Phoenix didn't know exactly what he'd been expecting, but waking up on the floor of a locked room didn't surprise him much. He sat up slowly, his shoulder throbbing with pain from Kate's kick. He brushed his hand along his neck and felt a tiny wound from the injection. He wasn't mad about any of it; she was only doing her job.

The room was square, and he sat cross-legged on the ground with his back against a wall. Everything was blindingly white: the walls, the lights in the ceiling, the ceiling itself, the armored door, and even the cuff on his wrist that he couldn't take off. It was likely a monitor to alert them if he did something, and he knew it could've been worse. At least they hadn't shoved him into a straitjacket.

The wall across from him contained a viewing window. On the other side of the glass was a room, smaller than this one, with a clock on the wall, a table, and a few chairs. Kate sat in one of them, focused on her laptop, and he could tell by how often she looked at the clock that she was getting impatient.

He hadn't made any effort to catch her attention, and besides waving at him when he first woke up, she'd made no effort to catch his. A half-hour passed in silence, but the anticipation made it feel like an entire day. When were they going to talk to him? It was agonizing to be right here, so close to the moment he always knew was coming, and to have to wait just a little longer.

The door suddenly clicked and swung inward. The woman who walked in came alone, an ID clipped to her pocket. Her dark skin wrinkled as she narrowed her eyes and thoughtfully tapped the empty holster at her hip.

Phoenix held up his cuffed wrist. "I'm not dangerous."

"Danger is a matter of perspective."

"And since I'm in here," he said carefully, "I'm guessing your perspective of me is that I'm dangerous?"

She waved an arm around the room. "This was a matter of precaution. We didn't want to give you anything to destroy or throw."

Destroy. They really did think he was a criminal. Phoenix stood slowly, trying to appear amicable. "I can explain."

"Good." She turned around. "Come."

He followed her through the door, her ID catching his eye. The League emblem was watermarked over her picture, and underneath that was her title: Director Hazel Diop. Phoenix swallowed; the directors were the heads of the League bases. Why was someone so important dealing with something as insignificant as tracker issues?

Was he that much of a problem?

The other room was also white but somehow brighter; it was starting to hurt his eyes. There was a folder at the head of the table, and Hazel sat down in front of it. Phoenix took the chair next to her, across from Kate, who closed her laptop and crossed her arms over her chest.

He met both their gazes evenly. What happened next was out of his hands; all he could do was tell the truth, and they would do what they wanted with it. There was nothing to screw up, so he was calm. He hoped everything would be okay.

Hazel opened the folder and flipped through what was in it. Phoenix caught glimpses of the contents, recognizing a documentation of his apartment lease and his DMV profile. A copy of his birth certificate was there, too, but Hazel skimmed right over it. He held back a smile; she'd be paying close attention to it soon.

Hazel clasped her hands on the table. "What did you do to our trackers?"

"I think you know that already," he said.

Kate tilted her head. "I found it strange that everyone we sent after you came back blaming the same villain, one we've never heard of. They could never explain beyond that. It took us a while to figure it out." She smiled. "Kudos for making it so far."

Phoenix returned the smile nervously. He thought she would be irritated by what he did, but she sounded impressed.

"How does your telepathy work?" Hazel asked.

"I'm not a telepath," he explained. "I can't communicate with people—all I can do is control them, but there are limits. They have to be somewhat close, and I can't force them to do anything drastically against their will. Superhumans are harder to manage. And sometimes, it just doesn't work."

Hazel tapped her fingers on the table. "I understand what you did to the trackers," she said, "but why did you do it?"

And there it was—the big question. He'd had so much time to prepare for it, but he still didn't have the right words to explain it, not all at once. Instead, he said, "You might want to take a closer look at that birth certificate."

Hazel pulled it out of the folder, eyes widening when she saw the signatures. "Your parents are Helen and John Anderson?"

Kate cleared her throat. "Who?"

"They used to work here," Hazel said, "a little over twenty years ago."

