The Music Hall feels warmer than usual, the air thick with the scent of dust and something faintly metallic, like the old radiator in the corner is working overtime. Maggie's stretched out on the couch, legs thrown over one of the cushions, while Jordan is sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, sorting through a bag of microwave popcorn like it's a treasure hoard. The TV is muted, stuck on a commercial for some kind of vitamin supplement that promises to fix all your problems if you take it twice a day.

I sit down on the couch next to Maggie, my burn-dressed arm resting awkwardly on my lap. My shoulder still feels stiff, but at least it doesn't hurt as much anymore. "So," I start, grabbing one of the popcorn bags Jordan has abandoned, "Patel told me some interesting stuff after the deposition today."

Jordan glances up, their eyebrows raised. "Oh yeah? How'd that go?"

I shrug with my good shoulder. "About as well as it could. Aaron's lawyer is sharp. Like, 'reads the Constitution for fun' sharp. She was asking all these questions about how I found him, how I handled it... It's like she's building this whole case about excessive force or something."

Maggie snorts from her spot on the couch. "Of course she is. It's her job to make you look bad."

"I'm not exactly going to say I approve of cop-oid justification," Jordan groans.

I shoot them a glare. "Yeah? I'm waiting for the 'but',"

"You won't find me ever saying that Aaron doesn't deserve to get knocked down a peg. I'm not exactly a live-and-let-live type," Jordan shoots back. "Just don't want you accidentally giving supercops precedent for breaking arms willy nilly."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure she'll make me look as bad as possible," I mutter, grabbing a handful of popcorn, just to confirm that I still don't like it. It fits weird between my sharp teeth, and the kernels do not produce satisfying sensations when I lack proper molars to grind them between. Yep. Don't like it, still. "Anyway, after it was done, Patel was saying that pretrial motions for Mr. Nothing and Mudslide are almost wrapped up. She wanted to give me a heads-up since, you know..." I trail off, gesturing vaguely. "The zoo."

Jordan's face darkens, and they sit back on their heels. "I'm guessing they're still in PICC?"

"For now," I say. "But Patel said they're probably being moved soon. Somewhere more secure."

Maggie perks up, her eyes narrowing. "Why? I thought the superhuman wing was, like, top-tier lockdown behind one of the Hells."

"Apparently not," I say, reaching for a single delicate gummy worm from a small bowl instead of the popcorn, which is much more palatable. "They're worried the Kingdom might try something. Patel didn't give me details, but it sounds like they're prepping for a worst-case scenario."

Jordan exhales sharply, their fingers drumming against the coffee table. "Mr. Nothing is a game-changer. I'm sure they aren't going to leave him to rot."

Maggie raises an eyebrow. "Do we not care about Mudslide? He was there, too."

"I never really got the impression they cared about Mudslide," Jordan replies. "Like... he's a gap-filler person. A step higher than a patsy on the ladder."

"He did almost kill me a couple of times. And almost got Maggie," I remind Jordan.

She rolls her eyes, throwing a piece of popcorn at me. "Yeah, yeah, 'you could've gotten hurt, Maggie.' Newsflash: I did get hurt, and I still saved your butt, so you're welcome."

Jordan smiles faintly, but their eyes stay on the TV. "You think it's gonna be on the news?"

They don't wait for an answer. They grab the remote and flip the TV off mute, and then start sliding through channels. I'm honestly not even sure how Jordan managed to get cable in here, I'm going to be totally honest. The familiar voice of the local news anchor fills the room, accompanied by a stock photo of the Philadelphia Industrial Correctional Center's imposing concrete walls.

"Sources close to the case have confirmed that Darnell Hayes, known by the nom-de-crime of Mr. Nothing, and Evan Williams, known by the nom-de-crime of Mr. Mudslide, are being relocated to a high-security facility following concerns about their safety and the integrity of the Philadelphia Industrial Correctional Center," the anchor says, their voice ramrod still, designed to tickle your eardrums and get you to suddenly twist your attention to the screen. "Court filings regarding the move remain sealed, but an anonymous source suggests the decision was influenced by their ties to the Kingdom of Keys, a well-known superhuman criminal organization."

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Jordan freezes, their hand hovering over the remote. "Well. That's not great."

"That's an understatement," I mumble, a sinking feeling in my gut.

Maggie sits up straighter, her hands gripping the edge of the couch. "Wait, they're seriously moving them? Isn't that just, like, handing the Kingdom a roadmap?"

"Not necessarily," Jordan says, though their tone is uncertain. "The details are sealed for a reason. If the Kingdom doesn't know when or where the transfer's happening, they can't plan an ambush. The Hells are the most secure supervillain supermaxes, and the most infamous, but there's a handful of small facilities out there, like, specifically for this. Modular. Like mini-Daedaluses. Daedali?"

"Mini-Daedaluses," I repeat, testing the word on my tongue. "Doesn't exactly inspire confidence."

