The abandoned Sunoco station looks exactly like what it is - a perfect spot for illegal shit to go down. Faded signage, boarded windows, empty pumps with their hoses long gone. But from where I'm crouched across the street, nestled between a dumpster and the brick wall of a laundromat, I can see the telltale signs of activity. The security camera above the side door, still sporting its little red operation light. The freshly broken lock on the chain-link fence surrounding the property. The occasional shadow moving behind the gaps in the plywood covering the windows.

  "Everyone in position?" I murmur into my earpiece, adjusting the strap of my helmet. The grey wolf design blends better with urban environments than my usual red one, especially at night.

  "Blink, in position," comes Lily's voice, slightly breathless. She's on the roof of the convenience store next door, providing high-ground surveillance. "No movement outside the station. Two cars parked around back."

  "Gossamer, ready," Amelia adds. She's stationed a block away with the first aid kit and various improvised weapons, our emergency backup.

  "Flashpoint, good to go," Maggie whispers from her position about ten feet to my left, crouched behind a parked car. She's practically vibrating with excitement, and I make a mental note to keep an eye on her. I can already tell she's itching to jump into action at the slightest provocation. Probably takes after me a little too much. But then again, I take after Belle a little too much. So, blame her.

  "Tasha, how's it looking?" I ask.

  "Police scanner's quiet," she responds from her station back at the Music Hall. "Nothing about the Sunoco or the surrounding blocks. HIRC chatrooms are... interesting, though."

  "Interesting how?"

  "Someone in the Tacony channel asked where to find Jump and got instabanned."

  I chuckle. "Anything useful?"

  "Regular traffic patterns. Nothing unusual."

  I glance at the final member of our little operation. Sundial stands beside me, her expression unreadable behind her visor. Unlike the rest of us in our stealth gear, she's in her regular costume - a practical, reinforced outfit in shades of white and gold, like some sort of modified, armored gi. At least she's making some concessions to stealth and wearing a black jacket and kilt of some sort over top.

  "Ready?" I ask her.

  She nods once, curt and professional. "Let's do this." Her voice is steady, confident in a way that makes me both admire and envy her. No second-guessing, no anxiety, just calm purpose.

  I take one more look at the target. The Sunoco station appears quiet, no obvious movement inside. According to our surveillance, Yellow Jacket Guy usually operates from about 7 PM to midnight, but it's just past 1 AM now. The place should be empty, giving Sundial the perfect opportunity to do her thing.

  "Moving in," I whisper. "Flash, with me. Blink, keep watch."

  We cross the street quickly, staying low and sticking to shadows. My heart pounds in my chest, but it's not fear - it's anticipation. After weeks of getting pushed around by neighborhood patrols and Argus Corps, after watching Richardson's anti-vigilante campaign gain momentum, after all the bullshit with my withdrawal symptoms and Kate leaving... it feels good to be doing something proactive again.

  We reach the chain-link fence surrounding the Sunoco lot. I lift the corner where the padlock used to be, creating a gap just big enough for us to slip through one at a time. Sundial goes first, then Maggie, then me. I carefully let the fence fall back into place, making sure it looks undisturbed from a distance.

  The station itself is about thirty feet away, a dark silhouette against the night sky. As we approach, I scan for additional security measures we might have missed during surveillance. Nothing obvious, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand up anyway. Something about this place just feels off.

  "Security camera above the side door," I whisper, pointing. "Probably more inside."

  "Not a problem," Sundial murmurs. "My abilities aren't affected by cameras. And they can't record what happened in the past."

  We reach the side door - a metal service entrance with a heavy deadbolt. During our surveillance, we observed Yellow Jacket Guy using a key, but for us, it's a hard wall, even if we can walk all the way around any cameras.

  "Flashpoint?" I nod toward the lock.

  Maggie grins and places her palm against the door near the deadbolt. A barely visible, shimmering distortion appears around her hand as she focuses her force field directly against the lock mechanism. Unlike the big-ass overcomplicated electronic lock in the warehouse, this one is dead easy. With a couple of spiked pulses of her forcefield, all we get to hear from the outside is crunch-thump, crunch-thump, crunch-ckkrhhhrk, and then a click as something gives way inside.