"They never registered us," he continued, "and they avoided the League, even talking about it. I was afraid there must've been some incident, something bad. I thought it'd be best to stay away, like they had." He paused. "Do you know why they quit?"

Hazel was bewildered by the question. "No. All we got was a short resignation letter, and we never heard from them again. We assumed they wanted a quiet, peaceful life. If anything did happen...they kept it to themselves."

Phoenix looked down at his hands. He was hoping she would have answers, but he was relieved, too. The League being clueless was better than them being the cause.

"I'm sorry for the trouble with the trackers," he said. "I didn't mean any harm, and I don't ever intend to mess with the League again. I—"

"You're forgiven," Hazel interrupted. "Where are your parents? I'd like to speak with them."

"They died in a house fire three years ago. I was in Mexico on a school trip."

Hazel let out a deep exhale. She was old enough to have known his parents when they worked here. Maybe they were friends once. He watched her expectantly as she worked out the story, her face twisting when she caught the issue.

"Helen was a hydrokinetic," she said slowly. "A talented one. How did a house fire get the best of her?"

Kate straightened. "Maybe it wasn't a normal fire. What if someone lit it with the intention of killing them, and they kept it supplied with gasoline or explosives to overpower Helen? Or what if it was a pyrokinetic?"

"I considered those things," Phoenix admitted, "but the police called it a house fire, and Alexa and I had to let it go. There was nothing we could do. And...it happened in the middle of the night—maybe it really was just a house fire, and Mom was panicked when she woke up, if she woke up at all. Maybe she just couldn't react fast enough." He looked at his hands again. "The truth is, anything could have happened that night, and I have no way of knowing."

There was a moment of silence, and then Hazel tentatively asked, "Who's Alexa?"

"My older sister. She died in a car accident last year."

The silence returned. Phoenix kept his eyes downcast, not wanting to see the pity in their faces. He wasn't upset, not as much as he used to be, not anymore. He would always miss his family, and although a small part of him would always wonder what happened that night, things needed to move on. They were dead. Knowing the truth wouldn't change that. And as for Alexa, her death wasn't a mystery. He was only sorry he hadn't seen the speeding truck earlier.

"We need to register you into the database," Kate said finally. "We'll get some forms for you to fill out."

"Great," he said. And he meant it, because this was it. He was done—with the trackers, with the League, with the monthly sense of impending doom. He held up his wrist and asked, "Can you take this off?"

Kate grabbed both ends of the cuff and effortlessly stretched it so he could wiggle his wrist out. "There's something else," she said.

He froze. "What?"

Hazel stood up. "We could use your help with something."

......................

It turned out he was in the League's Northeast headquarters, a building sitting on the upper Manhattan coast of the Hudson River. Two of the underground levels were dedicated to the temporary holding of criminals. Until it was decided whether they would be sent to regular prison or to the federal superhuman penitentiary in Albany, any local prisoners of the League stayed here.

The halls were guarded, and Phoenix kept close to Hazel as they walked. He was uncomfortable: the air smelled sharply of disinfectant, the silence was interrupted only by an occasional laugh, and the cell doors were heavily reinforced.

"What are we doing here?" he asked for the tenth time, growing more anxious by the second. Never in a million years did he think he would be strolling through their maximum-security levels.

Hazel gave him the same answer as the last nine times: silence.

She stopped at a door and slid her ID card in the scanner. A screen popped out of the wall, and she pressed her hand against it. Once her fingerprints were verified, there was a soft little click, and she pushed the door open.

It led into another hallway, but this one was short, and unlike the one they'd just walked through, there were no cells lining the walls. Instead, there was a single room at the end with a viewing window and a door that looked ten times more fortified than the previous ones. Phoenix stopped walking before he could see what was inside, but Hazel stood by the window expectantly, so he relented and inched closer.

