I haven't slept. Or, I guess I've barely slept, but that's not the same thing. Barely sleeping is its own kind of punishment--like teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, but every time I'm about to fall in, something jerks me awake. A creak in the Music Hall. The hum of Jordan's computer. My own thoughts chewing through the same cycle of worries over and over again, like a dryer that won't turn off no matter how many times you hit the button.

By the time Jordan pries me off the couch this morning, I'm not just tired. I'm a walking dead girl, complete with zombie shuffle and the subtle but distinct sensation that my body has started eating itself.

Jordan hands me a granola bar on the way out the door, which I guess is thoughtful, but it doesn't do much to fix the fact that my stomach feels like it's full of wet cement. The February cold hits me like a slap as soon as we step outside, sharp and cutting, but it still isn't enough to make me feel fully awake. Jordan trudges along beside me, one hand jammed deep into their coat pocket, the other balancing their coffee like it's a religious artifact. They don't say much. Neither do I.

Tacony feels quieter than usual this morning, the streets carrying that weird, hollow silence that only happens after something bad. A lot of the neighbors are staying inside if they can help it, but the ones we do pass don't look much better than me--tired eyes, quick steps, muttered conversations. The news vans are gone, but their presence still lingers in that subtle way you can always tell a neighborhood's been in the spotlight.

I keep glancing at windows. At rooftops. At street corners. I don't know what I'm looking for exactly, but I can't stop myself. My brain keeps running through worst-case scenarios, which is just what happens when you know someone might be out to get you. My backpack feels heavier than usual. My legs feel slower. The whole walk to school is just a haze of paranoia and exhaustion, until finally, finally, we reach the gates.

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If I have to describe the vibe inside Tacony Charter Academy today, I'd probably go with "powder keg." The hallways are filled with whispers, the kind of low, buzzing chatter that never quite lets up because every group is having the same conversation. I hear snippets of it everywhere I go.

"...fires..."

"...right by where my uncle lives..."

"...think it's one of those supervillains..."

I pull my hood tighter over my head and try to look as invisible as possible, which isn't exactly easy when you're me. People tend to notice you when you're the girl who got into a public fistfight with a racist superhero at homecoming. They definitely notice you when you've got eye bags the size of dinner plates and keep flinching every time someone closes a locker too loudly.

Jordan peels off to head toward their first-period class, leaving me alone to face the gauntlet. I don't know why I think that would make things easier. If anything, it just makes the whole day feel ten times longer

By second period, my brain has settled into a pattern:

* Walk into class.

* Scan the room for exits.

* Try to focus on the lesson.

* Fail miserably.

* Stare at the windows, wondering how fast I could get out of here if something happens.

Repeat.

It's not just paranoia, though that's definitely part of it. My nerves are stretched so thin I can practically feel them buzzing under my skin, like electric wires just waiting to snap. Every sound feels too loud. Every movement feels like a threat. I don't know how to explain it to anyone, so I don't. Not even to Jordan, although I'm sure they can get it.

The teachers are too nice about it, which somehow makes everything worse. Mrs. Patel gives me one of those concerned looks when I walk into English class, the kind that says she's absolutely about to ask if I'm okay, only to think better of it at the last second. Mr. Banner in history just straight-up lets me sit in the back and zone out, which is probably for the best because I couldn't answer a question even if I wanted to.

But the worst part is lunch.

It's not like I have a ton of friends of my own these days--most people just know me as That Girl Who Got Suspended For Judo-Throwing a Security Guard. Jordan's group doesn't mind, though, the usual people that I hang on the edge of like a caterpillar's cocoon dangling off the edge of a branch.

Today, though, I can't follow a single word. My brain won't let me relax enough to join in, even a little - at this point, everyone expects me to be the one asking questions so they can launch into long-winded infodumps about their favorite anime. Not today. I pick at my lunch without eating, my gaze darting around the cafeteria like I'm expecting someone to jump out at me. It's not subtle.

"Sam?"

I look up, startled, and realize someone is standing next to me. Melissa. A person whom I recognize exists within the same school and the same context as me, but otherwise is just sort of purely on the periphery.

Melissa's the kind of person who exists quietly on the edges of things. She's not part of Jordan's group, but she knows them well enough to say hi in the hallways. She's in my gym class, too, this year, which is probably why she looks vaguely concerned as she stares down at me.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Hey," I say, trying to sound normal and definitely failing. "What's up?"

"You okay?" she asks, frowning. "You look... I don't know. Jumpy?"

"I'm fine," I say automatically, which is probably the least convincing lie I've told all day.

Melissa doesn't buy it. She shifts her weight, glancing between me and Jordan's group, then back again. "Look, I know things are kind of... weird right now," she says. "With the fires and everything. But if you want to talk--"

"I'm good," I interrupt, my voice sharper than I mean. "Really."

She doesn't flinch, but her expression softens. "Okay. Just... thought I'd offer."

