I step back to let Sundial in. She stamps snow off her boots on the mat and takes in the room quickly - Maxwell on the couch with his laptop, Dad in the kitchen doorway, Mom still holding her coffee mug. Her eyes linger on Maxwell's sling for a second before moving on.

  "Thanks." She's already unwinding her scarf. "It's brutal out there."

  "Coffee?" Mom offers.

  "God, yes. Thank you."

  We settle into the living room. Sundial takes the armchair, wrapping her hands around the mug Mom brings her. I sit on the floor near Maxwell's couch. My parents hover for a second, and I can see Sundial clocking that, trying to figure out how much they know.

  "Anything you need to say in front of Sam, you can say in front of us," Dad says. It's not aggressive - just clear. "We're up to speed."

  Sundial nods slowly. "Okay. Good. That makes this easier." My mom brings her a mug of coffee, a couple of sugar packets, and some of those little tiny cream things you build pyramids out of. Sundial stares at it for a second, drinks it black, winces, then sets the mug down. "I'm going to be blunt because I've been awake since four AM and I don't have energy for diplomacy. The Titans are overwhelmed. We've been doing search and rescue all morning - car accidents, people stuck without power, a couple medical emergencies where ambulances couldn't get through. And now we're getting reports of break-ins from last night. Fifteen, last I checked."

  "Fourteen when I counted," Maxwell says. "Must have gotten another report."

  "Fifteen. All commercial properties. All in the same general area." She gestures vaguely northeast, beginning to fiddle with the sugar and cream. "All during the window when power was out and the snow was worst. That's not random."

  "It's not," I agree. "We've been mapping it."

  Maxwell turns his laptop so she can see. The markers, the expansion model, the predicted corridors. Sundial leans forward, studying it with the intensity of someone who's used to reading tactical information. "I helped!" my Dad says, almost sheepishly enthusiastic.

  "You helped?" she asks, glancing at the projection lines that follow commercial corridors instead of radiating outward. "Impressive. This is all Greek to me."

  "He pointed out they'd follow infrastructure," I say. "Bus routes, foot traffic patterns."

  "Smart." She traces a finger along Cottman Avenue on the screen. "This matches what we've been seeing. They're not random thugs - they're organized. But here's the thing." She sits back, exhales. "Fifteen break-ins. Non-violent. All probably insured properties. During a blizzard that gave everyone plausible cover."

  "What does that mean?" I ask, but I can see my Dad and Maxwell already sort of figuring it out individually while my Mom works on coffee for the impromptu strategy meaning.

  "It means nobody cares," Maxwell says for me before my brain can catch up.

  "I'm saying no one with resources cares." Her voice is flat, tired. "I made calls this morning. You know what I got? 'Sounds like a local police matter.' 'File reports and let insurance handle it.' 'We're stretched thin with the storm.' Even the Delaware Valley Defenders - no offense, Maxwell - are triaging. This doesn't rate."

  Maxwell doesn't look offended. "She's right. I've been trying to get attention on this all morning. Councilman Davis is sympathetic but doesn't have operational resources. The Defenders are spread across the whole city dealing with storm aftermath. And the feds..." He shrugs his good shoulder. "Bigger problems."

  "It's an apocalypse," my Mom says, bringing a small mug of coffee for me also, with so much cream and sugar it's basically a steaming blonde syrup.

  "It's just a couple of break-ins," Sundial downplays, running a hand through her hair.

  "No, I mean... In the original sense. A biblical apocalypse. An unveiling, not the end of the world," she clarifies. "The chips start going down, and you get to see where all the fault lines are."

  She sounds a lot angrier about it than my Dad does. "Black, please, thank you," Maxwell quietly murmurs, prompting her to head back to the coffee pot.

  "You're on your own," Dad says.

  "We're on our own." Sundial picks up her coffee again. "Which is why I'm here. I know Sam's retired. I know she's got legal complications." A glance at my ankle. "But I also know she runs the Auditors, and I know they're good at intelligence work. We need coordination. We need coverage. Every block one of your people can watch is a block my team doesn't have to spread thinner to cover."

