The Music Hall looks emptier than I've ever seen it, even though most of Jordan's stuff is still technically here. There's just something about the packing boxes, the empty spots on the walls where their weird tech diagrams used to hang, the general sense of in-between. It's like when you're moving apartments and suddenly the place you've lived in for years becomes just a structure, not a home. Jordan's home for nearly two years, longer than it's been mine.

  I try to focus on sorting through a box of surveillance hardware that's half-disassembled on the floor instead of feeling weird about it. I've been having a persistent little headache the past couple of days, and my fingers keep wanting to drum on every surface. I need to be doing something all the time or I feel like I'm about to crawl out of my skin. Moreso than usual.

  "Have you seen the blue external hard drive?" Jordan calls from somewhere behind a mountain of cardboard boxes.

  "Nope," I answer, untangling a web of cords that somehow managed to braid themselves together. "Ask Lily."

  Lily doesn't look up from her laptop on the folding table. "It's in the Faraday room with the rest of the drives."

  "Told you," I mutter to no one in particular.

  On the projector screen—which is actually just the wall, but whatever—Brad Pitt is currently beating the crap out of Edward Norton. Fight Club was Jordan's choice, obviously. Something about their "last movie night" requiring a proper sendoff. All I can think about watching it is Kate's fist connecting with my jaw, the basketball court rough against my back. I pull my focus back to the cords in my hands, ignoring the phantom taste of blood in my mouth.

  "For a bunch of secret vigilantes, you nerds have way too much shit," Derek observes from his spot against the wall, leather jacket creaking as he shifts his weight. He checks his watch for the third time in ten minutes. Sunset's still five hours away, but Derek's always paranoid about transformation timing. Can't blame him, really.

  "Says the guy who keeps a literal cage in his apartment," Jordan shoots back, emerging with an armful of tangled christmas lights I didn't even know we had.

  "That's a safety precaution," Derek says, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. "This is just hoarding."

  "It's not hoarding if it's organized," Maggie pipes up from where she's labeling boxes with Jordan's absurdly detailed system. "And if it's all necessary for fighting crime."

  "Is any of this necessary?" Derek gestures vaguely around the room. "Last time I checked, criminals didn't give a shit about color-coded filing systems."

  "Remind me again why you're here?" I ask, not unkindly. Derek's been AWOL for weeks, which isn't unusual, but his presence at what Jordan insists isn't a going-away party (it absolutely is) stands out.

  Derek shrugs one shoulder. "Free food."

  "You brought the food," Lily points out.

  "Doesn't make it not free," he replies, reaching for another slice of pizza from the stack of boxes on the side table. I don't question his logic out loud.

  The door to the hall creaks open, and Connor has to duck to avoid hitting his head on the frame. He always does this exaggerated limbo move instead of just bending normally, which makes sense given his powers, but looks ridiculous every time. His lankiness seems more pronounced than ever in a button-up shirt that's almost nice enough to qualify as formal.

  "Am I late?" he asks, clutching a shoebox-sized package wrapped in newspaper.

  Jordan freezes mid-cable coil, their face doing that thing where they're trying not to look too excited but failing completely. "You're right on time."

  There's a weird tension in the room suddenly. Didn't they break up?

  "Didn't you guys break up?" Maggie asks.

  Connor twists his neck at an uncomfortable looking angle to stare at Maggie. "No? I've just been busy with alternative school."

  Like five different people (one, two, three, four... five, yes) turn to stare at Jordan, me included. Jordan laughs sheepishly and runs their hands through their hair. It doesn't look particularly ashamed. "I said 'it's complicated', not, 'we broke up', guys."

  Several furrowed brows ensue.

  "Stop looking at me so I can kiss my boyfriend, assholes," Jordan grumbles.

  I keep my focus on the cords, giving them at least the illusion of privacy. Not that there's much privacy to be had in a room full of people pretending not to watch your reunion.

  "You look..." Jordan starts, then stops, apparently unable to find the right word.

  "Clean," Connor supplies with a self-conscious grin. He does look cleaner than I remember, hair cut in a style that actually seems intentional rather than grown out of necessity.

  "I was going to say 'different'," Jordan says, "but clean works too."

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Connor holds out the shoebox. "I found some of your stuff at my place."

  "You didn't have to—"

  "I wanted to."

  I meet Lily's eyes across the room, and we share a moment of silent agreement to suddenly find our tasks extremely interesting. Maggie, lacking any such subtlety, just stares openly, chin propped in her hands.

  "How's the, uh, alternative program going?" Jordan asks as they accept the box, setting it on a nearby table without opening it.

  "It's school," Connor says with a shrug that travels all the way up his impossibly long torso. "They make me do math and shit. The foster family's cool though. They don't freak out when I fold myself into the laundry hamper to hide from chores."

  "You'd think they'd check the hamper first," Lily comments.

  "They do now," Connor says with a grin.

  Derek snorts. "Guess MIT isn't the only one leveling up the education game," he says, somehow making it sound like an insult and a compliment at the same time.

  "Speaking of which," Amelia says, finally emerging from whatever organizational black hole she'd disappeared into, "does everyone understand their system access going forward?"

  Jordan immediately launches into what I've come to think of as their "tech sermon" voice. "Right! So the central server will stay here, but I've set up remote access through a VPN tunnel that routes through—"

  "English," I interrupt. "Use your English words."

  They sigh, the way they always do when us mere mortals can't keep up with their brain. "I can access everything from MIT, Sam has full admin privileges here, and the rest of you have specific access levels based on need."

