The chains around my wrists go slack suddenly, clattering to the ground as she releases her control over them. My shoulders scream in relief, blood rushing back into my tingling hands. Good timing, because Maggie's already in motion, projecting a force field between me and Marathon's crew.

  "Get Bee!" Sundial shouts, using my code name from our earpiece comms.

  Hands grab me - Blink, pulling me away from the chaos while Maggie provides cover. My throat feels raw where the chains dug in, and I can already feel bruises forming on my wrists. But I'm free, and that's what matters.

  "My helmet," I croak, looking back toward the gas station entrance where Refrigerator Guy tossed it after searching me.

  "No time!" Blink hisses, still pulling me toward cover behind one of the abandoned gas pumps.

  Behind us, everything erupts into chaos. Drop leaps onto the back of Red Jacket Guy's motorcycle, wrapping her arms around his waist. The bike's tires squeal as he guns it, leaving Marathon and his crew behind without a second thought. So much for loyalty among thieves.

  CRACK!

  Gossamer's whip lashes out again, this time wrapping around Bat Guy's ankle as he tries to make a run for the alley. With a practiced flick of her wrist that looks like she's been doing this her entire life, she yanks, sending him sprawling to the ground.

  "Since when can you--" I start to ask, but I'm cut off by the wail of police sirens, much closer now.

  "Questions later!" Gossamer shouts back, recoiling her whip with impossible speed. "We've got maybe thirty seconds before cops arrive!"

  Marathon's already organizing his retreat, gesturing frantically to Brass Knuckles and Fridge Guy. "Out the back, now! Go!"

  They disappear into the gas station, presumably heading for a rear exit or the vehicles we'd observed during surveillance. Bat Guy scrambles to his feet, clutching his injured arm, and follows them inside.

  "We need to go," Sundial says, suddenly beside us. "But we can't leave all this Jump for them to recover later."

  She's right. Even if Marathon and his crew are fleeing, leaving a stash of power-granting drugs for anyone to find is a recipe for disaster.

  "If we could just--" I start, but Maggie cuts me off.

  "I got this," she says, rushing toward the doorway. "Cover me!"

  Blink follows, keeping watch while Maggie darts inside. The police sirens are getting louder, and I can see the flash of lights at the far end of the street.

  "Tasha, what's our exit?" I ask into my earpiece, finally able to respond now that I'm free.

  "West alley puts you two blocks from the bus stop," she replies immediately. "Police are coming from the east and south. You have maybe twenty seconds."

  I look around frantically, spotting my helmet just inside the doorway. Without thinking, I sprint for it, ignoring Sundial's call to stop. My blood sense picks up the fizzy, orange-tinged signature of Jump users - Marathon and his crew - retreating through a back room, but they're already too far to chase. I snatch my helmet off the floor just as Maggie emerges from the inventory area, a handful of small packages clutched in her fist.

  "Evidence," she says triumphantly, stuffing them into a pouch on her belt.

  Outside, the first police cruiser turns the corner, lights bathing the street in alternating blue and red.

  "Move!" Gossamer shouts from the shadows. "Westbound, now!"

  We scatter like startled birds. Sundial and Blink head north, around the back of the building. Gossamer melts into the dark alley to the west, her whip now nowhere to be seen. Maggie and I follow her, sprinting at full tilt.

  Behind us, I hear car doors slamming, voices shouting, flashlight beams cutting through the darkness. But we're already turning the corner, putting brick walls and dumpsters between us and the police.

  "Did you see that?" I gasp to Maggie as we run, my throat still raw from the chains. "Goss with a whip?"

  "Right?" Maggie pants back. "That was the coolest thing I've ever seen!"

  We reach the end of the alley and pause, catching our breath in the shadow of a fire escape. The street ahead is quiet, residential. No police yet.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Clear," Gossamer says from somewhere above us - I hear her voice twice, once in the earpiece, once in my other ear. Somehow she's already scaled the fire escape and is keeping watch. "Move two blocks west, then north to the bus stop. Tasha says we've got four minutes before the first patrol expands their search this way."

  I adjust my wolf helmet, grimacing at the pain in my wrists as I secure the strap. The bruises are already forming in dark bands, visible even in the dim light whenever my sleeve rides up. My throat feels like I swallowed sandpaper. This is not what I thought people were referring to when they made jokes about whips and chains.

  "You okay?" Maggie asks, noticing my wince.

  "Been through way worse," I say, noting with a sense of trim satisfaction that at least Drop didn't constrict my belly, where there's still a healing gunshot wound. Could be way worse. I'll take bruises and maybe some minor fractures and whatever's going on with my throat over that thing re-opening again any day.

  We cross the street, moving at a casual walk now to avoid attracting attention. Just two normal superheroes out for a late-night stroll. Nothing suspicious here, officer.

  "Blink and Sundial are clear," Tasha reports in our ears. "Headed for the secondary rendezvous."