  "I'll text them," I say, pulling out my phone. "Let me see where everyone's at."

  I scroll up through the Auditors chat from last night. After the video call ended, there was more planning:

  Maggie: hey so the forecast keeps getting worse

  Maggie: like way worse

  Lily: Yeah I'm seeing that. 8-12 inches now?

  Amelia: This is weird. It was 4-6 an hour ago.

  Maggie: im coming up tonight

  Lily: Maggie it's already snowing

  Maggie: exactly. if i wait until tomorrow i wont be able to get there at all

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  Maggie: im taking the BSL up and then the El. ill be at your place by like 10 if the trains are still running

  Amelia: I'm already at Lily's. We were studying.

  Lily: You can crash here Maggie. Mom won't mind.

  Maggie: perfect

  Maggie: tasha you good?

  Tasha: I'm home. Not going anywhere in this.

  Maggie: sam?

  Sam: Home. Maxwell's here. Parents know everything now. Sort of.

  Maggie: ok. we ride at dawn or whatever

  That was around 9 PM. Then this morning:

  Lily: Holy shit

  Lily: We got like 2 feet

  Amelia: Roads are impassable. We're not going anywhere.

  Maggie: CALLED IT

  Tasha: Same here. Snow up to my knees in the yard.

  Tasha: My mom's freaking out. Three more people came by this morning offering "snow removal services." She told them to fuck off.

  Sam: How much did they want?

  Tasha: $200. For a sidewalk and front steps.

  Lily: That's insane

  Tasha: That's the point

  I look up at Sundial. "I've got three people stuck in Bridesburg - they went there last night before the storm hit. Maggie had a feeling it was going to be worse than forecast."

  "Smart," Sundial says.

  "They can cover that section of Northeast Philly. I can get them in contact with your team, get everyone on the same channel."

  "That would help. What about locally?"

  "Tasha's, like, two blocks away. She can coordinate from there. And I..." I trail off. Ankle monitor. Legal situation. Stay out of trouble.

  "You're stuck," Sundial finishes.

  "I'm stuck."

  Mom speaks up for the first time since offering coffee. "She could check on neighbors. Walk the block. That's not vigilante activity - that's just being a good neighbor."

  Sundial looks at me. "Would that help? Having eyes on your immediate area?"

  "Every block I can cover is one you don't need to worry about," I say. "And people here know me. They'll talk to me."

  "Then do that. Stay in contact. Report anything you see." She finishes her coffee and stands. "I need to get back out there. Moonshot's doing a sweep of the Cottman corridor, Sandman's coordinating from our base, and Compass and Bubble are handling the residential check-ins. We're thin, but we're covering ground. There's homeless who need blankets. Lots of exposed people out in Kensington, we're trying to coordinate with individual vigilantes. Not every neighborhood has a team. It's..."

  "It's a lot of ground to cover," Mom finishes for her.

  We exchange contact information - phone numbers, a shared channel she sets up that links the Titans' communication network with ours. Maxwell patches in the Auditors remotely. Within ten minutes, we've got a functional joint operation running.

  "One more thing," Sundial says at the door. "If this is who we think it is - if this is Kingdom making a move - they've been smart so far. No violence. No confrontations. Just property crime and 'helpful' security offers. That's calculated. They don't want heat."

  "Yet," I say.

  "Yet." She pulls her scarf back on. "Stay safe, Sam. I'll be in touch."

  She heads out into the snow. I watch her go, then turn back to my parents and Maxwell.

  "I'm going outside," I say.

  Dad opens his mouth, probably to object, but Mom puts a hand on his arm.

  "Call Caldwell first," she says. "Make sure it's allowed."

  Okay. That's reasonable. I call Caldwell. He picks up on the third ring, sounding like he's already had a long morning.

  "Sam. Everything okay?"

  "Yeah. I wanted to check - I'm not leaving my block, but can I walk around? Check on neighbors? There were break-ins last night and people are stressed."

