My mom then leans in, her expression a mixture of interest and care. "So, how's life in Philadelphia been for you, Sam?"

I can sense the unspoken words behind her question, the careful dance around anything too dangerous or superhero-related. "It's been good, busy with school and stuff. You know, normal teenage things," I say, keeping my tone light.

Lily chimes in, "And she's been a great help at home. Couldn't have asked for a better guest."

Mei smiles warmly at me. "We are very happy to have Sam. She brings a lot of energy into our home."

My dad's eyes meet mine across the digital divide, filled with an unspoken conversation. "Just make sure to keep up with your studies, Sam," he says, his tone light but firm.

"I am, Dad. Don't worry," I assure him, feeling the weight of their unvoiced concerns.

"And how's the restaurant business?" my mom asks, turning the conversation towards Mei and Jiang.

Mei's face brightens. "Busy! But good busy. We like to make a place where everyone feels like family."

"That's wonderful," my mom replies, genuinely impressed. "It's so important to have that sense of community, especially now."

The conversation continues along these lines, a delicate dance of mundane topics and shared experiences. They talk about the weather, the upcoming holidays, and even touch on the local sports teams. It's a careful sidestep around the more dangerous aspects of my life, a mutual, unspoken agreement to keep the mood light and free of worry.

As we talk, I can't help but notice the way my parents' eyes linger on me, their concern barely veiled. They're trying so hard to be strong, to show that they're okay with me being here, in the thick of things. But I know them. I know they're worried sick.

I force a brighter smile, "Hey, the food's getting cold. Let's eat and talk, okay?"

As we dig back into our meals, the conversation drifts to lighter, more mundane topics. The initial tension eases, replaced by the familiar rhythm of family chatter.

"So, Sam, how's school going? Any interesting projects?" my mom asks, her eyes twinkling with genuine interest.

I spear a piece of turkey with my fork, buying a moment to think. "It's going okay. I have this big history project coming up. We're doing presentations on different cultural revolutions. I picked the Velvet Revolution."

"That sounds fascinating," my dad says, nodding approvingly. "Always good to learn about how people can make change without violence."

Lily leans in, interested. "Isn't that, uh, the band with… who's his face, Lou Reed?"

"That's the Velvet Underground, darling," Pop-Pop Moe says thoughtfully through the laptop screen. "Different kind of velvet."

Jiang, catching bits of our conversation, nods and says something in Mandarin to Mei, who translates, "Jiang says history is important. We learn where we come from, and where we can go."

Conversation shifts to the weather, with my mom describing the chilly winds picking up back home. "We're starting to feel the winter bite here. How about over there in Philly?"

"It's been pretty mild so far, but you know how it gets. I'm expecting to be buried in scarves and coats soon," I reply, with a mock shiver.

Lily chuckles. "Sam's already started her collection of winter gear. She's got this one scarf that's like, ten feet long."

My mom raises her eyebrows. "Better to be overprepared than under, especially in the Northeast. Remember the blizzard two years ago?"

"How could we forget?" my dad laughs. "We were snowed in for days. Sam built the ugliest snowman I've ever seen."

"Dad!" I fume, trying to cover my face.

"It's not an insult! It was very creatively expressive. Lou Reed would've been proud."

The screen fills with laughter, and even Mei and Jiang chuckle along, sharing a glance between them.

The talk then turns to the upcoming holidays. "We're just starting to plan for Hanukkah," my mom says. "We miss having you here for it, Sam."

"Yeah, it won't be the same without you, kiddo. But we'll make sure to send you lots of pictures. And maybe a few of your mom's latkes," my dad adds with a wink.

Mei seems intrigued. "Latkes? What are those?"

"They're like potato pancakes. Really good with apple sauce or sour cream," I explain.

Mei nods, her expression thoughtful. "Yet another culture reinvents the pancake… I'll have to steal your recipe."

"I'll email you the details," my dad says, sounding friendly but also completely serious. I'm sure he's already drafting the email in his head.

The meal progresses amidst laughter and shared stories, a comforting blend of the familiar and the new. It's strange, sitting here with Lily's family and mine, connected by a screen. There's this bittersweet feeling, like I'm here but not quite. Part of me longs to be with my family, in the familiarity of Pop-Pop's house, yet I know I'm where I need to be.

As dinner winds down, my mom's expression turns serious. "Sam, we just want you to know, we're proud of you. You're doing incredible things."