  "Wait, Sam has admin privileges?" Maggie asks, eyes widening. "Like, all of them?"

  "Someone has to run things when I'm gone," Jordan says like it's obvious. "She has the lease, she might as well have the passwords."

  Everyone turns to look at me, and I suddenly find myself extremely interested in a particularly tangled cord. "It's not a big deal," I mutter.

  "It kind of is," Lily says. "You're officially in charge now."

  "I was never officially in charge," Jordan protests.

  "Bullshit," Derek coughs into his fist.

  "Seconded," Connor adds.

  "You literally designed this whole operation," I point out. "You built the security system. You maintained the servers. You—"

  "Created a beautiful, self-sustaining ecosystem that will flourish under new management," Jordan finishes with a flourish. "Which reminds me, bathroom's still acting up. Jiggle the handle if it acts funny."

  "You're really leaving us without a running toilet?" Maggie asks, incredulous.

  "Consider it my legacy," Jordan replies solemnly.

  On screen, Edward Norton is beating himself up in his boss's office. I wonder what Kate's doing right now, a few miles away, preparing for her own disappearing act. The same kind of leaving.

  "You know I don't know how to handle a computer, right?" I remind Jordan.

  "That's okay, Tasha knows. Where is Tasha?" Jordan asks, peeking around.

  "Getting her summer homework out of the way early," I answer. "Also, Tasha is like a gross medical fact nerd not a computer nerd."

  "Lame. And don't worry, at your age the two are largely interchangeable," Jordan points out.

  I scrunch my face up. I'm not sure that's true, actually.

  "Yo, where's the thumb drive with the copy of the encrypted Stheno data?" Jordan calls out, searching through a box labeled 'MISC TECH - CRUCIAL' in their precise handwriting.

  "The blue one or the red one?" I ask.

  "The—wait, there's a red one?" They pause, visibly concerned.

  "No, I'm fucking with you. Lily has it," I say, grinning as Jordan's face cycles through confusion to irritation to reluctant amusement.

  Lily holds up the drive in question. "Already backed up to the secure server."

  "And the, uh, other sample?" Amelia asks, glancing at me.

  "I have it," I reply. "Safe spot," under my bed.

  "So that's it then," Connor says, looking around at the half-packed room. "End of an era."

  "Not an end," Jordan corrects. "Just a... geographic redistribution."

  Derek rolls his eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out of his head. "Christ, listen to you. Three months at MIT and you'll be insufferable."

  "Bold of you to assume I'm not already insufferable," Jordan replies with a grin.

  "Fair point," Derek concedes, checking his watch again. "I should head out before the sun does. Transformation in the back of an Uber gets expensive."

  "Because of the cleaning fee?" Maggie asks.

  "Because of the therapy the driver needs afterward," he deadpans. "And the hospital bills."

  "Where have you been anyway?" I ask, seizing the opportunity. "We haven't seen you since the warehouse raid."

  Derek's expression shifts into something more guarded. "Around. Working. The usual."

  "Any luck finding Elias?" Connor asks.

  A shadow passes over Derek's face. "No," he says shortly.

  "You think he left Philly?" Jordan asks.

  "Or he's dead," Derek says flatly. "Either way, not my problem anymore. I've got rent to pay, and chasing ghosts doesn't exactly fill the bank account."

  The room falls silent, just the sounds of Fight Club's chaotic fight scenes filling the awkward gap. Derek has a way of doing that—dropping emotional bombshells and then acting like he just commented on the weather.

  "Well, on that cheerful note," Amelia says, clapping her hands together, "who wants cake?"

  "There's cake?" Maggie perks up immediately.

  "No, but there's more pizza," Amelia says, "and I think we could all use the distraction."

  "I would like some cake," Lily deadpans. "Please?"

  As everyone migrates toward the food, Jordan catches my eye and tilts their head toward the Faraday room. I follow, leaving the others to debate the merits of cold pizza versus reheated.

  Once inside with the door closed, Jordan's expression turns serious. "You good with all this?" they ask.

  "All what? You leaving? The admin privileges? The fact that Derek somehow made Elias's disappearance about his rent?"

  "Yes," Jordan says simply.

  I shrug, trying for nonchalance and probably missing by a mile. "Doesn't matter if I'm good with it. It's happening either way."

  "It matters to me," they say, earnest in that way that always makes me uncomfortable. Jordan shouldn't be earnest. Jordan should be sarcastic and technical and occasionally megalomaniacal. Melodramatic. Theatrical. Earnest doesn't suit them.

  "I'm fine," I say. "Really. It's a good opportunity for you. And it's not like you're dying. MIT has internet."

  "And phones," Jordan adds. "And trains that go both ways."

  "Exactly," I nod. "We'll figure it out."

  Jordan studies me for a moment, then nods like they've come to a decision. "You're going to be good at this, you know."

  "At what?"

  "Leading. Taking point. Being the Sam in charge instead of just Sam."

  I snort. "I think you have too much faith in me. I'm a terrible leader, you know that."

  "No, we both know you think you're a terrible leader," Jordan corrects. "There's a difference."

  They smile, but it doesn't quite reach their eyes. For a moment, I see the weight of their decision—leaving behind not just a place but a purpose, people who've become something like family. Or maybe it's just the thought of leaving me? Not sure. Indistinct.

  "Thanks," I say, unsure how else to respond.

  "No, thank you. For un-fucking me," Jordan replies.

  I raise an eyebrow, folding my arms over my chest. "Really?"

  Jordan pulls me into a hug, which is extremely uncharacteristic. They squeeze me, which is even weirder. Then, they let go. "Yeah. Duh."