The gym at the DVD headquarters is colder than it has any right to be. The floor is polished concrete, the kind that always looks damp even when it's dry, and the overhead lights buzz faintly, their white glare casting long shadows across the room. The place is bare. Functional. A space for action, not conversation. There's a small cluster of chairs set up in the middle, though, and that's where we've been directed to gather.

It's not a cozy setup.

I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor, my burn-wrapped arm resting in my lap, while Rampart leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Blink's pacing back and forth, her sneakers squeaking on the floor with every step, and Gossamer is perched on one of the folding chairs, her hands fidgeting with a scrap of fabric she pulled from her pocket.

Connor's sitting on the floor near me, his long legs sprawled out like he's got nowhere better to be, but there's a tension in his shoulders that makes it clear he's as wound up as the rest of us.

At the center of the room, Councilman Davis stands beside Clara, who's got a thick folder tucked under one arm and an expression like she's bracing for impact.

"This isn't a surprise," Davis starts, his voice calm but firm, the kind of tone you'd use to explain bad news to a kid without sugarcoating it. "We knew this was coming."

"Did we?" Rampart cuts in, his deep voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "Because I don't remember anyone telling us we were about to get legislated into nonexistence."

Davis sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jason, we've talked about this. The city's been under pressure for months--between the property damage, the gang fights, the arsons--"

"Property values," Gossamer says softly, not looking up from her fabric. Her voice is almost drowned out by the hum of the lights.

"What was that?" Davis asks, turning to her.

"I said, 'property values,'" Gossamer repeats, louder this time. "That's what this is really about, isn't it? All those neighborhoods getting trashed? It's not the fires or the fights that bother them--it's the fact that they're making rich people nervous."

Davis opens his mouth, but Clara steps in before he can respond. "It's not just about property values," she says, her tone measured. "This is about public safety. The council's framing this as a way to curb the violence and chaos caused by unregulated superhuman activity. They're playing on fear."

"And it's working," Connor mutters, stretching his legs out further. "My foster dad's been watching the news nonstop. Every time they show a burning building or a gang fight, he gives me this look. Like he's waiting for me to say, 'Surprise! That was me.'"

"It's not just the news," Blink says, finally stopping her pacing to face the group. "You see the way people look at us? Even when we're in costume, doing good? It's like they're waiting for us to snap."

"That's the point," Davis says, spreading his hands. "They're painting a picture of unchecked superhuman violence, and this ordinance is their solution. They're saying, 'Look, we're not against heroes. We're just against the ones who aren't following the rules.'"

"And the rules," Rampart says, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "just happen to make it impossible for people like us to operate. Convenient."

Davis doesn't argue, which is almost worse than if he had. Instead, he looks at Clara, who steps forward, her folder clasped tightly in both hands.

"If this ordinance passes--and it will--there's no way to continue as we are now," Clara says. "The Young Defenders will have to dissolve."

The words land like a punch to the gut. My stomach twists, and I glance around the room, trying to gauge everyone's reactions. Blink looks like she's been slapped, her face pale and her hands clenched into fists. Rampart's jaw tightens, but he doesn't say anything. Connor doesn't even flinch; he just stares at the floor, his expression unreadable.

Gossamer finally looks up, her fingers still fidgeting with the fabric. "Good," she says quietly.

Everyone turns to stare at her.

"What?" Blink asks, her voice sharp. "How is that good?"

Gossamer shrugs, her gaze steady. "I don't want to do this forever. I'm not like you guys--I don't want to fight people and burn myself out trying to save a city that doesn't even want us. I just want to... make things. Be a costumier. Is that so bad?"

"No," Connor says, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "It's not bad. It's smart."

Blink glares at him. "You too? What, you're just gonna walk away?"

Connor shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Probably. My foster dad's been on me about getting my GED, about staying out of trouble. And... he's right. I'm not a genius or a fighter or whatever. I'm just a guy who can fold himself into a pretzel. Maybe it's time I stop pretending I'm more than that."

