I ROSE FROM my crouch slowly, my jacket hanging from my hands. Since the beginning of all of this, this was the moment I'd been dreading most—not getting hurt, not getting killed, but being confronted by Mom about everything that I'd been hiding from her. She was standing there, leaning against my door frame with her hands crossed over her chest, head tilted to the side, and if I didn't lie to her, my secret wouldn't be a secret anymore.

"I thought you were at the bakery," I said, doing my best to keep direct eye contact even though I wanted to stare at the floor.

"I decided to come home instead," she replied simply.

"Did you stitch this?" I asked.

She nodded.

I could see that something was bothering her, but I was still holding onto a tiny bit of hope that she wouldn't believe this jacket was the real thing, that she wasn't up-to-date on Red Soldier and would never, ever think that he was me. "Mom," I said carefully, "this is just—"

"I know what it is, Peter," she said quietly. Her lips pressed together as her eyes narrowed into watery squints.

The truth hit me like a truck.

My heart raced as I remembered how easily she'd let me off the hook for ditching school, how hard she had cried when confronting me about my social issues, how hurt and upset she'd looked when she had applied makeup to my bruise. And the way she was looking at me now...I knew. I just knew.

With a voice that was just barely louder than a whisper, I asked, "How long have you known?"

She sniffed, her eyes downcast. "I've known even before your first public appearance," she said. "Agent Kavanagh had told me everything." She paused. "He knew you wouldn't tell me, but he wanted me to know."

Needless to say, I was stunned. All this time I thought I was keeping my secret from her, but she'd known all along. All this time, Kavanagh had known that she knew. I wanted to be mad at him, but I wasn't. I couldn't be. He'd done it for me, for Mom.

And Mom? She'd kept her mouth shut. For me.

She sniffed again. "I'm a terrible mother."

I shook my head, still reeling from the truth. "No. Don't say that."

But it was too late; tears were already streaming down her face, and she took off her glasses to wipe at her eyes, refusing to look at me directly. "I was scared every time I saw you on the news," she said, her words choppy and slow as she tried to get herself under control. "Every time you came home, I wanted to ask if you were okay. But I never did. Everytime you got hurt, I pretended that I didn't notice. What kind of mother does that?"

I opened my mouth, but she put up a hand and silenced me before I could talk. She looked at me directly, daring me to interrupt, and when she was certain that I would remain silent, she put her hand down and sniffed.

"I..." She faltered for words, shaking her head. "I didn't know what to do." Her face crumpled again. "I knew you wanted to do this. Because you're a good kid and you do everything for everyone and I wanted you to do what you felt was right. And you never wanted to tell me, I know that, so I played along and pretended I didn't know."

She finally stopped, and I walked over to her and placed my hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. Here she was, the most amazing woman in the world, the single mom who ran a bakery and raised a kid on her own and let him go out and do what was right, even though it hurt her to see him in danger.

People called Red Soldier heroic, kind, and good-hearted. I was now certain that I'd gotten these traits from her.

There was so much I wanted to say to her, so much I wanted to thank her for, but I didn't have time. "You're not a terrible mother," I said. "You're the best mom in the world and I love you." I kissed her forehead. "And I have to go."

She stared at me for a second, her face expressionless. Then she sighed and said, "I know you do." She jerked her head toward the box. "I stitched the jacket, but unfortunately the other stuff needs fixing that is way beyond my capabilities."

"You did just fine," I said.

I smiled at her, grabbed the box, and went out the window.

I ran backward into the network of alleys that connected the apartment buildings in this neighborhood, changing as I moved forward. I put on the damaged costume and all, leaving my clothes and sneakers strewn about the alley (I'd go back for them later, it was getting dark anyway and no one would notice), although I did forego the helmet, because having good vision in only one lens would just hinder me.

I turned on my cuff computer as I ran, only to realize that it was now glitching. Fabulous. I slapped my wrist a few times before giving up, and I took out my phone, which had suffered so much during the past events, and I called Ben.

