My heart's pounding in my ears as we sprint through the dimly lit streets of Tacony, our footsteps echoing off the rows of closed-up shops, dark tenements, and vacant trash-strewn lots. A heat wave's haze hangs in the air, clogging my nose with the smell of warm garbage as I suck in desperate gulps of breath - my lungs are already burning, my palms soaked in sweat.

It's been only five, maybe ten agonizingly long seconds since we started running, and all I can focus on is the raw ache in my leg where Deathgirl stabbed me two months ago. Without my regeneration, the pain's intense enough to make me nauseous - a sharp, biting agony that threatens to lock up my knee every time my foot slaps the pavement. I didn't realize how much I'd come to depend on my body being tougher, how fast and how hard I could push myself without consequences.

Right now, the only thing keeping me moving is sheer adrenaline and the fear of what'll happen if that Zero guy catches us. Guess I'm having that 'let's throw Sam in the deep end of superhero training' montage I've been putting off for most of a year. Ha ha.

Behind me, I can hear Maggie's ragged breathing as she struggles to keep up. She's slightly younger, smaller, and nowhere near as athletic as me even without my powers - I know I'm setting a punishing pace, but we don't have a choice. We've gotta put as much distance between us and Zero's goons as we can before they figure out how to cut us off or corner us.

I risk a glance over my shoulder and immediately wish I hadn't. Half a block back, I can see a couple of Zero's cronies - the ones in those stupid yellow bandanas - fanning out across the street, clearly trying to flank us. They're not even running hard, more like a self-satisfied jog. They know they've got us.

Further back, under the orange sodium glow of a streetlight, I catch a glimpse of Zero himself. He's just... standing there, watching, his hands in the pockets of his stupid detective cosplay coat. Like he doesn't even need to chase us himself. Like he's just waiting for us to tire ourselves out, run down like animals so his lackeys can pounce. He takes a step forward, but it feels lazy, unfulfilled. Just putting in the bare minimum effort to keep us in his radius.

The sight sends a fresh jolt of fear and anger through me, dulling the pain in my leg just long enough for me to put on an extra burst of speed. My breath is coming in harsh, ragged pants, sawing at my throat. My heart feels like it's about to explode in my chest, but I can't stop. I won't. I didn't survive being impaled, shot at, and irradiated only to end up being assaulted by some Humphrey Bogart wannabe son of a bitch with the world's smuggest face. No. Fuck. That.

"Sam," Maggie gasps out from behind me, her voice strained and thready with exhaustion, "where... where are we going?"

Good question. I've been running on pure instinct, letting my legs carry me through the neighborhood I grew up around, but we can't keep this up forever. Sooner or later, we're going to hit a dead end, or they're going to catch up to us, or my leg is going to give out entirely. I need a plan, and I need it now.

Think, Sam. Think. We need somewhere to hide, somewhere they won't think to look for us. Somewhere we can catch our breath and figure out-

Suddenly, Jordan's face flashes through my mind. Jordan, and the music hall. It's perfect - off the beaten path, easy to secure, and most importantly, not a place anyone would ever think to look for a couple of teenage superheroes.

There's just one problem. Leading Zero and his goons there runs the risk of compromising our whole operation. Jordan's safety, our equipment, everything we've been working towards. Can I really make that call, put all of that at risk?

Another burst of pain lances up my leg as my foot comes down hard on a bit of uneven sidewalk. I stumble, nearly falling, and in that moment of distraction, one of Zero's followers - a woman, I think - lunges out of a narrow alley. Her fingers just barely brush the back of Maggie's coat before I yank the younger girl forward, putting myself between her and the yellow-masked figure.

"Back off, lady!" I snarl, trying to sound tough instead of terrified. "Don't you have anything better to do than chase kids around in the dark?"

The woman doesn't answer, just keeps coming at us with single-minded determination, arms outstretched like something out of a cheesy zombie movie. I shove Maggie ahead of me and stand my ground, fists clenched, ready to fight if I have to. I know I can't win, not without my powers, but maybe I can buy Maggie enough time to get away...

Suddenly, the woman jerks to a halt, head cocked like she's listening to something. After a second, she turns on her heel and darts back down the alley she came from, yellow bandana tail flapping behind her.

I don't question it, just grab Maggie's hand and start running again, ignoring her yelp of surprise. "Come on," I pant, "we've gotta keep moving."

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We run.

Shops and businesses give way to narrow alleys and tightly-packed townhomes as we veer into progressively more residential territory. I know this area pretty well, having grown up not too far from Wissahickon Avenue and it being largely a part of Jordan's stomping grounds for robbing criminals, but it's never seemed this endless before - this labyrinthine. Every corner I turn, every shadowy side street I duck down, I expect to see Zero or one of his masked morons waiting for us. And sometimes they are. It's hard to keep track of geography when you're freaking out.

My leg is on fire, my lungs are burning, and I'm pretty sure I'm leaving a trail of sweat behind me like some kind of gross, overheated snail. But I don't slow down, even as my vision starts to blur at the edges and the pain in my leg seems to melt into a single, pulsing throb.

