The walk to the pier is quiet, save for the distant sound of waves and the occasional seagull cry. Pop-Pop Moe leads the way, his shoulders hunched against the cool evening breeze. Abigail trails behind, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. I'm stuck in the middle, feeling like I'm walking a tightrope between two very different worlds.

Just when I think I can't take the silence anymore, Pop-Pop Moe clears his throat. "You know," he says, his voice soft but clear, "this reminds me of a story about your great-grandfather Elijah."

Abigail and I exchange a tired glance. We've heard plenty of stories about Great-Grandpa Eli over the years, but something in Pop-Pop's tone tells me this one's different.

"Dad never talked much about his childhood," Pop-Pop continues, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "But I know it wasn't easy. He came over on a boat when he was just a kid, maybe six or seven. His parents sent him to live with family friends – the Smalls. That's how Elijah Berdichevsky became Elijah Small."

I try to imagine it – a little boy, alone on a big ship, sailing towards a new life with a new name. It makes my chest ache. Abigail looks equally thoughtful, her earlier anger softening around the edges. When you're at a table with a bunch of drunken adults, it's easy to raise your voice to match them, but now, in public, on the sidewalk, I feel like she can't bring herself to interrupt. And neither can I.

"Wait, what?" Abigail interrupts. "I thought we were, like, always Smalls."

Pop-Pop Moe chuckles, but it's a sad sound. "Nah, kiddo. The 'Small' part came later. See, Eli was sent over here as a little kid, maybe seven or eight. His parents – your great-great-grandparents – they sent him to live with some family friends. The Smalls. They adopted him, gave him their name."

"What happened to his parents?" I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer. "Or the other Smalls?"

Pop-Pop Moe shrugs, his eyes distant. "We don't know for sure. They just... disappeared. Like so many others back then. They vanished into the history books."

We walk in silence for a few more steps, letting that sink in. Then Pop-Pop continues.

"Anyway, Eli grew up, started the hardware store, built a life for himself. But then, when I was growing up, something happened that nearly tore it all apart."

"What?" Abigail and I ask in unison.

"The House Un-American Activities Committee," Pop-Pop Moe says, his voice tight. "They started investigating Eli. Suspected him of being a communist sympathizer."

"Holy shit," Abigail breathes. "Why?"

Pop-Pop Moe shakes his head. "I never really understood why. Maybe it was because he was an immigrant. Maybe it was because he was Jewish. Maybe it was just bad luck. But suddenly, everything Eli had worked for was at risk. The store, our family's reputation, all of it."

I try to imagine it – Great-Grandpa Eli, who I only know from old photos and family stories, facing down government investigators. It's like trying to picture a character from a history book suddenly stepping into real life.

"That must have been terrifying," I say quietly.

Pop-Pop Moe nods. "It was. I was just a kid then, but I remember how scared my parents were. How the neighbors would whisper when we walked by. It... it changes you, experiencing something like that."

We've reached the pier now, the weathered wood creaking under our feet. Pop-Pop Moe pauses, leaning against the railing and looking out at the ocean.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is... I understand why you're angry with me, both of you. And you have every right to be. But I want you to understand where I was coming from when I took that job with Daedalus. After what happened to my father, all I wanted was to keep my family safe. To give you all the security and stability that we almost lost."

He turns to face us, his eyes pleading. "I thought I was doing the right thing. Protecting people from those with powers who might hurt them. But I was wrong. I see that now. And I've spent every day since trying to make up for it."

Abigail's silent for a long moment, her face a storm of emotions. Finally, she speaks. "I get it, Pop-Pop. I do. But... god, a supervillain prison? It's just... it's a lot to process."

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She's got a point. But I'm more curious about her, right now.

"Hey, Abby," I say, nudging her with my elbow. "You never did tell us what happened to your face. Was it... was it at a protest?"

Abigail winces, then nods. "Yeah. Things got... ugly. But I'm okay. Really."

Pop-Pop Moe looks at her, his eyes full of concern. "Abigail, honey... you know you can always come to me if you need help, right? No matter what."

She nods, but doesn't meet his eyes. "I know, Pop-Pop. Thanks."

We stand there for a moment, the three of us, the sound of the waves filling the silence. Then Pop-Pop Moe turns to Abigail, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Say, Abby... can you keep a secret?"

Abigail snorts. "Of course I can. I'm a communist *and* a journalist, remember?"

Pop-Pop Moe chuckles. "Alright, Che Guevara. Well, I've got a big one for you. It's about Sam here..."

"Hey," I begin to protest, about to say that it's not his right to tattle about my secret identity like that.

