Chum

Ms. Katz holds up a hand, forestalling Derek's outburst. "I'm well aware none of you are actually foster parents. But it's clear you have an…unconventional relationship with Connor that has kept him off the streets thus far. And that's a good thing."

My shoulders slump slightly at her blunt assessment. So much for keeping up appearances - she saw right through our charade from the moment she stepped inside. A part of me feels almost relieved, like a weight has been lifted.

"You don't have to keep up this facade," Ms. Katz continues, casting an appraising look around the staged bedroom. "I'm not an idiot; I can tell this living situation is…irregular, to say the least. So instead of continuing to insult us both with these transparently rehearsed cover stories, why don't you just tell me what your actual relationships with Connor are?"

An uncomfortable silence stretches out as Jordan, Derek and I exchange glances, momentarily at a loss. It's Tasha's voice that breaks the tense quiet, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Everything okay up here? We were just wondering if you still needed help…"

Tasha trails off as she and Maggie appear in the doorway, clearly picking up on the strained atmosphere in the bedroom. Ms. Katz takes their arrival in stride, impassively turning her attention to the newcomers.

"Ah, and you two must be the rest of…whatever this group is," she remarks dryly. "Perhaps you can lend some insight as well. I'm simply trying to get a clear picture of the circumstances here."

A muscle twitches in Jordan's jaw as they evidently wrestle with how much to divulge. Before they can respond, however, I blurt out the first question burning in my mind.

"Speaking of clear pictures, where is Connor right now? Is he…safe?"

Ms. Katz's expression softens ever so slightly at my naked concern. "He's currently having dinner with his prospective adoptive family this evening. We're simply tying up some loose ends before finalizing the placement process."

A collective wave of relief washes over the room at her reassurance of Connor's wellbeing. Still, the underlying tension remains thick and palpable in the air.

"I understand you may have your reasons for being…shall we say, economical with the truth," Ms. Katz continues delicately. "But you should know Connor's case file is less than complete, to put it mildly. There's very little official documentation of his background or history prior to certain recent events."

Her pointed look leaves little doubt as to which 'events' she's referring to. Fighting down a surge of dread, I swallow heavily and brace myself for the other shoe to drop.

"We're all aware of Connor's affiliation with this city's population of metahuman individuals," Ms. Katz states evenly, her gaze sweeping over each of us in turn. "As well as certain criminal associations in his past. Now, judging by the unique living arrangement I've found myself in, I can only assume the rest of you are also involved in similar activities, whether officially sanctioned or not."

The words hang in the air like a challenge, daring any of us to attempt denying the obvious truth she's laid bare. Derek is the first to break the loaded silence, an inscrutable look flitting across his face.

"So you know the kid was mixed up with the Philly Phreaks back in the day," he says gruffly. "Yeah, no point denying that much, I guess. But he's been trying to get his shit together since then, you feel me? We've been helping keep him on the straight and narrow."

Ms. Katz arches one eloquent eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Derek's evasive non-answer. Her piercing gaze lands squarely on Jordan next.

"And what about you? How would you characterize your…relationship with Connor?" Her careful phrasing leaves no doubt as to the implications behind that last word.

Jordan visibly tenses for a moment before forcing an air of nonchalance. "We're partners," they reply simply. "In every sense of the word."

A brief, uncomfortable pause follows before Ms. Katz gives a curt nod of acknowledgment. "I see. Well then, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak with you privately for a few moments. The rest of you can wait outside."

With that, she gestures towards the open doorway, brooking no argument. Exchanging apprehensive looks with the others, I reluctantly file out of Connor's staged bedroom and make my way down the hall towards the common area. Tasha and Maggie follow close behind, while Derek lags a few paces back, muttering choice curses under his breath.

Once we're ensconced in the relative privacy of the main hall, an awkward silence descends over the group. Lowering myself onto one of the worn couches, I can't help but fidget restlessly as my mind races. Just what exactly is Ms. Katz hoping to get out of questioning Jordan alone? My overactive imagination supplies a dozen increasingly paranoid scenarios, each more unsettling than the last.

I'm abruptly jolted from my anxious reverie by Tasha's voice piping up from across the room.

"So… crazy weather we've been having lately, huh?"

Derek snorts derisively at the painfully obvious attempt at casual small talk. "Yeah, Mother Nature's really going buck wild out there. Snow in November. Never before seen in the American Northeast. Crazy."

Maggie bites her lip, regarding him with a mixture of reproach and uncertainty. "Should we… maybe not joke about that kind of thing right now?"

Tasha waves her off with a tight smile. "It's fine, just trying to defuse the tension a little. So, uh, any fun weekend plans coming up?"

I can't quite stifle the incredulous look I shoot her way. Is she being serious right now? Still, I suppose meaningless small talk actually is preferable to dwelling on the interrogation taking place just down the hall. Forcing myself to lean back into the couch with a studied air of relaxation, I offer up a halfhearted response.

"Actually, yeah, I'm planning to catch the new Cronenberged movie that just came out. The early reviews have been pretty positive, despite how aggressively weird his stuff tends to be."

Judging by the blank stares I receive in return, my attempt at casual conversation doesn't quite land. Clearing his throat, Derek leans forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his knees.

"Don't think any of us are really in the right headspace for idle chitchat about the Alternate Future Mononucleus movie slate, yeah? Pretty sure we've got bigger fish to fry at the moment."

A sudden murmur of Jordan's raised voice leaks through the floorboards above, immediately snapping all of our heads up in rapt attention. Unfortunately, the words are too muffled and indistinct for me to make out anything intelligible. But the sheer piqued tone is enough to communicate the clear strain of the conversation taking place.

Derek's jaw clenches almost imperceptibly and it's all I can do to resist the urge to press my ear to the floor and eavesdrop fully. Instead, I settle for straining to catch the back-and-forth flow of the muted voices, worry gnawing insistently at my gut.

Just what exactly is Ms. Katz grilling Jordan about up there? Are they laying everything out in the open - their status as rogue vigilante heroes, the reality of the Music Hall's purpose, all of it? Or are they still trying to stick to the thin veil of lies and misdirection this whole visit kicked off with?

Another indistinct swell of Jordan's voice reaches my ears, colored with clear agitation. The exchange seems to be growing heated, making me increasingly antsy with each passing second. Suddenly, their raised tones abruptly cut off, leaving an ominous pall of silence hanging in the air.

After what feels like an eternity, the sound of footsteps resumes, slowly growing louder as someone begins descending the nearby staircase. Tasha, Maggie, Derek and I all share a loaded look, tensing in unison as the footfalls finally reach the bottom landing.

Ms. Katz emerges a moment later, her expression utterly inscrutable as she glances around at each of us in turn. Whatever happened upstairs, she's clearly intent on keeping the conversation private for now.

"Ms. Small?" she addresses me directly, her voice crisp and professional once more. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a brief, private discussion with you as well in a different room."

My stomach drops like a lead weight even as I manage a jerky nod of assent. "Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever you need."

As I reluctantly rise to my feet, Tasha shoots me a concerned look. But at Derek's warning cough, whatever query was on her lips dies unspoken. Mustering what poise I can under the circumstances, I straighten my shoulders and follow Ms. Katz towards one of the other side rooms without protest.

Whatever curve ball this social worker is preparing to throw at me, I can only hope my poker face proves up to the challenge. Something tells me we're swiftly careening beyond the realm of ordinary teenage drama here. No more time for games or pretense - somehow, I get the feeling Ms. Katz isn't going to let me off easy this time…