Half an hour goes by, and I'm stuck alone in the computer room, like a castaway on my own island. The table is set, ready for the drama with Councilman Davis. There are two metal fold-out chairs, one for him and one for me, both icy and unforgiving, matching the knot in my stomach. The computers hum constantly, creating white noise that's more irritating than soothing.

I sit on my uncomfortable chair, feeling like I'm on a throne I didn't ask for, and my eyes wander around the room--messy cables, blinking LEDs, screens protecting valuable information. My fingers tap nervously on the table, a rhythm that I wish I could silence. The footage, those words, the unwelcome visit from the agents -- they continue to play in my head, like an endless loop. I try to silence the uncomfortable thoughts of flower petals. I try to wipe away the pressure I'm feeling on my palms.

I'm trying not to lose control, but waiting has never been my strong suit. Every minute feels like an eternity, and I get lost in the buzzing and humming around me. Monitors flicker, casting eerie shadows on the floor. This room, usually full of strategy and togetherness, now feels too big and empty.

The chairs stand there, unmoving, and the one meant for Davis seems to be accusing me in its empty state. I'm torn between wanting him to arrive and dreading the inevitable confrontation. My thoughts are a whirlpool, and I'm teetering on the edge, dipping my toe into the uncertain and indignant whirlpool.

So, I wait, feeling like I'm stuck in purgatory.

Half an hour turns into an eternity, and I'm alone in the computer room, feeling like I've been abandoned on an island with just my thoughts and the humming machines for company. The room's full of tech and screens, but right now, they're just a backdrop to the drama that's about to unfold.

I'm perched on one of the metal chairs, feeling every bit like I'm sitting on a throne of thorns. I try to distract myself with the room's details - the mess of cables, the blinking LEDs, and screens that usually mean safety and strategy. Instead, they just amplify my anxiety. My fingers drum a nervous beat on the table, but it's a rhythm that's more unsettling than calming.

The footage of Chernobyl's confession, Liberty Belle's notes, and the federal agents' visit keep replaying in my mind, looping over and over like a bad song you can't get out of your head. I keep brushing my palms against my sweats, trying to rid myself of the clammy feeling, but it's like trying to shake off a shadow.

Waiting has never been my strong suit. Each minute stretches out, and the buzz and hum of the computers become my unwanted companions. The flickering monitors cast ghostly shadows, transforming this familiar space into something alien and oppressive.

The empty chair across from me feels like it's accusing me, standing there all cold and silent. I swing between wanting Jamal to show up and dreading the confrontation. My head's swirling with a mix of anger, confusion, and a weird sense of betrayal.

Finally, the door creaks open, and Jamal steps in. He's got that look of someone who knows they're walking into a lion's den. I don't wait for pleasantries. I pull out my phone, hit play on the video of Chernobyl's confession, and throw it into the pool of tension between us, sliding my phone over on the table. I feel fire behind my pupils.

Jamal watches, his face turning into a mix of surprise and confusion. When the video ends, I'm already on my feet, anger boiling over. "You knew about this?" I demand, my voice echoing sharply in the room.

Jamal holds up his hands, a clear sign he's trying to defuse the situation. "Sam, I had no idea about any of this," he says, his voice steady but there's a tremor there, a hint of uncertainty.

I'm not buying it. "How could you not know? You're the leader, aren't you?" My words are like bullets, and I can feel my control slipping. "We're supposed to trust you, to follow you, and all this time, you've been keeping us in the dark?"

Jamal's frown deepens, and he tries to reason, "Sam, I understand you're upset, but you have to believe me. I was in the dark as much as anyone. This," he gestures to the phone still in my hand, "this is the first I'm hearing of this. I had no--"

But his words feel like excuses, like he's just trying to cover his tracks. "That's convenient, isn't it? Just plead ignorance and hope it all goes away?" I snap back, my hands balling into fists. "We trusted you, and you let us down. You let Liberty Belle down."

Jamal's expression shifts, something between hurt and frustration. "I'm trying to help, Sam. But we need to be rational about this. We can't just go charging in without a plan. That's what got--"

"Rational?" I snarl, feeling like a feral animal. I now understand the emotions of dogs who feel the need to bite other people. Saliva pools underneath my tongue. "Since when has being rational changed anything? We're out here, risking our lives, and for what? So the government can protect monsters like Chernobyl?"

Jamal steps closer, but I'm not in the mood for a heart-to-heart. His chair goes unused. "We need to be smart about this, Sam. We can't just---"

But I cut him off. "Being smart? Is that what you call turning a blind eye? Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like cowardice."