I'm so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that I almost don't notice when the pain starts to ease - almost. It's gradual at first, the sharp agony fading into a duller, more manageable ache. My head clears a bit, too, the pounding behind my eyes receding to a low throb.

I risk a glance down at my hands, hope and disbelief warring in my chest. Is it possible...?

"Hey," Maggie says from beside me, sounding as surprised as I feel, "did your powers just... come back?"

Experimentally, I concentrate on pushing a tooth - just a little one - out of my gums, something I've done thousands of times before. It's easier inside my mouth.

There's a familiar pressure, a brief sting, and then the tooth is poking through the tissue, sharp and glistening with saliva.

Holy shit. We must be out of Zero's range. Either he stopped chasing us, or we actually managed to give him the slip.

"Oh thank god," I breathe, relief washing over me in a dizzying wave.

Maggie, clearly starting to test her own abilities, hovers in place for a moment and then does a backflip in midair, giggling in a giddy rush of adrenaline and relief. "Holy crap, we did it! We got away!"

I nod, allowing myself a small, exhausted grin. "Yeah, looks like. Come on, let's not jinx it. The Music Hall's not much further."

The last few blocks pass in a blur. I'm moving on autopilot, my brain fuzzy with exhaustion and the ebbing remains of that fight-or-flight adrenaline high. All I can think about is getting somewhere safe, somewhere I can collapse and not move for a week.

When the looming brick edifice of the Music Hall finally comes into view, I nearly cry with relief. It looks abandoned as ever, a graffiti-strewn relic from a bygone era of this neighborhood. It's so still that, to the untrained eye (or in the dark of night), it could almost look like it was literally abandoned yesterday, and the squatters only got as far as painting the doors before they were kicked out.

I'm slightly taken aback at how welcoming I'm finding those barred-up windows and cracked concrete steps. Amazing what being chased by mask-wearing psychos will do to your sense of home sweet home.

"Come on," I mutter to Maggie, ushering her towards the narrow gated alleyway between the Hall and the boarded-up shop next door. "Watch your step. Jordan likes to put caltrops in here sometimes, just in case someone's snuck in and is hiding."

Once we reach the end of the alley, I fumble under my costume for the key Jordan gave me, my fingers clumsy and trembling with exhaustion, but when I can't find it I just start punching numbers into the electronic lock, running on muscle memory. It takes me three tries to get it, and I'm sure I look like the world's worst superhero as I slump against the door, panting like I've just run a marathon.

"Sam," Maggie says, her voice suddenly urgent, "do you hear that?"

I freeze, straining my ears. For a moment, all I can hear is the rapid thump of my own heart and the distant sounds of the city - cars, sirens, the occasional barking dog.

Then I hear it. Footsteps, coming closer. Voices, low and indistinct but getting louder. Zero and his gang, or just some random late-night passersby? I'm not about to wait around to find out.

I jerk into motion, shoving the door open with a whine of rusted hinges. "Inside, now," I hiss, practically yanking Maggie over the threshold. She stumbles a bit, her own exhaustion clearly catching up with her, but recovers quickly and darts into the dark, echoing expanse of the Music Hall's atrium, a circular room with a mosaic of black and white diamonds on the floor.

I'm right behind her, pulling the door shut and doing up the latch, sliding the bolt until the door is secured tight. It's an old, heavy thing, solid wood and cast iron from the days when the Music Hall was a prestigious venue for shows, and it closes with a resounding thunk.

For a moment, we just stand there in the darkness, the only sound our labored breathing. My skin prickles with the sense of open space around us, the smell of dust and old wood and that particular musty scent unique to abandoned buildings.

Then Maggie whispers, "What now?" her voice small and shaky, and I'm dragged into the present again. We may be out of imminent danger, but we're definitely, definitely not out of this mess.

The flashlight on my phone clicks on, casting our shadows huge and distorted against the walls. I sweep the beam around, getting my bearings. Jordan's converted dressing rooms and green rooms into sleeping quarters, storage, and workspace. Like a hotel for wayward superteens.

"This way," I say, projecting a confidence I definitely don't feel. "We've got some cots set up in one of the old rehearsal rooms. It's not exactly the Hilton, but it'll be a good place to let our powers rest and... figure out what the fuck just happened. Jordan's either out and about or upstairs and already knows we're here. There's cameras."

Maggie nods, her face drawn and pale in the harsh light of the phone. "Okay. Lead the way, Bloodhound."

She's trying to sound brave, but I can hear the tremor of fear and exhaustion in her voice.

But right now, as we carefully make our way deeper into the darkened halls of our secret hideout, listening intently for any sound of pursuit, her using my codename just makes me feel like a fraud. What kind of hero leads a kid into danger like this? What kind of hero keeps putting the only life they've built for themselves at risk for reasons that I, at least, definitely never signed on for? And what kind of hero can't even protect their mentee from some wannabe Johnny Dollar with a power-canceling hard-on?

But everything's gonna be fine. We're gonna catch our breath, get Maggie some water, and then... then we'll figure out our next move.