  "Got it," she whispers, her voice tinged with pride.

  I push the door open slowly, wincing at the slight creak of hinges. The interior is dark, but not completely black - faint ambient light filters through gaps in the boarded windows, creating eerie patterns across the floor.

  "All clear," I say after a moment of listening and scanning the immediate area. "Sundial, you're up."

  We step inside, closing the door behind us. The interior of the Sunoco station is stripped of its original fixtures - no shelves, no registers, no snack displays. Instead, there's a makeshift operation center. Folding tables arranged in an L-shape. A mini-fridge humming quietly in the corner. A couple of metal chairs. A laptop closed on one of the tables.

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  "This is definitely not an abandoned building," Maggie whispers.

  "Quiet," Sundial says, not unkindly. "I need to concentrate."

  She moves to the center of the room, her posture straightening as she prepares to use her powers. I've seen her do this before, but it's still fascinating to watch. The way her whole demeanor shifts, becoming somehow both more present and more distant at the same time.

  "Stay alert," I remind Maggie, who's staring at Sundial with undisguised curiosity. "We're her protection while she's... elsewhere."

  She's here, of course. But she's not - she's in the past, sort of backwards projecting her consciousness, reading the whole place top to bottom. Psychometry, I think, is the word for it. And right now, she's our best chance of confirming what's been happening in this supposedly abandoned gas station.

  "Beginning now," Sundial says, her voice taking on that slightly detached quality it gets when she's using her ability, like she's turning into a ghost. Her head tilts slightly, eyes scanning the empty space as if watching invisible figures move through it.

  For several minutes, nothing happens - or nothing we can perceive, anyway. Sundial stands motionless, occasionally turning her head to track something only she can see. Maggie shifts from foot to foot, impatient. I remain still, dividing my attention between Sundial and our surroundings. My blood sense isn't picking up anything, which is good - means no one's actively bleeding nearby.

  "Heavy foot traffic," Sundial finally says, her voice distant. "Throughout the day. Primarily evening hours. Individuals entering, staying for approximately three to five minutes, then leaving."

  "Like what we observed during surveillance," I confirm quietly.

  She nods absently, her focus elsewhere. "Side door used exclusively. Main entrance remains boarded up, non-functional." She moves slowly toward the folding tables, her hands hovering over their surface without touching. "Transactions. Money exchanged for... small packages. Pills. Different colors."

  My pulse quickens. This confirms it - the Sunoco is definitely a distribution point. Whether it's Jump or something else remains to be seen, but it's clearly not on the up-and-up.

  "Anyone matching our Yellow Jacket Guy description?" I ask.

  Sundial moves again, positioning herself near the mini-fridge. "Yes. Male, mid-twenties. Yellow windbreaker. Present throughout evening hours. Supervising transactions." She pauses, her head tilting as if listening. "Referred to as 'Marathon' by customers."

  Marathon. Finally, a name to go with the yellow jacket.

  "Any other identifiers?" I press.

  "Six feet tall, approximately. Athletic build. Dark hair, short. No visible tattoos." She moves toward the laptop on the table. "Uses this computer to track... inventory. Sales records."

  "Can you see what's on the screen?" Maggie asks, a little too loudly.

  I shoot her a warning look, but Sundial doesn't seem bothered by the interruption. She leans closer to the invisible laptop her past-sight is showing her.

  "Spreadsheets. Numbers. Product codes, maybe. JMP-R, JMP-B, JMP-G." She straightens. "Jump variants. Red, Blue, Green?"

  I feel a surge of satisfaction - our investigation paid off. This is exactly what we suspected. At least, that's what it looks like right now.

  "What about other people?" I ask. "Anyone else regular besides Marathon?"

  Sundial turns slowly, surveying the room. "Various customers. Different ages, demographics. But..." She pauses, her brow furrowing behind her visor. "Earlier yesterday, at the edges. Someone else. An argument."

  "Who?"

