But even as I'm talking, even as I'm pouring my heart out on the stand, I can feel the telltale prickle at the back of my neck, the cold shiver down my spine that tells me danger is near. I've been trying to ignore it, trying to push through the rising tide of panic and dread that's been building inside me since the moment I sat down. But it's getting harder and harder to keep my composure, to keep myself from jumping at every sound and shadow, like a rabbit frozen in the thrall of a fox.

Every creak of the door is the gavel of doom about to fall. Every cough from the gallery is a gun pointed at my head, every rustle of paper is a grenade about to explode. I can feel the dizziness and nausea of the adrenaline starting to flow, the edges of my vision shimmering like a heat mirage - my spider-sense telling me that very very very very bad thing is about to happen but staying juuuuuust out of view.

Despite that, I keep talking. I have to. I promised.

"And what about the media?" Senator Wilson asks, his voice smooth and polished as a river stone. "How has their coverage influenced public perception of superhumans, in your view?"

I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. "I think… I think a lot of times, the media only shows one side of the story," I say carefully, my voice trembling a little. "Like, they'll focus on the flashy fights and the big disasters, but they won't talk about the everyday stuff, the small ways that superhumans make a difference. And that can make people scared, you know? It can make them think we're all just ticking time bombs waiting to go off." My voice drops low, uncertain, as my eyes dart towards the door, which seems to be vibrating even though I know it's completely stationary.

I can see some of the senators exchanging glances, their eyebrows raised in surprise or concern. But Senator Merkley leans forward, his face creased with sympathy. "Is everything alright, young lady? You seem a bit… on edge."

My head buzzes with a sudden electricity, a sudden certainty that something is about to happen. My whole body quivers, my eyes widening like saucers behind my visor. Any possibility for subtlety or secrecy is gone. I'm not even aware that I've started to hyperventilate.

But then… nothing. The moment passes, the tension draining away like water through a sieve. I'm left feeling shaky and foolish, my cheeks burning with embarrassment beneath my helmet. "I… I'm sorry," I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's just… it's been a lot, you know? All of this, the whole…" I wave my hand vaguely, not sure how to put it into words.

Senator Merkley nods, his eyes soft with understanding. "Of course. Take your time, we're almost done here."

I swallow hard, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. "I guess… I guess I just want people to see us as people, you know? Not just as powers or threats or… or anything else. Just… people." My voice breaks a little on the last word, and I have to blink back the sudden rush of tears that threatens to overwhelm me.

There's a long moment of silence, a held breath that seems to stretch out forever. And then Senator Gantt clears his throat, his voice gentle but firm. "Thank you, Mrs. Bloodhound. I think that's all we have for you today."

I nod jerkily, my heart pounding in my throat as I rise unsteadily from my chair. "Thank you," I mumble, not sure who exactly I'm thanking or for what.

And then I'm stumbling out of the room, my legs shaking and my head spinning as I try to remember how to breathe. The doors are mercifully closed behind me and the cool, crisp air of the hallway is a balm on my flushed skin. I'd rather be literally anywhere else than where I am right now. Literally anywhere. Please, Houdini, appear before me and show me the way.

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"You did great, kid," says a gruff voice, from somewhere behind me, and I jump a little, my heart leaping into my throat.

But it's just one of the aides, a stout, middle-aged man with a kind face and a receding hairline. He's holding out a bottle of water, his eyes crinkled with concern. "Here, drink this. You look like you could use it."

I take the bottle with shaking hands, fumbling with the cap as I try to unscrew it. "Thanks," I mutter, taking a long, grateful gulp. It tastes like plastic and minerals, but it's the best damn thing I've ever had.

"So?" he says after a moment, his voice low and conspiratorial. "How do you think it went in there?"

I shrug helplessly, feeling suddenly very small and very young. "I… I don't know," I say honestly, my voice ragged and raw. "I feel like I said what I needed to say, but… but I don't know if it'll make a difference. If any of it will."

He nods sagely, his eyes distant and thoughtful. "That's the thing about all this," he says, waving his hand in a vague, all-encompassing gesture. "You never really know what's going to stick, what's going to change things. All you can do is keep showing up, keep telling your truth. And hope that eventually, if you say it enough times, to enough people… something will give."

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words settling on my shoulders like a mantle. "Yeah," I whisper, my voice thin and thready. "I guess that's all any of us can do, huh?"

He smiles, a small, sad thing that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Welcome to Washington, kid."

And then he's gone, disappeared back into the labyrinthine halls of power, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my fears and my fragile, flickering hopes.

I don't have long to brood, though, before I'm being hustled off to some secure room deep in the bowels of the building, a cramped little room with bare white walls and two gently flickering fluorescent lights and a vending machine. They tell me to change out of my costume, to put on the clothes they've brought for me. A plain black hoodie, a pair of jeans, sneakers that are a size too big. The uniform of anonymity, of invisibility. I almost feel like the world's weirdest VIP.

I shed my armor, watching reality pixelate in the corners of my eyes, peeling away the layers of Kevlar and leather and sweat-stained cotton until I'm just Sam again, just a skinny little girl with bruises on her skin and fear in her eyes. It doesn't feel as good as it should. It feels like I'm even more exposed, now.

And then we're moving again, through a warren of tunnels and stairwells, my eyes blinking owlishly in the sudden glare of daylight as we emerge into a loading dock somewhere on the edge of the Capitol complex. There's a black SUV waiting for us, its engine idling and its windows tinted dark.

My parents are there, their faces pale and drawn as they wrap me in fierce, desperate hugs. They hold me like they're afraid I might disappear if they let go, like I might crumble into dust and ashes right there in their arms.

"You were so brave," my mom whispers, her voice choked with tears. "So brave and so strong and so… so…"

"You did good, kiddo," my dad says gruffly, ruffling my hair with a trembling hand. "Real good."

I lean into their embrace, feeling the warmth of their bodies seeping into my bones, thawing the icy numbness that's been building there all day. And for a moment, just a moment, I let myself believe that it's true. That I was brave, that I was strong, that I did something that mattered.

Even if I'm not sure I believe it myself.

The ride back to the train station is a blur, a smear of gray skies and rain-slicked streets and the distant, muffled hum of the city beyond the car's windows. I don't try to talk to my parents, don't try to fill the silence with empty chatter or forced cheer. I just lean my head against the cool glass and watch the world go by, feeling the weight of everything that's happened settling onto my shoulders like a leaden cloak.

At some point, I must drift off, my exhaustion finally catching up with me in a rush of dark and dreamless sleep. Because the next thing I know, we're pulling into Union Station, the grand old building looming over us like a cathedral in the misty twilight.

My dad puts a gentle hand on my shoulder, startling me awake. "We're here, Sam," he says softly, his eyes kind and worried behind his glasses.

I nod groggily, rubbing at my eyes with the heel of my hand. "Okay," I mumble, my voice thick and slurred with sleep. "Wake me back up when we get to Philly."