The May sun beats down on the back of my neck as I make my way through the winding streets of Tacony, the heavy fabric of my Bloodhound costume sticking to my skin in uncomfortable places. I tug at the collar, trying to get some air flow, but it's a losing battle. Superhero costumes, as it turns out, are not designed with breathability in mind.

Beside me, Derek trudges along in my old gear, ripped apart and re-stitched together presumably by his own occasionally-padded hand. He insisted on wearing it, claiming it was his "Fenrir" persona, but I think he just didn't want to be the only one not in costume. A kevlar vest underneath denim, as opposed to his usual leather, cuts a… very interesting silhouette. Jordan, resplendent in their gothy Safeguard getup, complete with their usual spray-painted motorcycle helmet and a billowing black cloak, keeps shooting him amused glances.

Spinelli, of course, looks like he just stepped out of a comic book in his sleek, professional Young Defenders uniform. Mine, too. I mean, neither of our costumes are, like, professional professional, but compared to Derek and Jordan it's a huge step up.

We turn a corner and find ourselves standing in front of a nondescript garage, the kind you'd drive past a thousand times without ever noticing. But according to Sundial's instructions, this is the place - the secret headquarters of the Tacony Titans.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. It's not every day you get to team up with another group of superheroes, especially ones as respected locally as the Titans. I want to make a good impression.

Sundial is waiting for us at the entrance, her form fitting karate gi fluttering in the breeze. I feel my cheeks heat up as I look at her. I quickly look away, hoping no one noticed my moment of weakness. I'm here to fight crime, not ogle pretty girls.

As we step inside, I'm immediately struck by the organized chaos of the Titans' headquarters. Every available surface is covered in gadgets, gizmos, and half-finished projects, the detritus of a thousand battles and stakeouts. In one corner, a workbench overflows with soldering irons, circuit boards, and tangles of multicolored wires. In another, a pegboard displays an arsenal of non-lethal weapons - tasers, pepper spray, collapsible batons.

But what really catches my eye is the massive corkboard that dominates the far wall. It's a spider web of string and pushpins, connecting newspaper clippings, blurry surveillance photos, and hastily scribbled notes. I step closer, my eyes scanning the headlines.

"Jump Dealer Arrested in University City"

"New Designer Drug Hits Streets, Causes Superpowered Chaos"

"How to Talk to Your Teens About 'Jump'"

"NSRA Warns of Increasing Jump-Related Incidents"

And far too many others for me to really pick out beofre I notice that people are watching me and start to get self-conscious. It's a tapestry of the Titans' investigation, a physical representation of the tangled web we're trying to unravel. I feel a surge of excitement, a thrill of purpose. This is what being a hero is all about.

The rest of the Titans are gathered around a large table in the center of the room, their utilitarian costumes a stark contrast to the flashy, skin-tight numbers favored by most superheroes. Bandanas with holes ripped in them mark every eye socket, while layers of padded clothing and heavy boots provide protection without sacrificing mobility. Two of them sport what look like swimming goggles, and a little more padding than everyone else. I guess those are their heavy hitters?

I can't help but feel a little self-conscious in my premier gear, made by the most talented seamstress in the USA. But then I catch Sundial's eye, and she gives me a small, approving nod. Suddenly, my costume doesn't seem so overwrought anymore.

As we gather around the table, I take in the maps and surveillance photos scattered across its surface. Red circles and hastily drawn arrows mark key locations, while scribbled notes detail patterns and theories. It's clear the Titans have been at this for a while, piecing together the puzzle of the Jump drug trade one clue at a time.

Sundial clears her throat, and the room falls silent. All eyes turn to her, waiting for her to speak. She has that kind of presence, the kind that commands attention without even trying.

"Thank you all for coming," she begins, her voice calm and measured. "I know we don't usually work with outside groups, but the Jump situation has escalated beyond what any one team can handle. If we're going to take down this drug ring, we need to pool our resources and work together."

I feel a flicker of pride at her words, a sense of validation. The Auditors may be new to the game, but we've taken down Chernobyl, even if nobody knows. And Jordan and I have been on the scene fighting the scumbags of the Northeast. And now, we have a chance to make a real difference, to do something other than beating the bad people up and reclaiming their money. I'm sure Crossroads would be pissed, or maybe just disappointed in me, if he knew that I was going around his back to do superheroing. And I'm sure he won't be happy that Spinelli is enabling it.

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But oh well.

"Alright, let's get the introductions out of the way," Sundial says, her eyes sweeping the room. "I know some of you have worked together before, but for the sake of the newbies, let's go around the table and share our names and powers. I'll start. I'm Sundial, and I can perceive and manipulate time in limited ways."

She nods to her left, where Bubble sits, her brown curls bouncing as she leans forward eagerly. I remember her. "Hi everyone! I'm Bubble, and I can create force fields. They're pretty handy for protection and containment."

Next to her, the be-goggled girl number one clears her throat. "Compass. I can sense and manipulate magnetic fields. Basically, I'm a human GPS."

Moonshot adjusts her goggles, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Moonshot here. I control gravity. Walking on walls, making things float, that sort of thing."