  "Marathon and... another man. Older, but not much. A couple of wrinkle lines. Red jacket, little Parisian hat, like a delivery person." She tilts her head, concentrating harder. "Heated discussion. The older man is... displeased."

  My mind immediately jumps to the guy we spotted during our surveillance - Bomber Jacket with the stupid hat. My suspicions were right; he must be higher up in the organization. Maybe Marathon's boss?

  "What were they arguing about?" I ask, trying to keep the eagerness from my voice.

  Sundial takes a step forward, deeper into her vision. "The older man is upset about... numbers. Sales targets. Marathon is defensive, explaining..." She frowns, concentrating. "Something about competition. Territory disputes."

  This is gold. Actual intel on Rogue Wave's internal operations. I glance at Maggie, who's practically bouncing on her toes with excitement.

  "The older man mentions something about 'contracts' and 'headquarters'," Sundial continues. "Marathon looks nervous. Says he's handling it. The older man - Marathon calls him--"

  A sharp metallic bang cuts through the silence, making all three of us jump. The side door we came through flies open, slamming against the wall with enough force to leave a dent in the drywall.

  "Well, well, well," says a voice from the doorway. "Looks like we've got some uninvited guests."

  A man steps into the dim light - six feet tall, athletic build, short dark hair. He's wearing a bright yellow windbreaker that practically glows in the darkness. Marathon.

  He's not alone. Three others file in behind him, spreading out to block our exit. They're all men, ranging from their twenties to forties, with the hard-eyed look of people who've seen their share of violence. One's got a baseball bat. Another's wearing brass knuckles. The third is empty-handed but built like a refrigerator.

  Sundial snaps out of her psychometric trance, immediately shifting to a defensive stance. Maggie moves closer to me, her hands raised slightly, ready to generate force fields.

  "What brings the Big Bad Wolf of Tacony to my neck of the woods?" Marathon asks, his tone almost conversational. He's looking directly at me, at the wolf design of my helmet.

  I resist the urge to glance at Sundial. How does he know who I am?

  "Just browsing," I reply, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. "You've got quite the operation here. JMP-R, JMP-B, JMP-G. Catchy product codes."

  A flicker of surprise crosses Marathon's face before he masks it with a smirk. "You've been doing your homework. I'd be impressed if I cared about giving you a stupid comic-book lecture." He takes a step forward, completely at ease.

  "We know what you're doing here," I say, buying time while I assess our options. "Jump distribution. Rogue Wave operation."

  "So?" He asks, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

  Maggie shifts beside me, and I can practically feel her restraint crumbling. "You're selling drugs that mess people up," she says, anger evident in her voice.

  "No federal law yet," Marathon counters. "I'm selling freedom. Superpowers for the regular folks. What's so wrong about that?"

  "Cut the philosophical crap," Sundial interjects. Her voice is cold, professional. "You know exactly what's wrong with it."

  Marathon's eyes narrow as he focuses on Sundial. "Sundial. Didn't expect to see you slumming with the junior league."

  Sundial doesn't react beyond a slight stiffening of her shoulders. "Didn't expect you to be slumming with druggies."

  "So you're all buddies now? The Big Bad Wolf and the Titans joining forces?" Marathon laughs, but there's no humor in it. "How dramatic. Did you coordinate your little ninja outfits too?"

  I'm getting tired of the banter. "How'd you know we were here?"

  "Silent alarm, idiot."

  That explains the sudden arrival. But not how he knows who I am.

  "And you brought friends," I observe, nodding toward his three goons. "Expecting trouble?"

  "Always," Marathon says, taking another step forward. "I respect the hustle. Really, I do. You kids did your homework, followed the clues, found my little operation. Gold star for detective work. But now, you've got a choice to make." His smile turns predatory. "You can walk away, pretend you never saw this place, and we all go about our business. Or..."

  He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to. The threat is clear.

  "Doesn't look like walking away is an option," I say, shifting my weight to the balls of my feet, ready to move. "Come on, you knew the answer when you asked it."

  Marathon sighs dramatically. "I figured you'd say that." He cracks his knuckles like shotgun shells. "Alright. Fine. Have it your way."