I close my laptop and head downstairs, still processing everything. The Victor texts, the Maya connection, the timeline that makes it all fit together. My parents are in the living room - Dad reading something on his tablet, Mom with a glass of wine and a paperback that's probably more bodice-ripper than she'd ever admit.

  "So," I say, standing in the doorway. "I need to talk to you both about something."

  The telepathic parent wavelength strikes before I can even place it in my eyeballs.

  "This is about your investigation," Mom says. Not a question.

  "Yeah. I found something. About Victor." I walk in, perch on the arm of the couch. "Someone from the Kingdom manipulated him into coming here. They arranged his time off, paid for his hotel, knew exactly how to get him to Philadelphia. And the timing lines up with your coalition challenging Maya's legislation."

  Mom's wine glass pauses halfway to her lips. Her brow furrows in a way that I don't think I've ever seen on her before. Not anger. Fury. But quiet, controlled fury. "Explain."

  So I do. The texts Victor received, the professional operation behind it, Mrs. Quiet mentioning Victor months ago, the pattern of psychological warfare. I lay it all out methodically, the way Liberty Belle taught me to present evidence.

  When I'm done, Mom sets her wine down very carefully. "That woman sent my father to hurt me."

  "Yeah."

  "Because I had the audacity to challenge her to her face," Rachel - no, Mom - adds. "And she looked into me enough to understand why he wasn't in my life. She dug. Is that what you're telling me?"

  "Probably."

  Dad's expression hardens in that way it does when he's calculating angles and probabilities. "You're certain about the connection?"

  "Circumstantially? Yes. Provably in court? No." I look between them. "But there's something else. Nina de la Cruz - from my old therapy group at Dr. Jensen's - she works as a barback at Crescent. Which is a Kingdom front."

  "I didn't know Crescent was a front," Mom says slowly.

  "We've known for over a year. Jordan and I did surveillance there back in..." I trail off, trying to remember when exactly. "A while ago. Anyway, Nina works there. And bartenders hear things. I want to reach out to her, but..." I take a breath. "I promised I'd vet things with you first. So I'm vetting. Like I promised."

  Another parental look. This one lasts longer.

  "Walk us through it," Dad says. "Why Nina specifically?"

  "She's powered. She was in my therapy group, so we have history. She works at a Kingdom front, which means she might know things - or she might be in a bad situation and need help getting out." I'm trying to organize my thoughts, present this like the strategic decision it is and not just an impulsive idea. "But if I reach out to her directly, it looks suspicious. Sam Small, known vigilante associate, suddenly calling a Kingdom employee? That's a red flag. That gets you visited by men in suits with guns."

  "So you want us to do it," Mom suggests. Actually, hold on.

  "No, I want to do it," I correct. "No, hold on. Are you offering?"

  "No," she shuts me down. "That's just where I thought you were going with this. I was just going to tolerate the visit."

  Dad quietly snorts. I hear him mutter "no the fuck you are not," and resist the urge to laugh with him just from hearing his reedy voice say the fuck word.

  "I mean, it's not a bad idea. I think. You're a public figure now. Parents' coalition organizer. You reaching out to a powered young adult about support groups is completely normal. It's literally what you've been doing for months," I sort of think it through live. "Right?"

  Mom considers this, swirling her wine. "Have you thought this through? Really, really?"

  "I'm trying to." I lie, looking at her directly. "I know I fucked up at the town hall. And with Shrike. I know I keep making impulsive decisions. I'm trying to do this right. That's why I'm here instead of already texting Nina."

  "Okay, Sam. I'm listening to you. I hear what you are saying. But I want to make this a teachable moment--"

  "I am sixteen, I thought we were done with teachable moments."

  "We were, and then you..." She pauses. "You know."

  "So what am I learning?"

  "Convince me that it has to be us. You've been paying attention in English class, right?" She asks, catching me off guard. "Persuasive essays."

  "What?"

  "Why should your father and I get involved in this? Why should we let you investigate at all?" Mom leans forward slightly, her librarian voice fully engaged. "What's so special about the Smalls that makes us have to be the people shouldering this? That's not rhetorical. You want me to treat you like an adult? I'll treat you like a coworker at the library trying to get me to move a program from Tuesdays to Thursdays. Convince me."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  I take a breath, organizing my argument. "Because we're already involved. Maya used Victor against you specifically. Not random psychological warfare - targeted retaliation because you organized against her legislation. That makes it personal."

  "Lots of things are personal," Mom counters. "Doesn't mean we have to do something about them ourselves. We can always turn the other cheek."

  "The police won't investigate a sitting councilwoman without hard evidence. The Defenders can't act without proof. And Argus Corps works for Maya." I'm gesturing now, hands moving. "We're not the only option, but we're the best option for this specific thing. Because if I reach out to Nina, it screams investigation. If you reach out as a coalition organizer? That's just activism. It's expected."

  Dad sets his tablet down. "You're saying your mother has better operational security than you do."

  "Right now? Yeah. She's less obviously connected to anti-Kingdom activities. She has legitimate reasons to contact powered youth." I look at Mom. "And the mentorship program is real. We had our first real session yesterday and a couple more before that. There's actual structure there. Inviting Nina makes sense - it's not a cover story, it's just using existing infrastructure."

  "And if she knows something?" Mom asks. "About the Kingdom, about Maya?"

  "Then it comes out naturally, if it comes out at all. We're not interrogating her. We're offering support to someone who might be in a shitty situation." I pause. "You're good at that. The coalition thing - helping families navigate this stuff. This is the same thing. I don't think we met at a 'traumatized civilian superhumans' support group because she was healthy."

