"Yeah," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, I know a place. There's an old music hall in Tacony, totally abandoned, out by the Delaware River. Nice and private, totally off the grid."

Dev nods, a flicker of relief passing over his face. "Good. Meet us there in an hour. Come alone, and make sure you aren't followed."

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. "Okay."

But just as they turn to leave, Jason steps forward, his voice low and concerned. "Hold on just a goddamn minute," he murmurs, his face a mask of barely-contained anger, and something else a little more complex. "You can't just waltz in here after weeks of radio silence and expect us to let you walk out without a word, without any explanation or assurances. That's not how this works."

Akilah's face hardens, her eyes flashing with annoyance. "This isn't a negotiation," she snaps, her voice as cold and unyielding as a glacier. "Either Bee meets with us, or she doesn't. But either way, the information we have is too sensitive to share with anyone else. So if she wants in, she comes alone. End of story." She sets her jaw.

"But-" Jason tries to protest.

Akilah's face whips towards him like a snake attacking. "Whatever you think might've existed, whatever you assume entitles you to demand my time, it's not real," she says, and I feel something totally unspoken pass between them. "Consider us two concerned civilians coming in with a tip, and whom you otherwise have no connection to."

"Speak for yourself. I'm doing PI shit now. And, you know, college," Devonte clears the air, trying to wave some sort of diplomacy towards Jason before he explodes. "We're good. Don't worry about us. There's limits to what we could've been doing on the inside. Now there aren't."

"You don't… S… Bee needs- You can't-" Jason tries up again, like a chainsaw trying to rattle itself back to life.

"Shut up, all of you. Christ." I raise my voice, surprising myself with how forceful I sound. I see the three of them tense. "This isn't about you, Ramp. It's not a divorce. This is a stupid argument to be having when a fully grown adult beat the shit out of me on live TV and a third of the country wants to elect him as president." I say, my voice still shaky. "If Dev and Akilah came all this way, it means it's important. And I want to help if I can. Just like I know all of you would, if you were in my skin." I look around at the rest of the Young Defenders, feeling a swell of pride and affection and deep, deep annoyance for these weirdos, my weirdos. "I love you all. I told you, if it's necessary for you all to know I'll let you know. Civilian tipline is calling for Bloodhound. Chill out."

Jason huffs what might be a sigh. "Fine. You have two hours, then I want you to text me that you're okay. Got it?"

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. The gesture is a bit over-dramatic, but it's his way of worrying. He cares. "Got it, chief," I say, tossing off a half-assed salute that would get me torn apart by any real drill sergeant. "Try not to blow anything up while I'm gone."

And with that, I turn to follow Dev and Akilah out of the gym, my heart hammering in my chest and my mind racing with possibilities. All the worst ones, combining together into one catastrophic mega-hypothesis, totally divorced from reality. What could possibly be worth a scene like that?

I don't know. But I guess I'm about to find out. One way or another.

I shake my head, slipping out of the side entrance and into the maze of hallways that lead out of the building. First things first, I need to get home and change out of these sweaty workout clothes.

The trip back home to Mayfair goes fast, my mind buzzing like a beehive behind my eyes. Just last week this time I was in Congress. Just last week this time I was doing something that was supposed to change the course of history - something so special and important that everyone would have to stop and take notice.

It occurs to me, as I pack my helmet into a duffel bag, that people probably did notice. That's why this is happening.

I sigh, slinging the bag over my shoulder and locking up the house behind me. There's a bus that goes out to Tacony, but it only runs once an hour, and I don't have time to waste, and-- what am I, a child? It's a fifteen minute walk. I'm a trained athlete, among other things. I move fast and quiet, staying off the main roads and sticking to the shadows where I can. Just like Belle taught me, during those fragile last days. Back when things were simpler - or at least, when they felt simpler.

I follow the river, keeping the murky brown water to my left as I pick my way through abandoned lots and crumbling factories, the relics of a Philly that's long since faded away into working-class irrelevance. This part of town always makes me sad in a way I can't quite put into words - like I'm walking through a graveyard.

I wonder if that's how Dev and Akilah feel, looking at the state of the world today. Looking at people like Patriot and Egalitarian, with their shiny costumes and their big talk about law and order - as if they have any idea what real struggle looks like. Or maybe I'm just projecting my own thoughts onto this. I'm sure they'll rope me in.

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The Tacony Music Hall looms ahead of me like a tombstone, its faded brick façade crumbling and pockmarked with age. The windows are boarded up, the doors sealed tight with rusted chains - but I know better than to be fooled by appearances. Jordan's been putting in some extra elbow grease making the place look like a dilapidated shithole, but it's not like you can't see the neon LEDs on the inside if you look hard enough. Side entrance it is.

The interior of the music hall is a total 180 from the outside, old recycled hardwood floor polished to a mirror sheen and the best furniture and carpeting the thrift store could buy. Jordan's done an amazing job with this place, turning it from a crumbling ruin into a cozy, if slightly eccentric, hideout. Maybe once this whole superhero business is all said and done they could become an interior decorator.

And there, waiting for me in the main room, are Devonte and Akilah, their faces grim and their postures tense. They're seated on one of the mismatched couches that Jordan's collected over the months, their knees almost touching as they lean towards each other.

