The Music Hall feels quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that's not quite lonely, but close. I'm sprawled out on the worn couch, scrolling through my phone with my unbandaged hand. My shoulder aches, but it's a dull, manageable pain now, the kind I can almost ignore if I focus on something else. Maggie's somewhere upstairs--probably taking a nap--and I'm left alone with my thoughts and the faint hum of the heater.

Kate's at home with her dad, and I figured she could use some time without me hovering around. It's not like I mean to hover--it just happens. Maybe it's the whole hero thing. You save someone's life, and suddenly you feel responsible for their emotional state too. Not that Kate would ever admit she needs space, but I've been friends with her long enough to know when to back off.

The knock on the door is loud enough to make me jump. I sit up, wincing as my shoulder protests the sudden movement. "It's open!" I call, not really bothering to check who it is.

The door creaks open, and Jordan steps in, carrying a box that looks way heavier than it probably is. They're grinning, their scarf trailing behind them like they just came back from a particularly brisk walk.

"Guess what I've got," they say, kicking the door shut behind them.

"Hopefully something edible," I reply, eyeing the box with mock suspicion. "But knowing you, it's probably something nerdy."

Jordan snorts, dropping the box onto the coffee table with a thud. "Not nerdy. Tactical," they say, their voice dripping with mock seriousness. "This, my friend, is the future of crime-fighting."

I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward to get a better look. The box is plain, with only a small logo in the corner: SignalTrack Pro XT-5000. The name doesn't ring any bells, but the packaging screams "expensive gadget."

"What is it?" I ask, poking at the edge of the box. "A drone? Some kind of laser thing?"

Jordan grins, sliding onto the floor to sit cross-legged in front of the coffee table. "Better. It's a police scanner. High-end. Trunking style."

I blink. "You spent money on a police scanner?"

"Not just any police scanner," they say, their tone mock-offended. "This baby can decode trunked radio systems, which means we can listen in on all kinds of emergency communications without getting lost in a sea of static."

They open the box with the kind of reverence most people reserve for opening presents on Christmas morning. Inside is a sleek black device with a digital display, a small antenna, and a mess of cords and manuals.

I whistle low. "Looks fancy. How much did that set you back?"

Jordan shrugs, their grin widening. "I've been saving up. This thing's been on my wishlist for months, and I finally decided to bite the bullet. It's got digital decoding, multi-band coverage, and the ability to lock onto encrypted channels--well, sort of. It can pick up the signal, but it can't actually decrypt anything, because, you know, legal stuff."

"Legal stuff," I echo, crossing my arms. "Isn't owning one of these... borderline illegal?"

Jordan waves a hand dismissively. "Not if you know what you're doing. The tricky part is how you use it. Listening isn't the problem. Acting on what you hear--that's where it gets dicey."

"Dicey how?" I ask, leaning back against the couch.

"Well," Jordan says, pulling out the manual and flipping through it, "there was that case a few years back--what was it called? Oh, right. Collins v. New York. Some superhero was using a scanner to intercept police communications during a high-speed chase, and they ended up causing more damage than the actual criminal they were trying to stop. The court ruled that accessing those channels without proper authorization violated state wiretapping laws, even though they weren't technically recording anything."

I frown. "So just listening is okay, but acting on it isn't?"

"Basically," Jordan says, nodding. "There's also People v. Radford. Some vigilante--probably not unlike us--used a scanner to set up an ambush for a gang deal. It worked, but the gang's lawyer argued that their Fourth Amendment rights were violated because the vigilante wasn't a cop and didn't have the authority to use police intel. The court agreed, and the whole thing got thrown out."

"So... where does that leave us?" I ask, gesturing to the shiny new scanner.

Jordan smirks. "In a gray area, as usual. But as long as we're careful--like, only using it to monitor things and not intervening based solely on what we hear--we should be fine. Besides, it's not like we're the only ones doing this. Plenty of journalists and hobbyists use these things to keep tabs on public safety."

I pick up the scanner, turning it over in my hands. It's lighter than I expected, with buttons and dials that look like they belong in a spaceship cockpit. "And how does this help us, exactly?"

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"Information is power," Jordan says, their tone serious now. "This thing can pick up fire department, EMS, and even some federal bands if we're lucky. It's all about staying ahead of the curve. Knowing where the action is before it hits the news."

I nod slowly, setting the scanner back on the table. "Okay, but what about encrypted channels? You said it can't decrypt them, right?"

"Not legally," Jordan says, their grin returning. "But that's what makes it interesting. Most police departments use a combination of trunking systems and encryption to keep their communications secure, but there are still gaps. If we're smart about it, we can figure out patterns without breaking any laws."

"Patterns," I repeat, smirking. "You mean you're going to play detective with a scanner?"

"Exactly," Jordan says, their eyes lighting up. "And if we pick up anything interesting, we can use it to plan ahead. Like, say there's a fire in a known Kingdom hotspot--"

"--we can be there before they even know what hit them," I finish, nodding. "Okay, I see the appeal."

Jordan leans back, looking smug. "I knew you'd come around."