He tries again, his voice steadier, "Sam, I assure you, I had no idea about--"

"Oh, stop it!" I'm almost shouting now. No, I am shouting. "All those times you told us to back off from Chernobyl, to avoid confrontation. Trying to tie shit to the Kingdom so we'd have an excuse to leave it alone. It was all just to keep your golden goose safe, wasn't it?"

Jamal's brow furrows, confusion mixing with his frustration. "Golden goose? Sam, what are you talking about? I've been trying to keep everyone safe, that's all."

I can feel the tears welling up, but I'm too angry to care. "Safe? By letting a monster roam free? He killed Liberty Belle. He killed her years ago and he killed her again now and we're supposed to feel safe because he powers our homes?" He reaches out, maybe to offer some sort of comfort, but I jerk back. "Don't. Just don't. You're supposed to be our leader, and you've been playing us all."

Jamal's hands drop to his sides. "Sam, you have to believe me, I had no idea about any deals with Chernobyl. This is the first I'm hearing of any of this."

But I'm past the point of listening. Everything's spilling out, every bit of fear, anger, and frustration. "You know, I thought you were different. But maybe Jordan was right about you all."

He's saying something, trying to explain, but his words are just noise. My vision blurs as tears start to spill over, and I can feel my nose running. I'm a mess, a mixture of grief, fury, and betrayal. My sinuses fill up instantly, and suddenly my throat is full of mucus.

Jamal looks taken aback, his face a picture of concern now. "Sam, I'm here to help, but I need you to talk to me, not at me. We can figure this out together."

But I can barely hear him over the sound of my own sobs. "Figure it out? How can we figure out anything when you're part of the problem?"

I'm crying now, proper ugly crying with snot and everything. Jamal looks lost, unsure of what to do. He keeps trying to say something, to make some sense of my accusations, but I don't want to hear it. In my head, it all makes sense. He's been protecting Chernobyl all along, keeping us away so the government could use him. But Jamal's just standing there, looking as confused and hurt as ever.

And as I stand there, crying and accusing, part of me wonders if I've got it all wrong. But the pain and the anger are too loud, drowning out everything else. So, I just keep going, letting it all out, not caring about anything else.

SLAM!

"Samantha Elisabeth Small!" Jamal shouts, loud enough that I'm sure anyone in the headquarters heard it. The yell - the bark - is sharp and hard enough to stun me into silence for a couple of crucial seconds. His palm rests on the table, having hit it hard enough to cause one of the legs to buckle back into its partially-folded configuration, leaving it wobbling on the other three.

His nostrils are flared, but he's not angry. He's breathing, lips parted just slightly, the glow of the computers glinting off his bald head. I feel myself shrinking back like a puppy that just got their tail stepped on.

Jamal's face softens slightly, the hardness in his eyes giving way to something more reflective, more thoughtful. He straightens up, his posture no longer defensive but open, as if he's trying to bridge the gap between us with his body language alone.

"I… I don't know what you've heard, Sam, but you have to believe me. I had no idea about any deals with Chernobyl. That's the honest truth," he says, his voice steady but laced with an urgency that seems genuine. He's pleading with his eyes for me to understand, to see reason.

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, feeling the snot smear against my skin. Gross. I'm still shaking, but the torrent of my words slows down a bit. The anger is still there, burning in my chest, but it's mixed with confusion now. Could he really not know? Is it even possible? But then, why all the secrecy, all the avoidance?

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"You're telling me, you, the leader of the Delaware Valley Defenders, had no idea what the government was doing with one of the most dangerous people in the city?" My voice cracks a little, and I hate how vulnerable it sounds.

Jamal exhales slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yes, Sam. That's exactly what I'm telling you. I knew we were advised to steer clear of Chernobyl, but I thought it was for safety, for preventing unnecessary risks. If there's something more, something darker behind it, I was not privy to it. All I know is what the reports I received from the NSRA said. 'Avoid at all costs'. 'Minimize contact'. You have to understand that it makes sense to me, as the shot-caller, to avoid putting my comrades in the path of fire of a man who gives you radiation poisoning if you try to beat him up."

He looks down, his fingers drumming lightly on the table, the same kind of nervous tick I have. "I understand why you're upset, why you're angry. But accusing me without proof… It's not fair, Sam. Not to me, not to the team."

His words make sense, in a way that's frustrating. The part of me that wants to rage, to blame him for everything, it's clashing with the part that knows Jamal. He's always been about the team, about doing what's right. It makes me angrier, not calmer. I try to suck in air through my nose, but it just goes through the snot layer and makes a really ugly noise.

I take a deep, shuddering breath with my mouth, instead, trying to calm the storm inside me. My eyes are still wet, my vision blurry. "Then explain it to me, Jamal. Make me understand. Because right now, all I see is a mess. And you're right in the middle of it."