He picked up on the first ring, and judging by his heavy breathing, he'd either been dancing or rapidly talking—probably both at the same time. "What's going on?" he asked, panting.

"I need you to go somewhere private," I said, forcing myself to go faster to where the red dot should be. "Open the program and tell me exactly where the dot is."

He didn't reply, but I heard his footsteps as he stepped out of the busy gym and into the quiet hall. I kept the phone held up to my ear, still running as fast as I could. Whatever I was heading toward, this was the endgame, I was certain of it.

"Peter," he said a few minutes later. "The dot's at the airpark. Unmoving."

I stopped running and skidded to a halt. "Airpark? What airpark?"

"It's in Nassau County."

I resisted the urge to curse. Getting to Nassau quickly would be hard enough, but getting to an airpark that I didn't know? Even harder.

"Your suit's dot is on here, too," Ben said. "I can direct you."

My heart swelled. "Thank you," I said, putting as much emphasis as I could into those two measly words.

He immediately started giving me directions, and I started running again. My heart pounded against my ribs as I took every turn, as the sky went completely dark. Where were my classmates? At a dance. Where was my best friend? Sitting in front of his laptop, or maybe in front of a school computer, being a GPS to a superhero. Where was Mom? At home, probably biting the heck out of her nails, praying that I came home safely.

And where was Remote Man, with his arsenal of stolen weapons? At an airpark, probably waiting for me. There was just no way he was stupid enough to keep the metal thing out of water, when he knew I could detect it that way. By now, he had several opportunities to find the tracker disc and take it off. Unless I was walking into a trap, he would be there, along with the metal. I had to believe that he would be there.

Because if he wasn't, then I had lost.

When I reached the destination, I told Ben to enjoy the dance, and I ended the call. On both sides of me were large, leafy trees that lined the wide, spacious airpark and kept it from view of the streets. If it weren't for the light poles that lined the landing strip, the airpark would be completely dark, but it was dimly lit on the outer edges and better lit toward the aircraft hanger.

I walked down the landing strip, not bothering to stay hidden. Three trucks were sitting next to the hanger, and I knew that Henderson's stolen tech and the weapons were in there. And why were they at an airpark? For transport, no doubt. Remote Man had gotten tired of me and was shipping elsewhere, and the easiest way to do that would be by plane.

As I suspected, he was standing there, alone, with a wide smile plastered on his face. I stopped a few yards away from him, standing still, assessing my situation. I knew where this was going: a fight. It was inevitable. His flying metal demon was nowhere to be seen, so that was definitely hiding somewhere, waiting for him to use it.

There was one thing that was bothering me: he didn't have a remote in his hands. What did that mean?

"Welcome, Red Soldier," he said. He tilted his head. "What, you didn't call the cops? The FBI? Nobody?"

"No," I said, and hate me if the decision sounded stupid, but I didn't regret making it. "They'll be there to apprehend you, to take you to jail. But for tonight, it's just me."

He looked at me from head to toe and smirked. "I see your costume took a beating," he said innocently.

"Costume took a beating," I said, "but the hero's still intact."

He ignored my confident statement and gestured to the three trucks. "Everything's in there," he said. "All of it, except for what I've already sold. You're one of Henderson's experiments, right? You're the one who got the other syringe. Tell me, why do you think I stole it? Why do you think I stole the tech? "

"Power," I replied. "Money."

"Yes, and yes," he said, grinning. "It's fun to be on top. I suppose you must relate in some way. Isn't having superpowers fun?"

A Spider-Man quote came to mind. With great power comes great responsibility. "It's a responsibility," I said. "Above all else, it's a responsibility."

"Maybe so," he mused. He spread his arms wide. "So come on, Red Soldier. Do your duty: take down the villain. Take me down."

Oh, I will, I thought as I took a deep breath. Believe me, I will.