I pick up the manual, flipping through it idly. The pages are filled with diagrams and technical jargon that might as well be in another language. "So, how long until you figure out how to use this thing?"

Jordan shrugs. "Give me a day or two. It's not my first rodeo."

I raise an eyebrow. "You've used one of these before?"

"Sort of," they admit. "Not this model, but I've played around with similar stuff. It's all about understanding the frequencies and knowing what to listen for. Besides, this one's got a programmable interface, so I can set it up to scan specific bands automatically."

"Fancy," I say, leaning back against the couch. "So what's the plan? Just sit here and listen to static until something interesting comes up?"

"Pretty much," Jordan says, grinning. "Welcome to the exciting world of vigilante surveillance."

Jordan leans back against the coffee table, the glow from the scanner's display reflecting in their eyes. Their fingers flick across the buttons, adjusting frequencies and tweaking settings like they were born to do it. The hum of static fills the room, occasionally broken by bursts of garbled speech or a faint beep.

It's kind of mesmerizing, watching them work. Jordan's always had this way of diving into technical stuff that makes it look effortless. They've been like this as long as I've known them--sharp, focused, and weirdly good at making complex things seem manageable. Like they're in control, even when everything else is chaos.

"So," Jordan says, their voice breaking the comfortable silence. "This is pretty sweet, huh?"

"Yeah," I say, leaning forward to watch as they program in another frequency. "You've outdone yourself."

"Damn right I have," they say with a smirk, but there's something behind it--something softer, more thoughtful. They pause, their fingers hovering over the buttons, and glance up at me. "You know, it's kind of wild."

"What is?" I ask, grabbing a gummy worm from the bag on the couch and chewing it absently.

"This," they say, gesturing at the scanner. "All of this. Us, sitting here, setting up a police scanner like it's just another Tuesday. A couple years ago, I never would've thought I'd be doing something like this. And now... I can't imagine not doing it."

"Because it's awesome," I say, grinning. "And because you like being the smart one."

Jordan laughs, shaking their head. "Okay, yeah, maybe. But that's not what I mean. I mean... this whole thing. The Auditors, the vigilante stuff. I never planned on being... this."

I raise an eyebrow. "What, a hero?"

Jordan snorts. "Hero. That's a strong word. But yeah, I guess. A better person, maybe. And that's, like, 90% your fault, just so we're clear."

I throw the gummy worm bag at them, and they catch it easily, laughing. "You're welcome," I say. "I think you've always been a good person at heart, even when you slammed my head through a row of soup cans. You just... needed direction. Somewhere to focus yourself. How many petty crimes have you done?"

"Direction," they repeat, like they're tasting the word. "Fewer than I'd like, I'll admit. You think I'm a good person even if I shoplift and steal from drug dealers?"

I laugh again. "You're like Robin Hood, man."

They look back at the scanner, their expression unreadable. "That's why it's so hard to think about leaving."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, even though I've known this was coming for months. My stomach drops out from under me and I immediately feel all the blood drain from my face. It shouldn't hurt - I should be happy - but it does. A wave of nausea washes over me.

"Yeah," I say quietly. "I guess it would be."

Jordan glances at me, their eyes searching mine. "Don't get me wrong, I'm excited. I mean, MIT? That's, like, the dream. And I can't wait to dive into all the cool tech stuff and, you know, become a big shot software engineer or whatever. But... it's also terrifying. Leaving this city, leaving all of you... it feels like I'm leaving a part of who I am."

"You're not leaving us," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "You're just... taking a break. Expanding your horizons. Or whatever people say."

They smile faintly, but it doesn't reach their eyes. "Yeah, maybe. But you know as well as I do that I can't do this forever. None of us can. We have to be more than superheroes, some day. June's coming up fast."

The knot in my stomach tightens. I don't want to think about what that means--about what it'll be like when Jordan's not here, when it's just me and Maggie and... whoever's left. Derek? Will Connor even still be here? The thought makes my chest ache.

Jordan reaches over and nudges my good shoulder lightly. "Hey, don't look so sad. You're Bloodhound. You're gonna be fine."

"Easy for you to say," I mutter, picking at the edge of the couch cushion. "You're the one who gets to go off and live your dream. I'm the one who has to stick around and pick up the pieces."

"That's not fair," they say, their voice quiet but firm. "I'm not abandoning you, Sam. I'm just... I need to... continue my life. This isn't a living. And yeah, it's gonna be hard, but that doesn't mean I don't care. I do. More than you know."

I glance at them, surprised by their extremely unusual honesty.

"I'm glad you're my friend," they say, their voice soft. "You've made me better, Sam. And that's not something I say lightly. In fact, this is the first and only time you'll ever get to hear it, so enjoy it while it lasts."

I can't help but smile, even as my chest tightens with barely contained misery. It's hard to believe this dipshit was the first real shit supervillain I ever fought. Weird things happen, huh? "I'm gonna hold you to that," I say, my voice a little shaky. "No take-backs."

"Deal," they say, grinning. "Now, can we stop being all sappy and get back to work? This scanner's not gonna set itself up."