The room falls into an uneasy silence. Even Rampart, who's usually the loudest voice in any argument, doesn't say anything. I feel like I should speak up, defend us, but my throat feels tight, and my head's spinning.

"We can't all do this forever," Clara says softly, her gaze sweeping over the group. "And that's okay. But for those of you who want to keep going, there's a path forward. You can register as RSEs. Davis and I will do everything we can to fast-track you."

"What about me?" I blurt out before I can stop myself. My voice comes out sharper than I intended, and everyone turns to look at me.

Clara hesitates, her expression softening. "You're not 18, Sam. You can't register as an RSE."

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The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I knew it already, of course. But hearing it out loud, in this room, surrounded by my team--it makes it real in a way it wasn't before.

"So what am I supposed to do?" I ask, my voice shaking. "Just... quit?"

Davis steps forward, his expression carefully neutral. "We'll figure something out, Sam. But for now--"

"For now," I interrupt, "you're saying I'm screwed."

"No one's saying that," Clara says quickly, but the look on her face tells me she doesn't really believe it.

Blink is the first to break the silence, her voice sharp as she turns to Clara.

"So that's it?" she asks, throwing her arms wide. "We all just go our separate ways and pretend this never happened?"

"No one's saying that," Clara replies, her voice calm but firm. "But the reality is, the Young Defenders as you know it can't continue. Not with this ordinance."

"What if we don't care about the ordinance?" Blink shoots back. "What if we just keep going, ordinance or no ordinance?"

"You'd be criminals," Clara says bluntly. "Unregistered superhumans operating in violation of city law. And the consequences wouldn't just fall on you--it would affect everyone you work with, everyone you care about."

"Then I guess I'm a criminal," Blink snaps, crossing her arms. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

"Same," I say before anyone else can speak. The word comes out before I've even thought about it, but once it's out, it feels solid. Final. "I'm not quitting. I couldn't stop even if I wanted to."

Blink shoots me a grateful look, her stance relaxing slightly. "Where Bloodhound goes, I go."

Rampart lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. "You're not thinking this through, Lily. Neither of you are."

"And you are?" Blink fires back. "You're just gonna let them shut us down?"

"I'm not letting anything happen," Rampart says, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. "I'm stepping up. Joining the DVDs. It's the only way to keep doing this without getting arrested."

"That's not fair," Blink says, her voice rising. "You're just leaving us to fend for ourselves?"

"I'm trying to set an example," Rampart snaps, his patience clearly wearing thin. "If we work within the system, maybe we can change it. But if we go rogue, we lose everything."

"Change it from the inside," Gossamer murmurs, her tone skeptical. "That always works."

Rampart turns to her, his expression softening slightly. "What's your plan, Amelia? Sit on the sidelines and wait for someone else to fix it?"

Gossamer's cheeks flush, but she doesn't back down. "My plan is to figure out what I actually want, instead of diving headfirst into a fight I can't win, Jason."

"And you think we can't win this?" Blink challenges, her voice full of defiance.

"I think..." Gossamer hesitates, her fingers tightening around the scrap of fabric in her hands. "I think that I'm not sure what to do. And I don't know what I can do about this. And I don't have a good answer for anyone."

I can feel my frustration bubbling up, a knot of anger and disbelief twisting in my chest until I can’t hold it in anymore. "This is insane," I say, my voice rising. "We’re just going to let them do this? No protests? No action? You’re all sitting here talking about joining their system or quitting like those are the only options. Why can’t we fight back?"

Clara’s expression tightens, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s Rampart who answers, his tone even but firm. "Fight back how, Sam? Go after Councilman Ward? Threaten him?"

"Why not?" I say, throwing my hands up. "Or Maya! She’s the one behind all this, right? Let’s call her out. Expose her for what she’s doing. Or... or raid her offices. Find evidence. Something. Anything."

Rampart pinches the bridge of his nose. "You’re talking about turning this into a war, Sam. Do you even hear yourself?"