  "But she might also tell her employers that we're sniffing around," Mom points out.

  "Yeah. That's the risk." I don't minimize it. "But it's smaller than if I do it. And if the Kingdom already used Victor against us, they're watching anyway. The question is whether we use that or just let them keep taking shots."

  Long silence. Dad and Mom do their telepathy thing again. When will I get someone I can do that with? Was that Jordan? I mean, sort of, but we weren't and were not going to then proceed to have a child. So not quite Jordan. Sam! Focus!

  "I'll volunteer at the library more," I offer, trying to cut the silence. "Extra shifts, whatever you need. I know I've been slacking on that--"

  "Sam." Mom's voice is sharp. "Trying to stop criminals from hurting people isn't something you have to bargain for. That's not how this works."

  I blink. "But--"

  "Your punishment from the town hall stunt was volunteering all school year," she continues. "Which I haven't forgotten about, by the way. I just let it slide while you were recovering from multiple near-death experiences. But that's separate from this. You don't have to negotiate with me to do the right thing."

  "Oh." I feel weirdly off-balance. "So... can we do this?"

  "That depends." Dad leans forward. "What's the actual risk profile here?"

  "Honestly? Lower than usual." I tick off on my fingers. "You have a gun and everyone knows it. Rogue Wave declared us under protection, publicly. The cops are probably watching after everything that's happened. The NSRA definitely is. If I was the Kingdom, the risk-reward for hitting our house is terrible. Too many eyes. Hit Bloodhound on patrol, maybe, but Sam Small takes the bus to school, and Bloodhound's someone else. They can't attack a bus full of students. And they can't send the T-Rex twice."

  "Plus we're meeting her here," Mom adds, thinking it through. "On our territory. Controlled environment. No going to Kingdom locations, no meeting in neutral spaces where things could go wrong."

  "And the mentorship program gives us cover," I finish. "It's not investigation, it's outreach. Even if Nina reports the conversation, it looks like exactly what it is - coalition organizer inviting powered youth to support group. This is Rachel Small getting in Maya's way again. Would she order you assassinated for being a minor nuisance?"

  Mom doesn't answer that. She just kind of glowers. "I don't think I want to think about that possibility this much, Samantha."

  Dad nods slowly. "It's sound reasoning either way."

  Mom picks up her wine again, takes a sip, sets it down with decision. "Okay. I'll contact Dr. Jensen tomorrow. Set up the introduction properly." She looks at me, and I try not to make a weird sort of noise. Oh, this is working? That's... abnormal. "But Sam? This has to be genuine. You can't treat this girl like an intelligence asset. We're actually offering help, not running an operation."

  "I know."

  "Do you?" Her expression softens slightly. "Because I've watched you turn into a very good detective over the past year. But detectives sometimes forget that the people they're investigating are still people. With lives and problems that have nothing to do with whatever case you're building. I don't think Belle really knew that very well either."

  That feels cold in my belly, and then in my chest.

  "Yeah," I say quietly. "I know. I'll remember."

  "Good." Mom stands up, smoothing her cardigan. "I'll make the call tomorrow morning. We'll see if Nina's interested. And Sam?" She waits until I'm looking at her. "I'm proud of you. For coming to us first. For thinking this through. That's growth."

  "Don't jinx it," I mutter, but I'm smiling a little.

  Dad reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. "Go get some rest. You're still recovering."

  "I'm fine--"

  "Sam."

  "Okay, okay. Resting." I head toward the stairs, then pause. "Thanks. For trusting me with this."

  "We're a team," Mom says simply. "That's how teams work."

  Thursday after school, and I'm pacing in the living room like a caged animal while Mom sets up tea and cookies on the coffee table. Actual tea. In the nice pot. With matching cups.

  "You're making this look like a Jane Austen novel," I mutter.

  "I'm making this look welcoming and non-threatening," Mom corrects, arranging napkins. "There's a difference. Now stop pacing, you're making me nervous."

  The doorbell rings and my heart jumps. Mom shoots me a look - behave - and goes to answer it.

  Nina de la Cruz looks different than I remember from therapy group. Her hair's electric blue now instead of the bright pink it used to be, styled in a short undercut that somehow makes the piercings in her eyebrows and nose more prominent. She's wearing ripped jeans and a faded band tee, and she's got that particular look of someone who's twenty-four but still gets carded everywhere.

  "Mrs. Small?" Nina's voice is tentative. "I'm Nina. Dr. Jensen said you wanted to talk about some kind of program?"

  "Please, come in." Mom steps aside, all warmth and professional friendliness. "Thank you so much for coming. Can I get you some tea?"

  Nina steps inside and the lights flicker. Just for a second - the lamp by the door dims, the overhead light stutters - and then it's fine. She notices me noticing and gives an apologetic shrug.

  "Sorry. Happens sometimes when I'm nervous. I'm working on it."

  "No problem," I say, trying to sound casual and not like I'm cataloging her powers for future reference. "Hey, Nina. Been a while."

  She looks at me, really looks, and I can see her putting the pieces together. Sam Small. Gun Dad's daughter. The girl who went viral saving people. Possibly also Bloodhound, though she's too polite to ask.

  "Yeah," she says finally. "How've you been?"

  "Recovering from getting electrocuted during my internship," I say honestly. "You?"

  The lights flicker again, just slightly.

  "Uh, same. Recovering," Nina says, smiling in a way that does not put me at ease at all.