Chum

Jason nods, then jerks his head towards the door. "Sam, a word?"

I follow him out into the hallway, my stomach doing nervous flips. Is he going to try to talk me out of this?

But when he turns to face me, his expression is resolute. "I'm not going to tell you not to do this," he says, his voice low. "But you need to understand the situation we're in. The political climate right now… it's not great for groups like us."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

He sighs, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "I know you're vaguely familiar, but it's going from "idea" to "real" real fast. There's been talk in City Hall and in Congress about increasing oversight on superhero teams, especially ones with underage members, even ones that are technically afterschool clubs or extracurricular organizations like ours. The recent Patriot stuff has really put a squeeze on us from every direction. Federal, state, and municipal - at least that's what Davis tells me."

My frown deepens. "But we've always been careful. We follow all the rules, try not to engage in dangerous shit, all that stuff."

Well. Try is a big word. So is "dangerous shit".

"I know," he says. "But perception is everything in politics. And right now, the perception is that we're a potential liability. One wrong move, one mission gone bad, and we could be shut down." He puffs his chest out slightly. "I mean, maybe a world without a need for super-cop cadets would be better. But I don't think we're in that world yet."

I feel a chill run down my spine, although I'm not sure why. "So what are you saying? Be straight to me. Not, not like that, I mean, like, tell me directly."

He shakes his head. "I'm saying we need to be smart about this. If you do this mission - and I'm not saying you shouldn't - it needs to be completely off the books. Plausible deniability all the way. As far as anyone outside this team is concerned, you were never there, you were never here, and we never knew about it. I don't think any one of us can realistically come and help you, not directly."

I nod slowly, understanding dawning. "So if I get caught…"

"Then you're on your own," he finishes grimly. "Officially, at least. We'll do everything we can to help you behind the scenes, but publicly, we'd have to disavow any knowledge of your actions. That is, if people even make the connection between you and Bloodhound to begin with. Otherwise, you're just some girl doing crazy shit."

It's a sobering thought. But oddly, it doesn't make me want to back down. If anything, it makes me more determined. "I understand," I say. "And I'm willing to take that risk."

Jason studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Alright then. Just remember - if you don't get caught, we never had this conversation. Clear?"

I nod back, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the seriousness of the situation. "Crystal."

I freeze, my heart in my throat. Shit. Shit shit shit. How does she recognize me? Is my disguise not as good as I thought? I thought I looked completely different! I thought I looked like a… like a butch lesbian! Which I do not normally look like! Right?

I force a confused smile, cocking my head to the side. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I'm new in town." New in town? What the fuck am I saying? This isn't a sitcom.

Nina frowns, peering at me more closely. "Are you sure? Because you look really familiar. Do you maybe have a sister or something?"

I laugh, but it comes out sounding strained and unnatural. "Nope, no sisters. Just me. Maybe you're thinking of someone else?"

The bartender, whose name I still haven't caught, is studying me too now, his eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute," he says slowly. "I know where I've seen you before. You're that girl from the video!"

My stomach drops. "Video? What video?"

He snaps his fingers. "The homecoming video! The one that went viral a couple of weeks ago. You know, where that Patriot guy absolutely demolished some poor girl at a school dance?"

Oh fuck. Of course. I literally just altered the outcome of national elections, no shit people have seen me. I briefly imagine Jamila teasing me, telling me I'm famous now. The thought makes something tighten in my chest, but I push it down. Not now. Focus, Sam.

I force another laugh, this one slightly more convincing. "Oh, that? Yeah, I get that a lot. Crazy coincidence, right? I guess I just have one of those faces."

Nina doesn't look entirely convinced. "I don't know. The resemblance is pretty uncanny. Are you sure you're not her?"

I shake my head, trying to project a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Pretty sure I'd remember getting my ass kicked by a superhero. Besides, didn't that girl end up in the hospital with, like, a broken face or something? Look at me." I point to my face, giving them my best 'do I look like I've been punched recently' look. "Nose's fine. My entire body is as intact as it gets."

I really hope my nose looks fine.

The bartender frowns, looking me over more closely. For a moment, I'm sure he's going to call bullshit. But then his expression clears, and he nods slowly. "You know what, you're right. That girl did look pretty roughed up. And it has only been a couple of weeks. There's no way your nose would have healed that fast."

I nod, feeling a rush of relief. "Exactly. Just a weird coincidence, that's all."

Nina still looks a little skeptical, but she doesn't push it. "I guess. Still, it's kind of freaky how much you look like her."

I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. "Well, you know what they say. Everyone has a doppelganger out there somewhere."

The bartender chuckles. "Ain't that the truth. I once met a guy who looked exactly like my Uncle Frank, except he was about thirty years younger and had all his teeth. Weirdest thing."

I force a smile, my heart still racing. "Ha, yeah. Weird." I glance around, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else. "Anyway, I should probably get back out there. Don't want to miss any of the, uh, fun."

Nina nods, already turning her attention to something else. "Yeah, no worries. Hey, if you see your twin out there, tell her I said hi!"