There was a woman in the room. She sat cross-legged on the ground, fingers spread on her knees, eyes closed. She mouthed along to what must've been a meditation mantra. When Hazel tapped the glass, she opened her eyes to look at her visitors, but she immediately closed them and continued her meditation. Hazel didn't seem bothered by being ignored, so Phoenix guessed this was normal.

"Why are we here?" he asked again.

"This is Amara," Hazel said. "She—"

"That's not my name," the woman snapped, her voice muffled by the window.

Hazel kept her undaunted, unbothered composure. "Then what is your name?"

The woman opened her eyes again and tilted her head. "Amara. Apparently"

"This is Amara," Hazel repeated. "She—"

"I don't appreciate this new cell," Amara interrupted. She'd evidently decided they were interesting enough to talk to; she got up and stood as close to the window as she could, pressing a hand against it.

"New cell?" Phoenix asked quietly.

Amara smiled. "I broke out of my old one. Those doors were rather...delicate."

The way she said delicate made his skin crawl.

"And yet," Hazel said, "you failed to escape." She turned to Phoenix with an assuring shake of her head. "This cell is stronger, she has no chance of getting out now."

"Is that a challenge, Director?" Amara asked. "I bet I can break out of this one, too."

Hazel looked unconvinced. "Then why haven't you?"

Amara took her hand off the window and shrugged. "I don't trust myself to know what to do after."

Phoenix couldn't take anymore suspense. "Why am I here?" he asked, forcefully this time.

"Amara is a member of the Snakes," Hazel said finally. "Have you heard of them?"

He shook his head.

"They're a group of villains, more underground than public. We caught Amara as she and another were trying to steal something of ours. Unfortunately, the other one got away with a flash drive that contains sensitive information."

Phoenix blinked. He couldn't wrap his head around it—not the story, that was fairly easy to follow. What he didn't understand was why he was being told any of this at all.

"In a few days," she continued, "we'll be exchanging Amara for the drive. The Snakes have promised to do this fairly, and they generally keep their word, but danger is danger."

"And what do I have to do with that?" he asked uneasily.

"I want you to be there."

He had to be dreaming. Walking around headquarters was one thing, and being told to go on a sensitive assignment was another. "No."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "Why—why would I? I don't know how to—"

"You won't be going alone," she explained. "There will be an exchange team, and you'll only be tagging along to ensure Amara's compliance. She's powerful, and your mind control may help in case she decides to attack."

"He can't control me," Amara said. "No one can."

"Go back to meditating," Hazel ordered.

Without resisting, Amara sat down and returned to the position they found her in, eyes closed, mouth moving noiselessly.

Phoenix took a step back. "Should we be talking about this in front of her?"

"I wouldn't be doing it if there was a risk."

"I don't understand," he said. "Why would you want me? Isn't there anyone else more qualified?"

"You're the only one who can control minds."

"But you said it's supposed to be a fair exchange."

"We can never be too careful."

Phoenix shook his head. What was careful about sending an inexperienced nobody out to meet with dangerous criminals to get sensitive information back?

"After what I did to the trackers," he said, "why do you trust me?"

Hazel raised an eyebrow. "You don't understand this yet," she said calmly, "but when it comes to what we're responsible for, there's no clear line between what's proper and what's not. I'm asking you to go because I've decided to trust you, and I don't care if that makes sense to you, because it makes sense to me."

Phoenix stared at her. He didn't expect the League to be this...simple, so simple as to ask him for help, to admit that there were things they couldn't rationalize. Was that admirable, or was that scary?

"But I'm not an agent," he said warily, "and I'm not a hero."

"You don't need to be either of those things to be helpful."

His argument died. That was what he'd been trying to do, wasn't it? To be helpful, even if it was something small like picking up litter or preventing people from falling. Hazel wasn't asking him to risk his life or derail his future. She was asking him to help an experienced exchange team with one, simple task.

He could do that. Right? It was a good thing, and it would show them that he was being honest when he said he wasn't a criminal and that he meant the League no harm, ever.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, giving her one last chance to rethink her proposal.

"I'm sure."

"Then..." He took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll go."