The office of Richard Duvall, Republican candidate for the special City Council election, is a bustling hive of activity. Located in a nondescript office building in Center City, the space is cramped and cluttered, with staffers and volunteers darting to and fro like ants in a disturbed hill.

Jordan and I navigate our way through the chaos, dodging stacks of flyers and boxes of campaign literature as we make our way towards Duvall's inner sanctum. I can feel the tension in the air, the crackling energy of a campaign in its final days. The air feels thicker here. Heavier, somehow. More consequential.

We're ushered into Duvall's office by a harried-looking aide, who barely spares us a second glance before rushing off to attend to some urgent task. The man himself is seated behind a large, imposing desk, his head bent over a stack of papers. He looks up as we enter, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes us in.

"Ah, yes. The young activists," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "I was wondering when you'd come knocking on my door. Here to bother me about our boys in blue?"

I bristle at his tone, but force myself to stay calm. We need his help, after all. Or at least, we need him to not actively hinder us.

"Mr. Duvall, thank you for taking the time to meet with us," I say, my voice carefully neutral. "We know you're very busy, but we have some information that we think you should be aware of."

Duvall leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face. "Is that so? And what, pray tell, could two teenage girls possibly have to tell me that I don't already know? Particularly two teenage girls that have made an enemy of this entire city's security apparatus."

I feel Jordan tense beside me, their hands clenching into fists at their sides. I shoot them a warning glance, silently urging them to keep their cool. Getting into a pissing match with Duvall won't help anyone.

"It's about your opponent, Maya Richardson," I say, my voice growing firmer. "We have reason to believe that she's involved with a criminal organization known as the Kingdom of Keys."

Duvall's eyebrows shoot up, his expression a mix of surprise and skepticism. He leans forward, clearly interested. "That's quite an accusation, young lady. I hope you have some evidence to back it up."

I nod, reaching into my backpack and pulling out a flash drive. "We do. Or at least, we have something that we think points in that direction."

I hand the drive over to Duvall, who takes it with a dubious expression. He plugs it into his computer, and a video begins to play on the screen. It's grainy and shaky, clearly shot on a cell phone, but the image is unmistakable.

A giant, angry Tyrannosaurus Rex, rampaging through the streets of Mayfair. One of about a dozen videos taken - of me, getting the shit beaten out of me by a giant angry Tyrannosaurus Rex.

I watch Duvall's face as the video plays, looking for any sign of recognition or concern. But his expression remains impassive, his eyes fixed on the screen with a kind of detached curiosity.

"Well, that's certainly... something," he says at last, as the video comes to an end. "But I'm afraid I don't see what it has to do with Maya Richardson."

"The T-Rex was working with her," Jordan blurts out, their voice tight with frustration. "We saw them together, before the attack. She was giving him orders. She can control the weather, we think - it wasn't raining before, and the forecast that day was blue skies all day."

Duvall leans forward, his eyes narrowing. "And do you have any proof of that? Any video or audio evidence linking Richardson to this... creature?"

I feel my heart sink as I realize the answer is no. We don't have anything concrete, just our own word and some circumstantial evidence. Duvall sees the look on my face and sits back, a smug smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I thought as much," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "Look, kids, I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But I can't go around making wild accusations about my opponent based on hearsay and conjecture. Especially not with the election so close."

"But sir, if you'd just look into her background, her connections--" I start to say, but Duvall cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

"I don't need to look into anything," he says, his voice growing hard. "Maya Richardson is a respected businesswoman and philanthropist. She's done a lot for this city, and the people here know it. Hell, she was even invited to Liberty Belle's funeral. You think they let just anyone attend something like that?"

I feel my stomach clench at the mention of Liberty Belle. The memory of that day, of seeing Mrs. Z standing among the mourners, approaching me like I was her best friend in the world, it's still fresh in my mind, even after all these months. I remember thinking it was odd, a crime lord attending the funeral of the city's most famous superhero, but like everything else in my life, I didn't question it. I had bigger things to worry about at the time. "Plus, we all know about Mrs. Richardson's powers. It's not exactly a secret, her past life as Stormrise. You're telling me a former superheroine has become a crime lord in addition to juggling all her business arrangements and philanthropy?"

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He snorts a little bit. "I'd almost say she deserves the spot if she could handle all that."

Jordan, however, isn't ready to let it go. "But that just proves our point!" they exclaim, leaning forward in their chair. "If she's got enough pull to get invited to something like that, who knows what else she's capable of? What other strings she might be pulling behind the scenes?"

Duvall's face hardens, his eyes flashing with anger. "Now you listen to me, young man--"

"I'm not a--" Jordan starts to say, but Duvall barrels on as if they hadn't spoken.

"I don't know what kind of game you two are playing, but I won't be a part of it. Maya Richardson is my opponent, yes, but she's also a fellow Philadelphian. And in this city, we don't go around slandering people without proof. We don't play that kind of politics. If you've got anything concrete, believe me, I'd love to have it - but I can't go chasing plastic skeletons, you understand? This late in the game, I can't afford to waste resources that I could be spending on get-out-to-vote initiatives."

