

  What a great plan, Davis.

  "So..." I begin, glancing at the folder but not opening it. "How's life been since therapy group?"

  Liam snorts. "Subtle."

  "Hey, I'm new at this mentor thing," I admit. "Cut me some slack."

  "It's been okay," Zara offers, taking a seat at the table. "Until recently, anyway."

  "School stuff?" Maggie asks, sitting across from her.

  Zara nods, her expression souring. "They installed metal detectors and security cameras everywhere. There's a new 'anonymous reporting system' for suspicious powers."

  "Someone reported me last week," Liam adds, dropping into a chair beside Zara. "Said I was 'exhaling smoke' in the bathroom."

  "Were you?" I ask.

  "No!" he says indignantly, then pauses. "Well, maybe a little. But it wasn't on purpose. Sometimes when I get stressed, it just... happens. Wait, my sister sold you weed?"

  "Yeah. It was gross," Maggie adds. "You were smoking in the bathroom?"

  "No, I," Liam rubs the back of his head. "Sam, can't you tell her?"

  I immediately stop making eye contact. "I kind of forgot what your powers were, I'm going to be totally honest with you."

  Liam blinks at me like I've grown a third and fourth head. "What?"

  "I mean I was kind of checked out from all the meds I was on. And the trauma," I mumble.

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  "You didn't think the dragon thing was cool?" Liam asks, his voice cracking at the end. "At least cool enough to remember?"

  "I just don't think it stuck in long term memory. Sorry, dude," I reply sheepishly, rubbing the back of my hair. "You really bought weed from Liam's sister?"

  "Yes?" Maggie adds. "Why is this such a surprising thing for us to get caught on? I wanted to see if I liked it. I did not. Liam, what happened with school?"

  Zara is sitting on a table, not in a chair, drawing in her book and mentally checking out. Yeah, me too, kid.

  "They called my parents," he sighs. "Dad had to leave work early to come get me. I had to show the principal my JLUMA and everything. Total humiliation."

  "Your dad was cool about it though, right?" I ask.

  "Yeah, he was fine. Told the principal I've never hurt anyone and don't plan to start now. But the school's making me meet with the counselor twice a week now, and I have to check in with security every morning."

  "They're treating us like we're dangerous," Zara says quietly, twisting a bracelet around her wrist, not looking up from her notebook. "Like we're going to snap any minute."

  I exchange glances with Maggie. Davis's folder of activities suddenly seems absurdly inadequate for addressing what these kids are actually dealing with.

  "My school's the same," I tell them. "New security procedures, emergency drills specifically for 'metahuman incidents.' It's... a lot."

  "But you don't have to worry about getting reported," Zara points out. "You don't have the same kind of powers as us. Like, you just have the teeth, right?"

  "There's a lot more than that, but I'm not going to get into it now. Unless you think getting into it would make you guys trust me more?" I ask. Why am I asking? Aren't I the teacher here?

  "Buddy, my dad is getting me Wendy's after this, I don't care what you do," Liam snarks, his voice cracking again.

  We all sort of blink at each other. "Well, I'm Bloodhound, for one. Or I was. But I think I'm retiring. Which is probably why Davis wants me to do this instead."

  That gets their attention.

  The silence that follows isn't awkward - it's charged, like the air before lightning strikes.

  "You're... Bloodhound?" Liam finally manages, his voice cracking a third time. Poor guy. "The actual Bloodhound? Who fought Shrike?"

  "Remember when I had really short hair in group therapy? That's because I had just woken up from a coma after fighting, ugh, Chernobyl. But call him Federov. I'm the reason he turned himself in, actually. But all my hair fell out. And also I was on so many medications and drugs," I add, although I'm not sure why. I figure the context will get their trust.

  Zara's notebook slips from her fingers, landing on the table with a soft thud. She stares at me like I just turned her upside down with my fingers.

  "That's why you missed so many sessions," she says quietly. "You weren't just sick."

  "Not in the conventional sense, no." I glance at Maggie, who gives me an encouraging nod. "Look, I'm not telling you this to sound cool or whatever. I'm telling you because you need to understand that I get it. The hiding, the fear, the constant calculations about who knows what."

  "Is that why you're retiring?" Liam asks. "Because of what happened with Shrike?"

  I take a deep breath. "Partly. It's complicated."

  "They say you killed him," Zara says, her voice neutral, observational. Nonjudgmental. She scoops her notebook back up.

  "He died from his injuries after our fight," I clarify, not wanting to get into semantics with a thirteen-year-old. "It wasn't what I wanted. It's not what anyone should want."

  "So now you're supposed to be our... what? Mentor?" Liam looks skeptical. "Teaching us how to not get killed by supervillains?"

  "God, no," I say quickly. "That's the last thing Davis wants. I think he's sick of superheroes as a concept."