He nods slowly, the weight of my words settling on him like a heavy cloak. "Okay, Sam. Let's talk about it. But please, let's do it calmly. We're on the same side, remember?"

He reaches down to fix the table. Then, he walks astride his chair and sits down, folding his hands in front of his face, elbows on the table, head down so that his fingers cover his nose and mouth. I don't even remember getting up. I sit down.

Jamal runs a hand over his head, the tension visible in the lines of his face. "You're right, Sam. We can't just stand by if the government is misleading everyone. Justice has to be our first priority, always." His words are firm, echoing my own thoughts on fairness and what it means to be a hero.

"The NSRA showed up at my place, trying to take Belle's notes," I tell him, watching his reaction closely. "They think there's something in there that could expose them."

His brow furrows. He pinches the bridge of his nose, hard enough to leave tiny crescent-moon nail marks in his skin. "Stupid. That's a stupid, unnecessary escalation. Someone above our pay grade up there is panicking," he says, his voice laced with a hint of anger.

I cross my arms, trying to suppress the shiver that runs through me. "Yeah, and Belle's notes… they don't mention anything about the federal government or Chernobyl. Nothing."

Jamal's expression darkens. "But the government doesn't know that. They don't know what she did or didn't know, not in her private notes. They're probably operating under the assumption that Belle was onto them. That's why she went after Chernobyl, against direct orders. And now, with you having her notes…" He trails off, his gaze intense.

"You think I'm in danger?" The words come out as a whisper, the reality of the situation starting to dawn on me.

"Yes," he admits bluntly, his voice grave. "They might believe you have information that could blow this whole thing wide open, and that you could do so at any time. We need to be careful, very careful."

The room seems to close in on me, the walls inching closer with each breath. The weight of what I'm holding, what I'm involved in, it's overwhelming. A little devil in my brain starts spinning a flywheel, and the excitement grows in my lungs like a fungus.

Jamal stands up, his movements deliberate. "We'll figure this out, Sam. I promise you, we're going to get to the bottom of this. But for now, we need to keep you safe. We need a plan, something to protect you and the information you have."

I nod, more to myself than to him. A plan. Protection. It's a start, but the fear, the enormity of it all, it still lingers, like a shadow I can't quite shake off. The excitement. The pressure on my palms, which have started getting cold and slammy.

Jamal's eyebrows knit together, a mix of concern and calculation playing across his features. "Who else knows about this, Sam? Anyone besides us?"

I shift uncomfortably, the memory of the earlier encounter still fresh. "There was this guy, Miasma, at the will reading. He showed up when the agents were there. Started throwing around legal terms, Fourth Amendment stuff. He was… intense."

Recognition flickers in Jamal's eyes. "Miasma, huh? I know of him. He was one of Liberty Belle's early comrades, back when she was still a street-level vigilante. Before he moved to Boston." He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. "He's… a bit of an anarchist. Tends to play by his own rules. We need to be cautious around him."

I nod, recalling Miasma's unorthodox approach and fierce defense. "Yeah, he's definitely got his own way of doing things. But he seemed like he wanted to help."

Jamal leans back, his gaze distant as if he's piecing together a complex puzzle. "We need to bring in people we can trust on this. People who understand the stakes and are willing to stand with us." His voice is firm, resolute. I can sense the wheels turning in his head, the leader in him mapping out a strategy. "I'll start working on the adults in the room, the Delaware Valley Defenders. We need all the support we can get, especially now."

The thought of rallying a team, of not facing this giant mess alone, eases some of the tension coiling inside me. "Yeah, we need people on our side. People who won't back down."

Jamal nods, his expression serious but determined. "Exactly. This isn't just about us anymore, Sam. It's about justice, about standing up for what's right. We'll do this together."

He stands up, beginning to pace a little bit, while I try to find a tissue somewhere to wipe my gross, dripping nose. "Look, everything we do, every decision we make as the Delaware Valley Defenders, it's all recorded. Meeting minutes, agendas, action plans, you name it. And all of it, unfortunately, is accessible to the public through something called a FOIA request." He doesn't elaborate on what FOIA is, but his tone suggests it's something bureaucratic and limiting. "That means I can't officially turn this into a mission for the team. It would be logged, scrutinized."

I lean forward, the chair creaking under me. "So, what does that mean for us? You can't tell anyone?"

"It means," he says, pausing to emphasize his point, "that any investigation, any action we take against the NSRA or to uncover what's really going on with Chernobyl, it needs to come from outside the official channels. I can tell them - and I plan on it - but I can't get them involved. I can only rope them in. But we can't go raiding any offices or interrogating anyone." He looks at me directly, his eyes steady. "They're all Registered Superhuman Entities, accountable to the government."

"Yeah? Am I?" I ask, trying not to smile - trying not to grin.