Jordan opens their mouth to argue, but I lay a hand on their arm, silencing them. "Mr. Duvall, I apologize. We didn't mean any disrespect. We're just... we're worried. About the city, and what might happen if someone with ties to organized crime were to gain a position of power."

Duvall's expression softens, just a fraction. "I understand your concern. Truly, I do. But you have to understand, the world of politics is a complicated one. Everyone's got skeletons in their closet, everyone's got dirt that could be dug up if someone went looking hard enough. The question is, do we really want to go down that road? Do we really want to start a witchhunt, tearing down anyone who's ever made a mistake or had a lapse in judgment? Without proof, the amount of digging that could be done in the next three days is minimal."

He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. "No, I don't think that's the kind of city we want to be. Philadelphia is better than that. We're a city of second chances, of forgiveness and redemption. If Maya Richardson has truly turned over a new leaf, if she's truly dedicated herself to serving the people of this city, then who are we to stand in her way?"

I feel a flicker of doubt in my chest, a nagging sense that something about Duvall's words doesn't quite ring true. But I push it aside, forcing myself to nod along with his speech.

"I guess you're right," I say, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears. "We just... we wanted to do the right thing. To make sure the city was in good hands."

"And that's admirable!" Duvall says, his tone turning suddenly jovial. "Truly, it is. We need more young people like you two, people who are engaged and passionate about the future of our city. Tell you what, why don't we change the subject to something a bit more positive? What do you think are the biggest issues facing Philadelphia right now?"

I blink, thrown by the sudden shift in tone. "Oh, uh... I guess crime is always a big concern, especially with Jump and Fly going around. And poverty, and access to education and healthcare."

Duvall smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Ah yes, crime. A perennial favorite. But let me ask you this, Sam - may I call you Sam? Have you ever stopped to think about where crime really comes from? What the root causes might be?"

I frown, not sure where he's going with this. "I mean, I guess it's a complex issue. There's no one single cause, right? It's a combination of factors - poverty, lack of opportunity, systemic inequalities..." I say, mirroring one of Playback's many post-cheesesteak lectures to me on the topic.

Duvall holds up a finger, wagging it back and forth. "No, no, no. You're thinking too broad. The reality is, the majority of violent crime in this city happens in just a handful of neighborhoods. Think about that for a second. A handful of neighborhoods, dragging down the whole city. Does that seem fair to you?"

I feel my skin start to crawl, a sinking feeling in my stomach. "I'm not sure what you're getting at, Mr. Duvall."

Jordan, however, has no such reservations. "It sounds like you're saying that some neighborhoods are inherently more criminal than others. That's a pretty fucked up thing to imply."

Duvall's smile fades, replaced by a cold, hard stare. "Watch your language, young lady. You might be a superhero, or whatever you call yourself, but you're speaking to an adult, and a candidate for public office. Show some respect."

"Respect is--"

I hurriedly clamp my arm over Jordan's, squeezing tight as a warning. "We apologize, Mr. Duvall. We weren't trying to pick a fight. I think we're veering a little bit off-topic."

He doesn't look appeased, but he seems to settle a bit. "I wasn't implying anything. Simply stating a fact. Crime happens where it happens, and it's not a coincidence. Tell me, have either of you ever been to Kensington? Or Tioga?"

"I volunteer at a Kensington soup kitchen twice a week with my parents. Jordan lives a couple blocks from Tioga," I interrupt, my voice flat, wanting the conversation to end. The lies flow freely from me like honey. Duvall's eyebrows raise, but he pushes on regardless. He doesn't care that he's making a fool of himself.

"So you know what I'm talking about, then. The drugs, the gangs, the senseless violence. It's a cancer on our city."

Jordan looks like they're about to blow a gasket, their jaw clenched so tightly I'm worried they might crack a tooth. "You--". I squeeze their arm again, harder this time. They get the message and fall silent, but I could see the anger radiating off them like heat from a furnace.

"Cancer is not contagious, Mr. Duvall. I think we're getting off-topic again," I say, my voice strained. "We came here to talk about your opponent, and whether she might be involved in organized crime. Do you have any thoughts on that?"

Duvall waves a hand dismissively. "I've told you my thoughts. Without concrete proof, it's all just hot air, and I can't afford to waste my time on hot air. Let's focus on my campaign and how we're going to make Philadelphia safer and more prosperous for everyone."

"Everyone except the people in Kensington and Tioga and Frankford, apparently," Jordan mutters under their breath. I shoot them a warning glance, but Duvall doesn't seem to have heard. Or if he has, he chooses to ignore it.

But I force myself to stay calm, to keep my voice level. "Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Mr. Duvall. You've given us a lot to consider."

He smiles, leaning back in his chair with an air of smug satisfaction. "I'm sure I have. You know, Sam, you seem like a smart girl. A little misguided, maybe, but that's to be expected at your age. If you ever want to learn more about how the real world works, about what it takes to make change happen..."

He reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a business card, sliding it across the desk towards me. "Give me a call. I'm always happy to mentor young people who show promise. And we do internships for college credit."