  A pause. I can practically hear him weighing the legal implications.

  "You're not engaging in any vigilante activity."

  "I'm walking around my neighborhood and talking to people I've known my whole life."

  "And if you see something criminal happening?"

  "I call the cops like a normal person and stay out of it."

  Another pause. "Don't make me regret this, Sam."

  It's a sentence that sounds uncharacteristically world-weary coming out of him. All the joy surgically extracted. "I won't," I affirm.

  He hangs up. I look at Maxwell. "Anything I should know?"

  He grabs a couple of half-dollars from his pockets and flips them in sequence, almost like a juggler. Catching, then checking, one after another. Sequence after sequence. Then: "Nothing I can see. Be careful anyway."

  I layer up - coat, boots, hat, gloves. The ankle monitor is a hard lump under my thermal pants, impossible to forget. Mom hands me a thermos of hot chocolate without being asked.

  "For the neighbors," she says. "Mrs. Patterson's been alone since her husband passed. She might appreciate a check-in."

  "Thanks, Mom."

  The cold hits me as soon as I step outside. Sixteen inches of snow transforms a neighborhood. The street is a white canyon, cars buried, sidewalks partially shoveled in a patchwork of effort. Mr. Okafor from three doors down is working on his walk with a shovel that's seen better days. Across the street, the Delgado kids are building something that might be a snowman or might be a snow fort.

  I wave to Mr. Okafor. He waves back, pausing to catch his breath. "Sam! You okay? Heard there was some trouble on the news."

  "I'm fine, Mr. Okafor. You need help with that?"

  "I'm almost done. But thank you." He grins. "Good to see you out. We were worried."

  I make my way down the block, stopping to check in with people. Mrs. Patterson is fine - her nephew came over to shovel, and she's got enough food to last a week. The Nguyens' power came back around the same time as ours. Mr. and Mrs. Chen - no relation to Lily's parents - are concerned about their restaurant on Cottman - no relationship to the Golden Panda, either. They haven't been able to get there yet to check the damage.

  "There were break-ins," I tell them carefully. "Businesses on the commercial streets. You might want to call your insurance."

  Mrs. Chen's face goes tight. "We heard. On the news. They said it was 'storm-related opportunism.'" The way she says it makes clear what she thinks of that framing.

  "If you need anything, let me know."

  She nods, not quite meeting my eyes. I wonder if she's gotten the protection pitch yet. I wonder if she's considering it.

  I'm rounding the corner onto the cross street when I see someone walking towards me with purpose, like a torpedo. There's a certain sort of blunt-forwardness that people on a collision course give. The way he's looking at me and not at the ground around me. The chest leaning forward. Then,

  "Sam." He's slightly out of breath, like he's been walking fast. "I was coming to find you."

  He pulls his scarf down. Alex. Kirby, not Garcia.

  "School's cancelled," I say, which is a stupid thing to say but my brain is still catching up. "What, everyone need me for something today? You need extra power tutoring? It's kind of a bad time for that."

  "Yeah, I noticed." He glances around - checking for observers, I realize. "Can we talk? Not here. Somewhere more private."

  "My house is right there."

  "I know." Of course he knows. He's been to group meetings. "But there's people there, right? Your parents?" He pulls something from inside his jacket - a manila folder, thick with papers. "I've got information. About what's happening. The break-ins, the guys on corners, all of it. And I've got a plan."

  "Alex--"

  "I'm not asking permission." His voice is steady, certain in a way that makes my stomach tighten. "I'm going to do something about this. Tonight, while they're still cleaning up from the storm and think they got away clean. The question is whether you're coming with me or not."

  I stare at him. The folder in his hands. The set of his jaw.

  "Where did you get that information?" I ask.

  "Does it matter?" He replies.

  "Yes."

  He hesitates. Just for a second. "I've been doing reconnaissance. For a while now. Since before--" He stops. "Since I heard about what happened. With the impersonator. With you."

  "You've been doing reconnaissance."

  "Someone had to."