I glare at him, my fists clenched. "What’s the alternative? We sit here and take it? Let them tell us we’re not good enough, not old enough, not... whatever enough, and just roll over? That’s what they want!"

"Sam," Clara says gently, stepping in before Rampart can respond. "This isn’t about being good enough. It’s about the law. And you can’t just ‘raid’ a law firm without evidence or legal standing. That’s not how this works."

"Then how does it work?" I shoot back, my voice cracking with the sheer weight of my frustration. "Because it seems like the bad guys get to make the rules, and we’re just supposed to follow them. How is that fair?"

"It’s not fair," Davis cuts in, his tone steady. I hate it. It makes me even angrier. "But there’s a difference between fighting for what’s right and breaking the law to get your way. If you cross that line, you lose the moral high ground. You give them exactly what they need to paint you as the problem."

"I don’t care about the moral high ground!" I snap, and the words come out louder than I mean them to. Everyone turns to look at me, and I can feel the heat rising in my face, but I don’t back down. "I care about doing what’s right. And what’s right is not just letting this happen. If we don’t fight, who will?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper now. "Who’s going to stand up to them if we don’t?"

The air is full of quiet discomfort. Dead air. Miasma. Connor shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flicking between Gossamer and Blink. "She's not wrong," he says quietly. "But, I mean... I don't know if I can be that person. I love you guys. I love you, Sam, you know I do, but I really don't like being shot at. Or buried in mud."

"Connor," Blink says, her voice softer now. "You're really leaving?"

He nods, looking down at his hands. "Yeah. I've got my GED to focus on, and... I'm not like you guys. I'm not a leader or a fighter or whatever. I'm just a guy who got lucky enough to tag along for a while. But it's time for me to move on. Legu... Luh... Legitimize. And my, uh, partner is moving away anyway. I think it's time to keep my life moving. Keep rolling, rolling, rolling, et cetera."

Blink looks like she's about to argue, but I put a hand on her arm, shaking my head slightly. "Let him," I say quietly, the fight getting sucked out of me like water down a drain. "If that's what he wants."

Connor gives me a small, grateful smile. "Sorry, Sam."

Rampart crosses his arms again, his expression unreadable. "So that's it. Connor's out, Gossamer's on the fence, and you two want to go rogue? Consequences be damned?"

"I didn't say that," Gossamer says, her tone defensive. "I just... don't know yet. I need time to think."

"I'm not quitting," I say firmly. "Like I said, I can't make myself stop even if I wanted to. I did you think I was being cute?"

Rampart shoots me a withering look, but I match his gaze right back, and he flinches. It feels weirdly good.

"That doesn't leave you many options," Clara says gently. "Whatever you do, you better be smart about it. And careful."

That's not exactly not an endorsement.

"I'll figure it out," I say, my voice steady. "I always do."

The room falls into a tense silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on us. Blink's pacing again, her sneakers squeaking against the floor, while Gossamer stares at the fabric in her hands like it holds all the answers. Connor's gaze is fixed on the ground, his shoulders slumped, and Rampart's still standing like a statue, arms crossed and jaw tight.

Davis clears his throat, stepping forward. "Look," he says, his tone measured. "I know this isn't what any of you wanted to hear. But this ordinance is happening, whether we like it or not. And we need to decide how we're going to respond. But whatever happens, I want you all to remember one thing: You're a team. You've been through a lot together, and that doesn't just go away because things are changing."

"We'll see," Blink mutters, but there's a hint of uncertainty in her voice now.

Clara steps forward, her gaze sweeping over all of us. "No matter what you decide, you're not alone. We're here to support you, whatever path you choose. But you need to be smart about this. The city isn't playing games, and neither can you. Until the ordinance passes, we'll cram whatever support we can legally give you down your throats, and after that... We'll... see what we can do within the law. Okay?"

For maybe the last time as a team, we're in sync; "Okay,"