"Yeah, kiddo," my dad adds, "Just… stay safe, okay?"

I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I will, Dad. Promise."

The call ends with waves and 'I love yous', leaving a lingering sense of family and love in the air. Jiang and Mei start clearing the table, insisting that Lily and I just relax.

As I lean back, the weight of the day settles over me. There's this mix of gratitude for what I have here with Lily and her family, and a gnawing longing for my own. I glance at Lily, who's been quietly observing me, and she offers a small, understanding smile.

"Tough, huh?" she murmurs.

"Yeah," I admit, "But good. Really good."

As the night stretches on, the warm glow of the room dims into softer shades. Mei and Jiang, with efficient teamwork, clear the table, their movements synchronized in a quiet dance of familiarity. The clinking of dishes and the occasional murmur of their voices blend into the background, a soothing soundtrack to the evening's end. I help a little, but they shoo me away, insisting that I've done enough just by being here.

The room settles into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the fridge and the distant sounds of the city outside. Lily, worn out from the day, curls up on the futon, which has kind of become my makeshift bed since I moved in. She's asleep almost instantly, a testament to the exhaustion we've both been feeling lately.

I tuck a blanket around her, my mind drifting. The laptop, now closed, sits on the coffee table, a silent reminder of the family I'm away from. The call with my parents and Pop-Pop lingers in my mind, a mix of warmth and aching nostalgia. I miss them more than I thought I would, but there's this sense of purpose here that keeps me grounded.

The room is lit only by a small lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the walls. The gentle light paints everything in a soft, almost dreamlike quality. I find myself just sitting there, on the floor, knees drawn up to my chest, lost in thought.

The city outside is a quiet symphony of distant cars and the occasional siren, a reminder of the ever-present pulse of Philadelphia. I wonder, about Liberty Belle, and about everything else that's waiting out there in the shadows. The weight of it feels heavy on my shoulders, like a cloak I can't quite shake off. A soreness.

I glance at Lily, peaceful in her slumber, and feel a surge of protectiveness. She's more than just a teammate; she's become a friend. A savior, of sorts. Someone who I spend most of my time with, even if we don't exactly have many interests in common besides the whole superheroing thing.

The clock on the wall ticks steadily, marking the passage of time in a steady rhythm. It's getting late, the kind of late where the night feels like it's holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. I should sleep, I know that, but sleep feels like a distant concept, something for a different Sam, a Sam that never got herself involved.

Eventually, I pull myself up, moving quietly so as not to wake Lily. I step over to the window, peering out into the night. The street is quiet, bathed in the orange glow of the streetlights. It feels like a different world out there, one where normal people sleep without worrying about supervillains or hidden dangers lurking around the corner.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I lean against the window frame, feeling the cool glass against my forehead. The city stretches out before me, a tapestry of light and shadow, of lives unfolding in a thousand different ways.

I'm not that Sam. I'm not the Sam that never got herself involved.

I open the front door, quietly, and slip out.

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

Under the shroud of night, I leave Lily's house, the door closing behind me with a soft click. The air outside is crisp, biting at my skin, a stark contrast to the warm cocoon I just stepped out of. I pull my hoodie up, shrouding my face in shadows, blending into the night. I'm just another part of the city's nightly routine now. Just another face in the crowd of late walkers. People who can't sleep, like me.

The streets of Northeast Philadelphia are quiet, save for the occasional car that whizzes past, its headlights cutting through the darkness. My heart beats a steady rhythm in my chest, a mix of fear and determination pulsing through my veins. I know what I'm doing is risky, but it's something I have to do. It's like there's this voice in my head, not quite mine, urging me on, whispering that this is what heroes do. Heroes do 'tradecraft'. They tail and investigate. And I think Liberty Belle is, like me, liable to do something stupid.

Like what I'm doing now, I guess.

The route to Liberty Belle's apartment in South Center City is one I've committed to memory. I've traced it during the day, under the guise of just another teenager exploring the city. But now, under the cover of night, the streets take on a different character, more menacing, more alive with unseen dangers, or at least that's what my mom would say. I've grown familiar with being out late, when Jordan and I were more active, before Mr. T-Rex's hit. My anxiety at each stranger is minimal, but not none. I keep my head down.

My steps stay light and cautious across each sidewalk crack, hands playing with lint inside my pockets for lack of a better thing to do besides observing the architecture. The hoodie feels like a shield, a barrier between me and the world. I tell myself I'm just another night owl, another Philly native making her way through the city. But inside, my mind races, every scenario, every possible outcome playing out in vivid detail. The nightmare visions, I've come to calling them. The blooming flowers.