  "Then why are we here?" Zara asks.

  I look at the pamphlets poking out of my backpack, at Davis's folder of approved activities, then back at these two kids who are dealing with schools that treat them like ticking time bombs.

  "I think," I begin slowly, "we're here because the world is getting scarier for people like us, and Davis is trying to create something better than what we had. Better than, like... superheroes and supervillains. Like maybe we can treat this like it's something real and not something from a comic book."

  "That sounds nice on paper," Zara says, "but it doesn't help me when kids at school call me a freak because I know what's happening in rooms I shouldn't be able to see into."

  "Or when I accidentally set off the smoke detectors during a math test," Liam adds.

  "No, it doesn't," I acknowledge. "That's why we're not following Davis's curriculum. We're going to figure this out together, based on what you actually need."

  Maggie leans forward. "Can I ask what exactly your powers are? Sam doesn't remember, and I don't think we've been properly introduced, powers-wise."

  Zara and Liam exchange annoyed glances.

  "I can sense and control glass," Zara explains. "The sensing part is fine. The control part sometimes makes things explode near me."

  "And you?" Maggie asks Liam.

  He grins, suddenly eager. "I can turn into a dragon. Well, part-dragon. Or all dragon, but that's... kind of a lot."

  "That's why he was smoking in the bathroom," I explain to Maggie. "Not weed."

  "I knew that," Maggie says unconvincingly.

  "No you didn't," Liam shoots back.

  "Look," I say, getting us back on track, "your powers are different from mine. More visible, more... dramatic. But the challenges are similar. How to control them, when to use them, who to trust with knowing about them."

  "And how to deal with people who are afraid of you because of them," Zara adds quietly.

  "That too," I agree. "Especially now."

  "So what do we do?" Liam asks. "Just... keep our heads down and hope it gets better?"

  "No," I say firmly. "We adapt. We find ways to live with our powers that don't involve either complete suppression or reckless use. Middle ground."

  "Like what?" Zara challenges.

  I think for a moment. "Like finding safe places to practice control. Like creating emergency plans for when things go wrong. Like building a network of people who understand."

  "That's what this is supposed to be?" Liam gestures around our little table. "Our network?"

  "It's a start," Maggie says. "Once the community center is up and running, there will be more kids, more resources."

  "And until then?" Zara asks.

  "Until then, you've got us," I tell her. "Two weekends a month, right here. We'll figure out what you need and how to get it. No cheesy pamphlets, no government-approved curriculum."

  Liam looks skeptical but intrigued. "My dad always says powers aren't going away, so we'd better learn to live with them."

  "Your dad sounds smart," Maggie says.

  "He is," Liam agrees. "Just don't tell him I said that."

  I turn to Zara, who's been quietly assessing everything. "What about you? What would make these meetings worth your time?"

  She thinks for a moment. "I want to learn how to focus my perception better. Sometimes it's overwhelming, all the input. And..." she hesitates. "I want to know more about what's happening with power suppression technology. My father's been worried about it."

  That catches me off guard. "What do you know about power suppression?"

  "Just rumors," she says with a shrug. "Dad works at Drexel in the engineering department. Some government people came by asking questions about metahuman containment systems. Made him nervous that they were talking to him and not anyone else. Like they knew about me."

  I exchange glances with Maggie.

  "We can look into that," I promise. "That's the kind of information sharing that might actually be useful."

  "So you're not going to make us read pamphlets and watch Mr. Bean while trying to point out all the ways he's doing things wrong? Like my other group therapy?" Liam asks.

  "Unless you've got better plans for your Friday afternoons," Maggie says with a smile.

  "Wendy's with my dad is pretty tough competition," he admits.

  "Tell him to bring it here next time," I suggest. "We won't tell Davis."

  For the first time, Zara smiles, small and careful like she's trying to avoid crushing a caterpillar, but genuine. "My mom packs me way too much food. I could bring extra."

  "Now we're talking," Maggie grins. "Food-based mentorship. Much better than pamphlets."

  As we settle into a more natural conversation about school, powers, and the merits of various fast food options, I catch myself feeling something unexpected - a sense of purpose that has nothing to do with costumes or combat. These kids don't need a superhero. They need someone who's walked this road before them and survived to tell about it.

  When our hour is up and Davis returns to collect Zara and Liam, they seem genuinely reluctant to leave. We exchange phone numbers - for emergencies, I insist, not casual texting - and agree to meet again in two weeks.

  "How did it go?" Davis asks as the kids gather their things.

  "We didn't use your materials," I inform him directly.

  He doesn't look surprised. "I suspected you might not. Did you find your own way forward?"

  "I think so," I reply, watching Zara carefully pack her notebook and Liam awkwardly try to fit his gangly limbs into his jacket. "It's a start, anyway."