I stare at her without blinking, at least until my eyes start to feel weird and the blink forces itself upon me.

She lingers for a second longer, then takes a step back, hesitating. "Actually, wait. There's, um... something you might be interested in. If you're, like, worried about what's going on."

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Some of us have been doing these, like... community defense walks," she says. "Since November, I mean. After all that stuff happened last semester. We just walk around in groups, keeping an eye out for anything sketchy. It's not, like, official or anything, but we've got the cops and some of the local heroes on speed dial, so..."

She trails off, looking uncertain, then adds, "There's a meeting tonight. After school. If you want to come."

I blink at her, caught off guard. "You're inviting me?"

"Well... yeah," she says. "You're kind of, like... famous? For standing up to that security guard? And the hero thing? People remember stuff like that. You're, like, one of the good ones."

I feel my face heat up, which is stupid because it's not even a compliment, not really. "Uh... sure," I mumble. "I'll think about it."

Melissa smiles faintly and hands me a scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it. "It's just a couple blocks from here. Around six. No pressure, though."

She leaves before I can say anything else, disappearing into the crowd of students milling around the cafeteria. I stare at the paper in my hand for a long moment, then stuff it in my pocket.

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By the time the last bell rings, I'm half-convinced I've hallucinated the whole conversation. But when I pull the paper out of my pocket and see the address again, the reality of it hits me.

I tell Jordan I'm going to check it out. They give me a look like I've just announced I'm joining the circus, but they don't argue. "Just don't get yourself into trouble," they say, which feels a little rich coming from them, but I let it slide.

The address isn't far, like Melissa said. Just a few blocks from the school, tucked away in a quiet part of the neighborhood where the houses all have barred windows and the streetlights are spaced too far apart. When I get there, I find a small group of people already gathered outside--a mix of teenagers and adults, some holding flashlights, others carrying first-aid kits or walkie-talkies.

Melissa spots me right away and waves me over. "Hey! You made it."

"Yeah," I say, feeling awkward as I shuffle into the group. "So, uh... how does this work?"

Melissa grins. "It's pretty simple. We split up into pairs or small groups, walk around the neighborhood for a couple hours, and keep our eyes open. If we see anything weird, we call it in."

"That's it?" I ask, trying not to sound skeptical. I know I'm here voluntarily, but the whole idea sounds like something you'd pitch at a community center meeting, not something that actually works in real life.

"Well, we also talk to people," Melissa says. "Like, shop owners, neighbors, anyone who's out and about. Just to let them know we're here. It helps people feel safer."

Before I can ask anything else, a voice interrupts us. "Melissa. You want to introduce your friend?"

I turn toward the voice and feel my stomach drop. Two women are standing a few feet away, looking very much in charge of the whole operation. The one who spoke has short brown hair and an easy smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. The other one--oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

Short black hair. Lean, muscular frame. That cold, no-nonsense look I recognize anywhere.

It's her.

Egalitarian.

I feel my breath hitch, and I clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms. She's not in costume--not wearing the black and white dazzle gear she had that night--but I'd know her anywhere. And I can tell from the way her eyes narrow when she looks at me that she recognizes me, too.

Melissa doesn't seem to notice my sudden shift in mood. She waves me over, oblivious. "This is Sam," she says. "She's, uh... one of the good ones. You remember that thing at Homecoming? She's the one who stood up to that racist superhero guy."

"Oh, I remember," Egalitarian says, her tone smooth but cool. Her gaze locks on me, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. Does Melissa not remember that she was there too? That she was helping him?

The brown-haired woman steps forward, offering her hand. "I'm Parabellum," she says, all business. Her handshake is firm, and her voice is clipped, military-esque. She's decked out in full body armor--heavy tactical vest, reinforced kneepads, combat boots. She looks like she just walked out of a military recruitment poster. "Glad to have you with us tonight."

I force myself to nod, though my throat feels tight. "Thanks," I manage, my voice stiff.

Melissa looks between us, oblivious to the tension. "Parabellum and Egalitarian are the ones who've been organizing these walks. They've been rotating around Philly for the last couple of months, helping neighborhoods set up their own patrols. It's been super effective so far."

"Happy to help," Parabellum says, her tone neutral but professional. "We're just here to give you the tools you need to keep your own community safe. Tonight, we'll split into two groups to cover as much ground as possible. I'll take one group, and Egalitarian will take the other."

Melissa nods enthusiastically. "Great! Sam, you can come with me and Parabellum."

Oh, great. Wonderful. Just what I needed.

I glance at Egalitarian, who's still watching me with that cold, unreadable expression, and feel a wave of nausea rise in my chest. I don't want to be anywhere near her, but the idea of being stuck with Parabellum and her bootlicker energy isn't much better.

But what choice do I have? Melissa is looking at me like this is the greatest idea in the world, and if I make a scene, I'm just going to draw attention to myself. And the last thing I need right now is attention.

"Sure," I say, forcing the word out through gritted teeth. "Sounds good."