The walk is long, about two hours if I keep a good pace. I stick to the route along the riverfront, where the path is less crowded, less likely to attract attention. The Delaware River, a dark ribbon winding its way through the city, is my silent companion, its waters reflecting the sparse city lights.

I can't afford distractions, not even music, which I usually love for company if I can't sleep. Tonight, my senses need to be sharp, attuned to every sound, every movement around me. The night air is my soundtrack, a symphony of distant car engines, the occasional bark of a dog, the whispering of the wind through the trees. I can't rest on my laurels and assume I'm not being tracked in kind, particularly given what the Kingdom is capable of. What I know they're capable of. And, even worse, what I don't know.

As I walk, I think about Liberty Belle. About how she's always bleeding, a constant, steady trickle in her stomach, a permanent, unfair trail that I can sense even from blocks away. It's a strange comfort, knowing that I can find her - that in some way, she's always within reach. It's not really spycraft, tracking someone who's always leaving a trail, even if it's a trail only I can see. That doesn't count.

The city slowly transforms as I move from neighborhood to neighborhood, the buildings changing, the streets taking on a different character. South Center City is louder at this hour, its streets lined with rows of townhouses, their windows dark, and drunken Thanksgivingers stumbling across sidewalks. Northeast Philadelphia, the part where I'm from, is a little more suburban than this. Not, like, the suburbs, but more suburban than this. With the crowds comes safety. I blend in easily.

Liberty Belle's apartment building eventually comes into view, a nondescript structure nestled among others. It's here that I slow my pace, my heart pounding in my chest. This is it, the place where I've been before, where I've watched from a distance, committing every detail to memory.

I take a moment, leaning against a nearby wall, catching my breath. The night is still, the only sound my own breathing and the distant hum of the city. I feel a mix of exhilaration and fear, the thrill of the chase tinged with the reality of what I'm doing.

I peer down the street, ensuring it's clear, before moving closer to the apartment. There's a light on in one of the windows, a soft glow that speaks of someone still awake. Is it her? Is she there, just beyond that pane of glass, unaware of the world outside?

I stay in the shadows, just another part of the night. I'm close enough now to smell her ulcers in her stomach, to smell the coffee grounds she vents every so often. Her breath exhales out particles of the stuff, microscopic blood clouds that give her away to a tracker like me.

I settle in for the wait, my eyes fixed on the building. This is the part they never show in movies, the long, tedious hours of just watching, waiting. My body starts to ache from the stillness, my legs cramping, my back sore. But I push the discomfort aside, focusing on the task at hand.

I circle the block, an endless loop in the stillness of the night. Physically, I'm fine; my minor regeneration sees to that. My legs don't tire as they should, the aches are mere whispers easily ignored. But mentally, it's a whole different story. The quiet, the solitude, it's suffocating, pressing down on me with the weight of my own thoughts.

I keep moving, a restless, vigilant shadow. The city is different at night, more honest somehow. It's just me and my thoughts, and they're not the best company. My mind wanders to dark places--death, danger, the constant threat of the Kingdom. Images of my family, my friends, in harm's way. It's like a reel of nightmares playing on loop, each scenario worse than the last.

These thoughts, as grim as they are, fuel me, keep me sharp. It's a twisted kind of motivation, but it's all I've got right now. I can't afford to let my guard down, not even for a second. The Kingdom is out there, and they're not known for their mercy or restraint.

I can sense Liberty Belle from here, her vascular system a faint but distinct presence in my blood sense. She's restless too, her movements sporadic, like she's wrestling with her own demons. It's a small comfort, knowing I'm not the only one plagued by insomnia.

Then, around 4 AM, just when the night seems at its deepest, she moves. It's subtle at first, a shift in her blood flow, a change in her heartbeat. She's in her civvies, slipping out of the front door of the building like a wraith. My heart skips a beat. This is it, the moment I've been waiting for.

I follow, keeping my distance, blending into the shadows. She moves southwest, her steps purposeful, determined. I match her pace, careful not to draw attention. It's a strange dance we're doing, her leading, me following, both of us silent actors in the night's play.

The streets are deserted, the world reduced to just the two of us. I wonder where she's going, what she's planning. Is she on a mission? Is this related to Chernobyl? Questions swirl in my mind, but I push them aside. Right now, my job is to follow, to observe.