Sandman yawns, his head resting on his folded arms. "Sandman. I can control people and animals while they're sleeping. Including myself."

There's a moment of silence, and then Derek realizes it's his turn. He sits up straighter, puffing out his chest. "I'm Fenrir. I'm a werewolf. Enhanced senses, super strength, the whole package."

I can't help but snort. "But only after sundown."

Derek shoots me a glare. "Yes. Only after sundown."

"And what can you do otherwise?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Share for the class."

"I'm… good at smelling things. I keep the nose," Derek says, looking defeated at the admission. For a moment, I see a sort of why-am-I-hanging-around-all-these-teenagers look cross his face, and then the moment passes. "You'll meet the werewolf eventually. Just dangerous right now. Saving it for the right moment."

The room fills with metaphorical crickets.

Spinelli clears his throat loudly, cutting off our bickering. "Anyway… I'm Spindle. I can fit my body into any hole my head can fit into, basically."

"Gross!" Bubble exclaims, but in a way that makes it clear she approves.

Jordan, who's been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time, finally speaks up. "I go by Safeguard. I can expand and contract enclosed spaces. Like buildings. I'm sort of useless outdoors."

All eyes turn to me, and I feel a flicker of self-consciousness. "Um, I'm Bloodhound. I have shark powers. Enhanced bite force, regeneration, the ability to sense and track blood. Oh, and I can grow teeth pretty much anywhere on my body, which is both cool and deeply disturbing."

Bubble's eyes widen. "Wait, anywhere? Like, even on your-"

"Yes," I cut her off quickly, feeling my face heat up beneath my mask. "including my fists."

I squeeze my hands to demonstrate, a single tooth emerging from my middle knuckle on each hand, through the gaps in my gloves. It's no Wolverine, to whom I've been compared to like five dozen times by now, but they're still sharp enough to cut paper with some effort. And puncture skin.

Sundial claps her hands, drawing our attention back to the matter at hand. "Great, now that we all know each other, let's get down to business. We've been tracking various Jump and Fly dealers for the past week, and we think we've finally got a lead on Squeal's next meeting with Sparkplug. I do believe you all have bumped into our man as well."

She taps a location on the map, and my heart sinks. The Dobson Mills warehouse. I glance at Jordan, and I watch their helmet tilt towards me in recognition - the place where we first got involved with the Kingdom. Where our lives got substantially weirder. "This is where we think the deal is going down. Our plan is to stake it out, wait for Squeal and Sparkplug to show, and then take them down hard and fast. Or, at the very least, record them doing something incriminating. Either will work."

I lean forward, studying the map intently. "What kind of opposition are we expecting?"

Sundial shrugs. "Hard to say. Squeal's got his sonic scream, and Sparkplug is no slouch in the power department either. He's like a bad guy version of Professor Franklin. Plus, they'll probably have some muscle with them. Jump-heads looking to score some free product. Paid muscle. No guarantee that any of them will or won't have powers, so we're going in blind and deaf to an unknown amount of assailants and looking to come out with a superpowered drug dealer in cuffs."

Derek cracks his knuckles. "Nothing we can't handle."

"You make it sound so easy, Sunny D," Sandman cracks.

Moonshot nods in agreement. "Between all of us, we should be able to take them down no problem. The tricky part will be making sure they don't escape with the Jump."

"That's where Bubble and I come in," Compass says. "We'll be on containment duty. Anyone tries to run, they'll have to go through us."

Spinelli raises his hand. "What about surveillance? We need eyes on the inside."

Jordan grins. "Leave that to me and my trusty sidekick here," they say, clapping me on the shoulder. "We'll infiltrate the warehouse beforehand, set up some cameras and listening devices. If anything goes down, we'll be the first to know."

"Plus, we've already got Squeal's apartment surrounded. Between Bloodhound and I, we should be able to cover any lowlives on the way to or from the warehouse with our sensory powers," Derek chimes in. I raise an eyebrow, but make no comment. I think Derek wanted to be a superhero more than he lets on.

Sundial nods approvingly. "Good thinking. Sandman, you're on lookout duty. Use your powers to keep watch without being seen."

Sandman gives a lazy salute. "Aye aye, captain."

"The rest of us will be the strike team. Once Squeal and Sparkplug are in position, we move in hard and fast. Take them down before they even know what hit them."

I feel a thrill of excitement at her words, a rush of adrenaline. This is what I live for, the chance to make a real difference. To put my powers to good use.

But beneath the excitement, there's a flicker of unease. A sense that something isn't quite right. I glance around the room, trying to put my finger on it. And then I see it. A flash of movement outside the window, a glint of metal in the sun. I blink, and it's gone. But the feeling remains, a nagging whisper in the back of my mind. The sense that we're being watched.

"Did anyone else see that?" I ask, my eyes still fixed on the window. "That flash of light outside?"

The others turn to look, but the alley outside the garage is empty, still and silent in the afternoon sun.

"I didn't see anything," Bubble says, shrugging. "Maybe it was just a reflection or something."

"Yeah, probably," I mutter, but I can't shake the unease that's settled in my gut. "Just nerves, I guess."