The door to the waiting area creaks open, and I look up, half-hoping it's someone else's turn. Nope. It's Mom, and she's in full storm mode--cardigan slung over her arm, hair frizzed out from too much fidgeting. Dad's right behind her, looking even worse. He's wearing wrinkled pajamas that he clearly just pulled out of the laundry. He's got that set to his jaw, the one that means nothing good is about to come out of his mouth.

It's almost 3 AM. No one's at their best.

"Samantha," Mom says sharply, her voice low but cutting through the quiet. She only calls me that when she's so mad she can't even think straight. "Let's go."

I glance at Maggie, who's shrinking into her seat like she's hoping to disappear. "Uh... okay," I mumble, pushing myself up. My legs are stiff from sitting so long.

Dad waves off the officer behind the desk, who says something about "next steps" and "advice for the future." Mom doesn't even acknowledge him, just turns on her heel and walks out the door. Dad follows, motioning for me to hurry up. I glance back at Maggie one last time, mouthing good luck before I jog to catch up.

Outside, the air is cool and damp, the kind of sticky Philadelphia spring night where the pavement smells like rain even though it hasn't rained. Mom's pacing in the parking lot, her cardigan still draped over her arm, and Dad's leaning against the car with his arms crossed. Their faces are lit by the harsh glow of the streetlights, making them look even more tired than they probably feel.

"What were you thinking?" Mom snaps the second I step into the open. "No, don't answer that--because clearly, you weren't."

"I was--"

"Stop," Dad interrupts, holding up a hand. His voice is calm, but it's that deadly kind of calm that's way worse than yelling. "Before you even start: don't. You're not going to talk your way out of this."

I shut my mouth, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. This isn't fair. I didn't do anything wrong. Not really.

"We told you," Mom says, her voice trembling as she points a finger at me, "we told you to keep your head down. Do you have any idea what kind of risk you're taking every time you go out there? And now this? Arrested? Fingerprinted?"

"They didn't charge me," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's fine."

"It's not fine, Sam!" Mom practically yells, and I see her catch herself, glancing around the empty parking lot before lowering her voice. "You think just because they let you go, you're in the clear? The police are not your friends. They're not here to help you. They're here to enforce the law, and right now, the law is against you."

"That's not fair," I say, my chest tightening. "I'm trying to help people. I'm not a criminal."

"That doesn't matter," Dad says sharply, pushing off the car to step closer. "You think they care about your intentions? About why you're out there? All they see is another vigilante breaking the rules. And do you know what happens if you get arrested again? Or worse?"

I don't answer, because I don't know. And I don't want to.

"You think this is a game, but it's not," Dad continues, his voice rising just enough to make me flinch. "Every time you put that mask on, you're painting a target on your back--not just from the criminals, but from the cops. And if they decide they've had enough? If they decide you're more trouble than you're worth? Do you think they'll hesitate to unmask you? To ruin your life?"

I look down at the pavement, my jaw clenched. "I'm careful," I mutter, but it sounds weak even to me.

"Careful?" Mom throws up her hands, the cardigan slipping to the ground. "You call this careful? You're sixteen, Samantha. Sixteen! You shouldn't even be out that late, let alone doing... this!"

"It's not like I was robbing a bank," I snap, my frustration boiling over. "I was stopping people from getting hurt. Isn't that what you raised me to do? To help people?"

"We raised you to be smart," Dad says, his voice cold. "To know when the risks outweigh the rewards. This isn't just about you, Sam. If something happens--if you get hurt, or arrested again, or worse--how do you think that affects us? How do you think we're supposed to live with that?"

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

I don't have an answer for that, so I don't say anything. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, until another car pulls into the lot. Maggie's parents.

Mr. O'Brien steps out first, slamming the door hard enough to make me jump. He's a big guy, with a presence that practically fills the lot, and the look on his face is pure thunder. He's got salt-and-pepper hair and a scowl that could melt steel Mrs. O'Brien is right behind him, her heels clicking against the pavement like a countdown to an explosion. She's smaller, thin, almost mousey. They're sort of opposites to my parents, in that way.

Maggie - who has been staring out the window - sort of slinks through the door towards them, looking like she'd rather crawl under a rock than face this. I've never seen her look this nervous before--not even when we're out on patrol.

"Magdalene O'Brien," Mrs. O'Brien snaps, her voice like ice. "Get over here."