I give her a weak thumbs up. "Will do."

I walk away from the bar as casually as I can, resisting the urge to bolt. As soon as I'm out of sight, I let out a shaky breath, leaning against a wall for support. That was way too close. I need to be more careful.

I take a moment to compose myself, then push off the wall and head deeper into the club, weaving through the crowd. My heart is still racing, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I feel like I'm vibrating, every sense on high alert. As I move, I strain my ears, trying to pick up any interesting conversations over the thump of the music. Most of it is just the usual club chatter - people shouting drink orders, flirting, gossiping about friends and enemies alike. But then I catch a snippet that makes me pause.

"…heard they're beefing up security," a guy in a black leather jacket is saying to his friend, leaning in close to be heard. "Ever since that shit with the Phreaks, the bosses are paranoid as fuck."

I drift closer, trying to look like I'm just another clubgoer searching for a place to stand. The guy's friend frowns, taking a swig of his beer. "The Phreaks? I thought they got shut down after that big raid last year."

Leather Jacket shakes his head. "Nah, man, that's a different gang. The Phreaks were the one that blew up a bunch of people by the courthouse. Remember?"

It feels so strange, to capture the game of telephone as someone who was on the first end of the line.

I'm so focused on eavesdropping that I almost don't notice the familiar face in the crowd. But then he turns, and I get a clear look at his profile. My breath catches. I know him. Or at least, I know of him.

His name is Ethan, but on the streets he goes by Slick. He's a low-level Kingdom operative, one of the gophers. I've seen him around a few times, usually on the periphery of whatever crime scene we're investigating. He's never been directly involved in anything major, as far as I know. But he's definitely connected.

Before I can think better of it, I'm moving towards him, weaving through the crowd with purpose. If anyone can give me some insight into what the Kingdom is up to, it's him.

But as I get closer, I realize my mistake. Slick isn't alone. He's with a group of other guys, all of them wearing the same black-on-black uniform of Kingdom foot soldiers. They're huddled together, talking intently about something. I can't make out the words over the noise of the club, but their body language screams 'up to no good'.

I hesitate, torn. Part of me wants to get closer, to try to overhear what they're saying. But the rational part of my brain, the part that sounds annoyingly like Jason, reminds me that I'm here for information gathering only. Engaging with known criminals is the exact opposite of keeping a low profile.

With a frustrated sigh, I turn away, melting back into the crowd. As much as it galls me, I know Jason is right. I can't risk blowing my cover, not when I'm finally making progress.

I spend the next hour or so drifting around the club, my ears pricked for any interesting conversations. It's surprisingly easy to get people to talk, especially the drunker ones. A little harmless flirting, a few well-placed questions, and they're spilling their guts like I'm their therapist.

"I'm telling you, man, something weird is going on," slurs a guy in a rumpled business suit, his tie askew. He's been rambling at me for the past ten minutes, and I've been nodding along sympathetically, making encouraging noises at appropriate intervals. "All these new people coming in and out at all hours, and not just the usual club crowd, you know? Suits. Real serious looking types."

I lean in, widening my eyes. "No shit? That is weird. You think it's, like, a mafia thing?"

He shrugs expansively, nearly sloshing his drink onto my shirt. "Who knows? All I know is, the owner used to be around all the time, schmoozing with the VIPs. But lately? Nada. It's like he's disappeared."

I frown, trying to look appropriately impressed and alarmed. "Wow. That's… kind of scary, actually. You don't think he's in trouble, do you?"

Business Suit Guy shakes his head, then seems to immediately regret the motion, wincing. "Only with his wife! I heard he's been seeing some lady at the docks. Tall, dark, and handsome. You think he's cheating on her?"

I nod slowly, my mind racing. The docks. I file that away for later. "I'm sure it's nothing too shady. I mean, this place seems way too classy for anything really illegal, right? Probably just a normal midnight meeting with mysterious strangers."

He gives me a bleary smile. "You'd be surprised, kid. But hey, what do I know? I'm just here for the overpriced drinks and the eye candy."

Remembering that I'm supposed to be flirting, I give him a coy smile and a wink. "And here I thought you were just here for the stimulating conversation."

He laughs, loud and braying. "Cute. You're cute." He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers are clammy, and I have to fight not to recoil from his touch. "You know, if you're looking for a good time, I ain't never been with a deaf girl before…"

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to keep smiling. "Tempting, but I'm going to have to pass. Early morning tomorrow, you know how it is. But thanks for the offer."

He shrugs, somehow managing to make the gesture look sleazy. "Your loss, lady. I could've shown you things you've never even dreamed of."

Okay, ew. I take a step back, my smile turning brittle. "Flattered, but I'm not really looking for that kind of fun tonight."

His face falls, but he recovers quickly, shrugging. "Let me know if you change your mind."

I highly doubt that, but I just keep smiling, extricating myself from the conversation as gracefully as I can. God, I feel like I need a shower. Or ten. I knew flirting with drunk assholes was going to be part of the assignment, but I didn't realize how gross it would make me feel. How do people do this for a living?