Jamal looks at me. Up and down. "No. Not really. I mean, sort of, but if a teenager that's not a government employee is going to do something stupid in their off-time, that's none of my business. You're brave, you're resourceful, and you've got a good head on your shoulders."

I think about it for a second, the idea slowly taking root. "You make it sound so simple. Just send a fourteen year old to go investigate the nation's superhero CIA. No big deal."

Jamal smiles. "I don't want you doing anything, actually. I don't think you're at risk of having your brake lines cut - can you imagine the backlash? No, I think the best course of option is to let them come to us, take a defensive position, and then… pants them, if I can be so crude."

Jamal takes a deep breath, and when he speaks, his words are careful, measured. "I know about your friend, Jordan, and how they work on the other side of the law. And I'm aware that Spindle has worked with the two of you before, and he's not officially a Young Defender yet. So, I'm thinking…" He trails off, looking at me expectantly. "Young Defenders Dark. You three will operate off the books, dig into the NSRA, and find out what they're really up to. Meanwhile, I'll work the official angles, see what support I can get from the adults in the room, let them know the stakes. I'll... get in touch with Miasma and try to see if we can't come to terms so he can spearhead things here. I trust your abilities, and Jordan's, but... I'm not making a black ops team out of teenagers. We still need an adult in the room."

I cough twice into my hand, after a moment of silence. "Respectfully, Mr. Davis, sir, that's a stupid name."

He smiles wryly at me. "Alright, it's your team. You can figure it out. In the meanwhile, I'll see what government surplus I can channel to Jordan and you. Equipment, resources, anything that might help that I might conveniently leave in a dumpster."

"Just so I'm clear on this - everything you're proposing is all super illegal, and if word got out of what you were doing, you would almost certainly lose your position in the team and as a city councilman, right?" I ask, arms folded in front of me. "Like… smuggling surplus equipment to nominal criminals - sorry, like…"

"I know what nominal means, Sam." Jamal says, smiling back at me. "And yes, this whole thing is super illegal. If you were secretly recording me, I'd be cooked."

He slides my phone back across the table towards me. It has not been recording anything.

"Stick a fork in you. You're done," I mumble.

"Right. Insubordination is generally frowned upon for the leaders of registered superhero teams, given that they consist of people who could probably by themselves hold the White House hostage. It's a much bigger deal for me than any city council spat or election slapfight. That's how you know I'm taking this seriously, Sam. This is my entire career - this is the entire team I'm putting at risk. I could almost certainly be removed as leader. If it was on the books that the rest of the team was conspiring with me, they could have their registrations cancelled and their licenses revoked, and the team destroyed."

I take a deep breath, and try not to stare holes in Jamal's head. "But…"

"But I'm willing to put everything on the line for this. That's how I want you to trust me. Something smells rotten, and the idea that the people above my head have been using me to… To protect a supervillain makes me sick to my stomach. I don't care about the practicalities of whatever deal he's made with them. He's killed the soul of Philadelphia twice," he says, his voice firm, confident now. "My sole interest is in bringing whoever is responsible for this - and I'm including whoever's pulling the strings here in this - to justice. To make them stand trial and face responsibility for their crimes."

I nod, swallowing hard. "So what do I do?"

"For now, hold tight. I have no doubt that the NSRA has Lily's home under surveillance. I'll try to get into contact with Mrs. Zhang and Miasma, and Jordan. They've - the NSRA - they've already overplayed their hand by showing up at your doorstep. They're getting tetchy. They're going to do something stupid, and I'm going to make sure all of our pieces are in place to catch them when they do. And make sure you're safe, first of all. All this is for nothing if they kill or imprison a teenager." Jamal explains, getting up and walking around the table to clap a hand on my shoulder.

"So… I'm bait?" I ask, squeezing my folded arms a little tighter.

Jamal nods and lets go of my shoulder. "For now, yes. I'll slip what we can to Jordan in order to get them on a tail, and Miasma to help him, well, babysit - I was extremely impressed with Jordan's ability to grab the Kingdom. The DVD and I will keep protecting the city, and your side will dig out the weeds in the dark, frozen soil. Chumming the water before we can go hunting for sharks. Pun somewhat intended. Stand by for further instructions, and piss off any agents you can see as much as humanly possible."

He pauses for a moment for additional thought. "Without getting arrested, ideally."

I try to crack a very small, polite smile. It ends up being way bigger than I wanted it to be. Jamal lowers a fist to my chest. "For great justice?" He asks, grinning with me.

For the first time in a month, I feel something flickering to life in my chest. A fire. Adrenaline, delicious adrenaline. An excuse from an adult to do something stupid. My teeth lock together, shiny and sharp.

I bump my fist to his. "For great justice."