For a second I think they're the only ones here, and then I see Jordan and Tasha, tucked away in one of the corners, watching me with wary eyes like scared cats. Maggie's there too, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she's about to vibrate out of her skin with nervous energy. Better than the alternative, I guess. People vibrating out of their skin is actually a real possibility these days.

For a moment, nobody speaks. The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife, not a single awkward teenager not trying to avoid eye contact. And then Devonte clears his throat, breaking the silence with a sound that's half-cough, half-laugh.

"Damn, Bee," he says, shaking his head ruefully. "When you said 'private', you weren't kidding around. This place is like a fucking fortress."

I shrug, trying to play it cool even as my heart hammers in my chest. "It's not mine," I say, nodding towards Jordan. "It's my… associate's. We use it for off-the-books work sometimes."

Jordan doesn't say anything, their eyes boring into Devonte like he's a wriggling little grub that they'd like to squash beneath their boots. They lean back in the rickety computer chair I've seen them sit in and browse anime forums for literally hours on end. Next to them, Tasha just looks like a spooked deer, but I already knew that would happen.

Akilah's eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn't push the issue. Instead, she leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she fixes me with a stare that could melt steel. "We don't have a lot of time," she says, her voice low and urgent. "So let's cut to the chase. Project Titan."

I blink, taken aback by the sudden shift in topic. "What even is that?" I ask, trying to keep my voice level. "It sounds vaguely familiar."

"They tried to put metahumans in the army in like the late 2000s," Jordan pipes up from behind me, like I'm stupid for not having heard of it. "It was in the news like… five, six years ago? That's probably why you might vaguely recall it. Was a huge deal for all of a month."

Hmm.

"We've been digging," Devonte says, his voice uncharacteristically serious. His cap is low over his eye. "Doing the gumshoe thing, you know? Hitting the streets, talking to sources, following leads. And what we've found… it's big, Bee. Like, 'holy shit, the world is even more fucked than we thought' big."

I swallow hard, my mouth sticky and dry. "Okay," I say slowly, dragging the word out like taffy. "Hit me."

Akilah takes a deep breath, her eyes flicking over to Devonte for a moment before she begins. "Project Titan - like your associate said - was a black ops program," she says, her voice as steady as a surgeon's hand. "Run by the military, with the NSRA's full knowledge and cooperation. Their goal was to create an elite unit of enhanced soldiers, ones who could be deployed anywhere in the world to carry out missions that were too dangerous or too sensitive for regular troops."

I feel a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck, my stomach twisting into knots. I've read about this kind of thing in Pop-Pop Moe's comics, heard whispers and rumors on the streets. But to hear it laid out so plainly, so matter-of-factly, like it's just another item on the evening news… It freaks me the fuck out. "Fucking great," I mumble.

"That's not all," Devonte cuts in, leaning in right next to Akilah, like an over-eager kid at a slumber party. "They were also trying to figure out how to make more superhumans. Like, artificially. With drugs and shit. Obviously, none of it worked. Just a lot of cancer,"

It feels like a piece of a puzzle that's been hovering in the back of my brain for months now drops into place, right in that second, and my face must change into something like someone lit dynamite next to me, because Devonte's voice cuts off mid-revelation.

Everyone looks at me, waiting for me to say something, but all I can manage is a strangled noise that sounds like a cross between a laugh and a frog ribbit. "Jump and Fly," I croak out. "They're from Project Titan, aren't they? The… The soldiers, the drugs, the experiments. All of it, leading to the shit show we're dealing with now."

Akilah shakes her head slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. "We can't say for sure," she says, her voice measured and careful. "But it's a hell of a coincidence, don't you think? The timing. Something happened, we know that. You know that."

"Don't get her off track. I still think it's a red herring," Devonte says, a little louder and more forcefully, like it's the one thing he's cared about his entire life. "Ultimately, not really important. Just, like, a fun little coincidence. Surprise!"

I glance over at Jordan, but they're not making eye contact. Neither are Tasha and Maggie, the two other members of our ragtag little crew present. They're just huddled together in the corner, looking lost and scared and so, so young. Because that's what they are. Children. Like me. I want to reach out to them, to fold them into my arms and tell them that everything's going to be okay. But I don't. Because it would be a lie.

I take a distant breath, trying to center myself. To focus on the here and now, on the problem right in front of me. "Okay," I say, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears. "Okay. So what does this have to do with, you know… everything else? Do we have a concrete tie to the Jump problem? Or, like, is there a shoe waiting to drop here, or…"

Devonte and Akilah exchange a loaded glance, and I feel my heart sink in my chest. "Patriot." Akilah says, dropping the name like a brick onto my head. "Part of the initial batch of test subjects, before they even had a name for the project. You know he was a real no shit soldier? Overseas, during the war… He did shit, Bee."

"Anything above and beyond what soldiers normally get themselves into?" Jordan asks from their peanut gallery, clearly in that weird zone between disinterested and just interested enough where the snark lives.

"No," "Yes," Devonte and Akilah both say, simultaneously. Akilah rolls her eyes.

I feel like I'm going to be sick. Like the world is spinning around me, too fast and too bright and too loud. I clutch at the edge of the couch, my knuckles turning white as I try to ground myself. "What… What kind of shit?" I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.