As we descend further into Southwest Philly, the neighborhood changes. The buildings get older, the streets narrower. Liberty Belle moves with a confidence that suggests she knows where she's going, her familiarity with the area evident in her stride. I stay vigilant, my senses on high alert. Every shadow, every sound, I'm attuned to it all. It's exhausting beyond exhausting, this heightened state of awareness, but I can't afford to relax. Not yet.

As I continue to trail Liberty Belle through the dimly lit streets of Philadelphia, the silence of the early morning wraps around us like a cloak. The city, usually bustling and alive, now feels like an abandoned stage, the buildings and empty streets serving as mere props in this nocturnal escapade.

My footsteps are light against the pavement, a rhythmic tap that echoes softly in the stillness. I focus on Liberty Belle's movements, her steady pace a silent guide through the labyrinth of the city. There's something almost hypnotic about the way she moves, each step deliberate, exuding a sense of purpose that I can't quite grasp.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Liberty Belle slows down. We're nearing the old PES refinery, a hulking silhouette against the night sky. I remember hearing about the explosion back in 2018. I was just nine years old then, the news reports a distant, muffled sound in the background of my childhood. A decaying skeleton from a not-so-distant past.

I can see Belle now, her figure silhouetted against the faint glow of the city lights. She moves with a stealth that's almost unnerving, vanishing and reappearing between shadows like a ghost. I stay back, using every trick she's taught me to remain unseen, only able to keep pace with her with my cheating blood sense. My heart hammers in my chest, although I'm not sure what particular thing is causing it. Maybe everything.

The refinery is as eerie as I remember from the news clips five years ago. Chain-link fences, toppled and rusted, mark its perimeter, while warning signs, faded and peeling, tell tales of hazards long forgotten. Belle navigates the terrain with a familiarity that speaks of prior reconnaissance. I watch, fascinated despite myself, as she pulls out a compact set of binoculars and a digital camera from her bag.

She's methodical, every move deliberate. First, the binoculars, scanning the area like she's looking for something, or someone. Then, the camera, clicking away silently, capturing images of God knows what. I strain my ears, trying to pick up any sound, any clue as to what she's up to. But the night is stubbornly quiet, save for the distant hum of the city and the occasional rustle of wildlife in the underbrush.

The minutes stretch out, turning into what feels like hours. My eyelids are heavy, my body's demands for rest growing louder. But I can't look away, not now. Belle shifts her attention to setting up small, inconspicuous bugs along various points of the refinery. It's clear now; she's not here to confront anyone tonight. This is reconnaissance, laying the groundwork for something bigger. Prep work.

Finally, as the first hints of dawn begin to paint the sky in hues of pink and orange, Belle packs up her gear. I linger for a moment longer, watching as Liberty Belle takes one final look at the refinery, a look that's hard to read. Is it determination? Regret? I can't tell. Then, she's off again, retracing her steps back towards the heart of the city.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my body sagging with fatigue. It's almost 5:30 AM, and the adrenaline that's been fueling me is rapidly dwindling, replaced by an all-consuming exhaustion. I need to sleep, to recharge, but there's a stubborn part of me that wants to follow Belle all the way back, to make sure she's safe.

But that's not my job, not really. She's more than capable of taking care of herself, even with cancer, no matter how much it grates on me. With a final glance at the refinery, I turn and slip away into the predawn streets.

South Philly is quiet at this hour, on the morning post-Thanksgiving. I stick to the shadows, my steps slow and heavy. Every now and then, I glance back, half-expecting to see Belle following me, but the streets are empty.

I hail a taxi, the yellow light a beacon in the twilight. The driver looks surprised to see me, a teenage girl alone at this hour, but he doesn't ask questions. I'm grateful for that. I sink into the back seat, my head resting against the window as the city passes by in a blur. As we drive, my mind refuses to shut off. It races through everything I've seen tonight, the pieces of the puzzle I'm still trying to put together. Liberty Belle's actions, her meticulous planning, it's all leading to something big. I can feel it in my bones.

But for now, all I can do is wait, watch, and try to piece it all together. The taxi pulls up in front of Lily's house, the familiar sight a welcome relief. I pay the driver and step out, the cool morning air a sharp contrast to the balmy warmth of the car.

I sneak back into the house, careful not to wake Lily, still exactly where I left her on my futon. I get on the edge of the bed, flop back, and pass out.