  "Copy that," Gossamer replies from somewhere behind us. I don't know how she moves so quietly. "We'll take primary."

  Two blocks west, then north. The bus stop is a simple bench under a flickering streetlight, mercifully empty at this hour. We settle onto it, trying to look natural despite our costumes and my wolf helmet. My heart is still pounding, adrenaline keeping the pain at bay.

  "That was..." I start, not sure how to finish the sentence.

  "Yeah," Maggie agrees, somehow understanding.

  The night air is cool against my skin, a gentle relief from the heat of exertion. My blood sense has calmed down, no longer spiking with the fizzy orange of Jump users. Just the normal, steady pulse of every bleeding human life within a couple of blocks. At least, the ones that are exposed to air.

  "Okay, Amelia," I say after a moment. "Spill. Since when can you use a bullwhip like some kind of superhero Indiana Jones?"

  Gossamer materializes from the shadows, her sleek costume barely visible in the darkness. The whip is coiled at her side now, secured to her belt. "I've been working on it for weeks," she admits. "Weaving is about understanding the behavior of threads under tension."

  "And a whip is basically just a really long thread?" I say, trying to put it together.

  "Sort of," she nods. "I tried it on a lot of things. Just a long rope doesn't do the trick. Bullwhips are braided - it's the braiding. I... don't know how to explain it, but my arms just know how to get it to move. I can't tell you how I'm doing any of the things I'm doing with it. I just know I need to get the tip from point A to point B and my body does all the rest automatically."

  "It was awesome," Maggie says, voice tinged with admiration. "That crack sounded just like gunshots!"

  "That was the idea," Gossamer replies with a hint of pride. "Psychological warfare."

  A bus rumbles around the corner, right on schedule. We board quietly, earning a curious glance from the driver but nothing more. It's Philadelphia, after all. Masked people on public transit barely register as unusual these days.

  We find seats at the back, away from the other late-night passengers. My body is starting to come down from the adrenaline high, and every bruise and strain makes itself known. The rings around my wrists throb, and my throat feels like I tried to swallow a handful of broken glass.

  But we got out. We have evidence. And we now know more about Rogue Wave than we did before. Worth it, I decide, even as I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

  "So," I say quietly, "It's all Rogue Wave, huh?"

  "Rogue Wave," Gossamer mimics in assent.

  "And they knew each other, but weren't exactly friends," Maggie adds. "Did you see how Drop and Marathon kept sniping at each other?"

  I nod. "And Drop and Red Jacket Guy looked awfully familiar. With each other, but also in general."

  "Not bad for a little lucky break," Gossamer says.

  "Like I said earlier, I think we would've stumbled on this eventually. It was sloppy. Jordan and I," I start, suppressing the urge to wince. "- have taken down more well-hidden operations before. Like that dogfighting ring near the bridge. This was out in the open. Matter of time."

  "Don't undersell yourself," Gossamer replies, trying to butter me up.

  I ignore it. "Drop?" I ask, not really elaborating on the question.

  "Enforcer, maybe? Sent to handle situations when they get dicey?" Gossamer suggests.

  "Sounds right," I agree, remembering the cold, professional way she had threatened to kill me. Not personal, just business.

  Ten minutes later, the bus deposits us a block from the Wawa on Torresdale Avenue, our primary rendezvous point. The convenience store is open 24/7, its bright fluorescent lights an easy way to hurt my vision after all that lurking in the darkness.

  Gossamer vanishes into the bathroom, and reappears with a backpack. From where, I have no idea - a dead drop? From it, she produces a stack of civilian clothes. "We're gonna get changed outside," she instructs, which is fine by me. A handful of late-night customers give us curious looks—three costumed figures huddled in the corner of a Wawa isn't an everyday sight, even in Philly.

  "Your wrists need attention," Gossamer says quietly, noticing my discomfort. "Let me see."

  I extend my arms reluctantly, wincing as she gently pushes up my sleeves to reveal the angry red marks circling my wrists. In some places, the skin is broken, small beads of blood welling up.

  "You got lucky," she says after examining them. "No permanent damage. But these need cleaning and bandaging once we're back at the Hall."

  "My throat too," I admit, my voice still raspy. "She wasn't gentle."

  Gossamer's expression darkens. "I should have been faster. I was trying to create a distraction without giving away my position."

  "Hey, it worked," I assure her. "And that whip? Seriously cool."

  Her face pulls up in what's supposed to be a smile, but her brow is still furrowed. "Thanks,"

  "Fellas," Maggie mumbles. "Any possibility we can grab a hoagie and be quick with it? I'm starting to get weird sweat rashes under my facemask."

  As we head towards the self-order panel, I'm already thinking about how good it's going to feel to get out of this sweaty costume. I catch a sight of myself on the reflective surface of the coffee machine, black, plastic-polished, warping at the rounded corners. My wolf helmet stares back at me, fierce and uncompromising. But underneath it, visible at the neck of my costume, is a ring of bruises already darkening against my pale skin.