Jordan shrugs, their focus still on the TV as the anchor drones on about "anonymous sources" and "heightened security concerns." "They're supposed to be designed for short-term holding. Modular means they can't be in one place for too long--makes it harder for anyone to track them down. But... yeah, it's not foolproof."

Maggie grabs the gummy worm bowl, now half-empty, and munches on one as she frowns. "I don't know, guys. This whole thing feels off. Like, if the Kingdom wanted to make a statement, they couldn't ask for a better opportunity than a high-profile transport."

"Yeah, but that's what makes it risky for them, too," I say. "They'd need to be fast, precise, and ready to go up against whatever escort the authorities have planned. The DA's office isn't just gonna let them walk out of there."

Jordan gives me a sharp look. "You think the Kingdom cares about risk? These are the same people who brought a literal T. Rex to a zoo robbery."

"The T-Rex wasn't even the important part. That was just a distraction for the frogs," I reply, exhaling slowly, leaning back against the couch. My arm brushes against the edge of the cushion, sending a dull ache through my shoulder. It's not bad enough to make me wince, but it's a reminder that I'm not exactly in peak condition right now. None of us are. "And we still don't even know what they stole a bunch of frogs for."

"What if they don't wait for the transport?" Maggie says suddenly, her tone thoughtful. "What if they hit the PICC before the move happens?"

Jordan raises an eyebrow. "You think they'd go after a heavily fortified superhuman wing, with all the guards and countermeasures in place, just to avoid taking a risk on the road?"

"I don't know," Maggie admits, chewing on her lip. "But if I were them, I'd be thinking about all the ways this could go sideways. Maybe they figure the element of surprise is worth the gamble."

Jordan leans back against the couch, staring at the TV like it holds the answers to all the questions spinning through their head. "If the Kingdom tries something, it's going to get ugly. They don't half-ass anything."

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about," I say, rubbing my thumb along the edge of the gummy worm bowl. "It's not like the Kingdom's gonna let two of their heavy hitters rot in prison without putting up a fight. And Patel made it sound like the DA's office is bracing for something big. The sealed filings, the relocation... they know something we don't."

Maggie swings her legs down from the couch and leans forward, her elbows on her knees. "So, what do we do? Just sit here and wait for the fireworks?"

"Pretty much," I say, my voice tinged with frustration. "I mean. Like... Neither of you are built to take hits. And there's only so much my regeneration can compensate for, especially when I'm already injured. And they're not gonna let two unregistered, untrustable vigilantes and a Bloodhound randomly show up and help with the security detail. We'd get in the way."

Maggie makes a face, like the idea physically pains her. "Blech."

The news cuts to a commercial break, and the room falls into an uneasy silence. Jordan fidgets with the remote, flipping through channels without really paying attention, while Maggie slumps back against the couch, her expression stormy. I stare down at the bowl of gummy worms, my thoughts racing uncomfortably fast, uncomfortably... uncontrollably.

I push myself up from the couch, wincing slightly as my shoulder protests the movement. "I need to get some air," I say, grabbing my jacket from the back of a chair. "You coming, Maggie?"

She blinks up at me, her expression shifting from frustration to curiosity. "Where?"

"The lot," I say, nodding toward the back of the Music Hall. "Thought we could play some catch. Shake off the nerves."

Maggie's face lights up, and she springs to her feet, grabbing her own jacket. "Now you're talking. I'll grab the ball."

Jordan raises an eyebrow as Maggie bounds toward the kitchenette, rummaging through a drawer for the slightly scuffed baseball we've been using for months. "You sure this is a good idea?" they ask, their tone cautious.

"It's just catch," I say, shrugging with my good shoulder. "Nothing flashy. Nothing illegal."

Jordan doesn't look convinced, but they don't argue. "Just don't overdo it," they say, settling back into the couch. "And keep an eye out. The last thing we need is more attention."

"Got it," I say, already heading for the door. Maggie follows close behind, clutching the baseball like it's her ticket to freedom.

The lot behind the Music Hall is dimly lit, the streetlights casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. It's quiet, the kind of quiet that feels almost eerie after the buzz of the city. Maggie tosses the ball into the air, catching it with an audible smack against her palm.

"Ready?" she asks, her grin wide and infectious.

"Yeah," I say, stepping back a few paces and holding up my good hand. "Take it easy on me, though. I'm still a little... crispy."

Maggie snorts, winding up for a throw. "No promises."

The ball arcs through the air, and I catch it easily, the leather cool against my palm. I throw it back, my movements careful and deliberate. Maggie catches it with a flick of her wrist, her repulsion fields snapping into place just long enough to deflect the ball back toward me.

We fall into an easy rhythm, the ball bouncing between us in a steady, satisfying cadence.

"Think the Kingdom's really gonna try something?" Maggie asks after a particularly sharp throw, her tone more serious now.

"Probably," I say, catching the ball and rolling it between my fingers. "They've got too much invested in those two to just let them sit there. And if they do try something..."