Maggie shuffles toward them, her head down. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad."

"Don't you 'hi' me," Mrs. O'Brien says, her hands on her hips. "What were you thinking? Out at this hour, doing God knows what--"

"We weren't doing God knows what," Maggie mutters, barely loud enough to hear. "We were training."

"Training?" Mr. O'Brien cuts in, his voice sharp. "That's what you call getting arrested? Training?"

"We didn't get arrested," Maggie says quickly, glancing at me like I can somehow back her up. "Not really. They didn't charge us."

"That doesn't make it okay!" Mrs. O'Brien snaps, throwing her hands in the air. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? How irresponsible? You could've been hurt--or worse! Do you even think about what this does to us? To your family?"

"I was fine," Maggie says, her voice cracking just a little. "I wasn't doing anything wrong--"

"Oh, don't you dare," Mrs. O'Brien cuts her off, stepping forward like she's about to grab Maggie by the shoulders and shake her. "You were out in the middle of the night, fighting God knows who, risking your life for what? For what? Some... some childish idea of heroism? Do you even realize what you're putting us through? You think this is some kind of game?"

"It's not a game!" Maggie shoots back, her hands balling into fists. "I know it's dangerous. I know what I'm doing!"

"You clearly don't," Mrs. O'Brien spits, her face red. "If you did, we wouldn't be here right now, would we?"

"She wasn't alone," Mom says suddenly, her voice cutting through the escalating tension. All eyes turn to her, and her tone is as sharp as broken glass. "Our daughter was with her. They're both to blame for this."

Mrs. O'Brien's eyes narrow, and I can feel the storm brewing before she even opens her mouth. "Oh, is that so? Well, maybe if your daughter hadn't dragged mine into this ridiculous mess--"

"Dragged her into this?" Mom's voice rises, the edge of fury creeping into her words. "Maybe you should take a closer look at your own daughter before you start pointing fingers. You think Sam has a monopoly on bad decisions? Maggie's not exactly innocent in all this."

"Oh, don't you try to turn this around," Mrs. O'Brien snaps, stepping closer, her arms crossed like she's bracing for a fight. "We've been dealing with your daughter's influence for months now. Maggie wouldn't even think about pulling this kind of stunt if it weren't for her."

"Influence?" Mom's voice goes cold, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "Are you seriously blaming my daughter for your kid's choices? Because let me tell you something--Sam didn't force Maggie to put on a mask. She didn't force her to go out there tonight. Your daughter made that decision all on her own."

"And where do you think she got the idea?" Mrs. O'Brien shoots back, her voice rising to match Mom's. "Maggie didn't even care about this stuff until Sam - until Sam dragged her into it. You think we don't see what's happening here?"

"She saved my life," Maggie almost whimpers, but I think it just gets lost in the crescendo. Which is true!

Man. It's so much easier when it's Jordan's shithead mom.

"Excuse me?" Mom's voice is like a whipcrack now, and even I flinch. "You don't know the first thing about my daughter. She's out there risking her life to help people because someone has to, and maybe if more parents raised their kids to care about the world around them--"

"Oh, don't you dare lecture me about parenting," Mrs. O'Brien snaps, cutting her off. "Your daughter's been playing superhero for what, two years now? And what has it gotten her? A trip to the ER every other month? A criminal record? You think that's something to be proud of?"

"Okay," Dad says loudly, stepping between them before things can escalate any further. His voice is firm, his hands up in a gesture of calm. "That's enough. We're not doing this here."

He's right. No one wants to be here--standing in a parking lot at 3 AM, arguing like idiots while the cops inside probably listen through the windows. Mrs. O'Brien huffs but doesn't argue, grabbing Maggie by the arm and leading her to their car. Mr. O'Brien follows, his glare burning into me like he's blaming me for all of this.

When they're gone, Mom turns back to me, her face pale and tired. "We're going home. Now."

----------------------------------------

The car ride is silent, but the kind of silence that presses down on you, heavy and suffocating. Mom's staring out the window, her arms crossed, while Dad grips the wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. I sit in the back, staring at my hands and trying to ignore the fingerprint ink still stuck to my skin.

"You can't keep doing this, Sam," Dad says finally, his voice quiet but firm. "One of these days, it's not going to end with a warning. And when that happens..."

He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to. I already know.