Abigail's got this weird look on her face, like she's trying not to laugh or cry or maybe both. "Is this about Sam being Bloodhound? Because, uh... I already know."

Wait, what?

I feel like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. My mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound comes out. How? How could she possibly know?

Pop-Pop Moe looks as shocked as I feel. "You... you know? How?"

Abigail shrugs, looking a little sheepish. "I mean, it wasn't that hard to figure out. Sam is in the hospital for months with symptoms consistent with radiation poisoning, right when Illya Fedorov surrenders, and right when Bloodhound vanishes from the streets for six months? Plus, I did some digging into the court sketches and descriptions of Bloodhound. It all lined up."

She turns to me, her eyes searching my face. "And then there was the whole thing with your house getting destroyed by the Dino-Man of Trenton. I mean, T-Rexes aren't exactly wandering around modern-day Philly, you know? It didn't take a genius to connect the dots. You obviously pissed *someone* off."

I'm pretty sure my jaw is somewhere on the pier at this point. "I... you... what?"

"Maybe multiple someones," she muses, scrutinizing my expression. She doesn't sound mad, though. More impressed than anything else.

Pop-Pop Moe lets out a low whistle. "Way to undercut my big reveal, darling. I'm impressed."

Abigail grins, looking pleased with herself. "Thanks, Pop-Pop. I learned from the best, you know."

I finally manage to find my voice. "Abigail, you can't... you can't tell anyone about this. It's not just about me, it's about keeping my family safe, and-"

She holds up a hand, cutting me off. "Sam, relax. I'm not going to tell anyone. Journalistic integrity and all that. Plus, you know, family loyalty. Your secret's safe with me. Even if you were Uncle Herschel I wouldn't tell anyone."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Thanks, Abby. I... I don't know what to say."

Pop-Pop Moe clears his throat. "Well, we're here." He gestures out at the boat, gently rocking from side to side over the Atlantic ocean. "You know, I was thinking, maybe after this Tashlich we can finally get the boat repaired. You know, I intended to do it last year, but, well... your house, and everything else... Maybe I can put the regrets aside and we can go on another fishing trip, if you can stomach it. Flounder season."

I pop a worried, suddenly-sweaty eyebrow. "Repaired? What happened to it?"

Pop-Pop Moe looks at me like I have two heads, while Abigail leans in behind him. "You don't remember?"

I feel even more worried now. "Remember what?"

Pop-Pop Moe looks surprised. "I always assumed you did, and we just... didn't want to talk about it. You broke my boat, darling. When you got your powers, you had just become this snarling thing of the water, like a marlin, or a tuna, and you tore the engine apart. All red and meaty. It was quite a spectacle."

I shake my head, feeling a rush of guilt. "I had no idea. Pop-Pop, I'm so sorry. I'll pay for the repairs, I'll-"

He waves me off. "Don't worry about it, kiddo. I'm just glad you're okay. The boat... it's just a thing. You're what matters."

We stand there for a moment, the three of us, each lost in our own thoughts. Then Abigail breaks the silence.

"So... are we going to do this Tashlich thing or what?"

Pop-Pop Moe nods, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the ziploc bag of bread. "Right. Yes. Let's do this."

He hands each of us a handful of crumbs, then begins to recite the prayer. "God of our ancestors, be mindful of us as you once remembered our forebears at the shores of the Red Sea."

As we toss our bread crumbs into the water, watching them bob on the waves before sinking out of sight, I can't help but think about all the secrets we've just shared. Pop-Pop Moe's work on Daedalus, my own hidden identity and powers, Abigail's... knowing. And protesting. It's like we're casting away more than just our sins – we're letting go of the weight of everything we've been carrying.

"You know," Abigail says as we watch the last of the crumbs disappear, "I think Great-Grandpa Eli would be proud of us."

Pop-Pop Moe raises an eyebrow. "Oh? How so?"

She shrugs. "Well, we're all fighting for what we believe in, aren't we? In our own ways. Even if we don't always agree on the methods."

I think about that for a moment. About Pop-Pop Moe trying to make amends for his past mistakes. About Abigail using her journalism to expose injustice. About me, putting on a mask and trying to make the city a little bit safer.

"Yeah," I say finally. "I think you're right."

As we turn to head back, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, I feel... not better, exactly. But different.

Pop-Pop Moe throws an arm around each of our shoulders. "Come on, you two. Let's go see if Benji left us any of that apple strudel."

And just like that, we're chuckling, shaking, the tension of the day not gone, but a little bit lighter. Not perfect people, not flawless heroes, but real, complicated humans, trying their best to love each other and do the right thing, even when it's hard.

Especially when it's hard.