Dan dressed quickly, fumbling with his phone all the while. He checked his missed calls, but didn't recognize the number. No voicemail was left; what a time for a telemarketer. Next was Abby's text, and he sent a quick reply saying that he was awake, before shaking the sleep out his brain and calling her. She picked up on the first ring.

"Danny?" her hushed, worried voice asked.

"Hey Abs, I'm awake, I'm fine," Dan quickly reassured her. "What'd I miss? The news is exploding and I can't keep up."

"Mama Ana left like ten minutes after you went to sleep," Abby said, and he got the impression that she was glancing furtively around. "She was in a real hurry, too. I haven't seen or heard from her since, and we're all sorta locked in the mansion at the moment."

"Are you okay?" he demanded, mentally calculating the immense difficulty of breaking her out of her own family's fortress.

"I'm fine," she replied quickly, and Dan only heard sincerity. "We're not trapped here, but grandma's people are saying we should probably stick around. It's a suggestion. Honestly, it is. I just don't think it's smart to ignore it. Mama Ana seemed really serious this time."

Dan let out a quiet sigh. "Good. That's... good. Just stay there, and be safe."

"I think you should join me," Abby said suddenly.

Dan frowned and shook his head, then realized she couldn't see him.

"You really think so?" he asked instead.

"Things are getting really serious," she said. "The National Guard is one thing, they are basically just reinforcements for the APD. But a Federal Assault Team is something else entirely. If a SPEAR Team is a normal person, then a FAT has body mods, itchy trigger fingers, and a bucket of nitroglycerin. Collateral damage, Danny, lots of it. It's normal, and expected. Austin is about to become a war zone."

"They don't even have a target!" Dan exclaimed, before realizing he might be wrong. He quickly checked his text from Gregoir, half-expecting it to be some kind of triumphant essay. Instead, he simply stated that he'd successfully convinced his judge and that the APD would soon have access to Burl Meyers' financial records. That was great, but hardly a silver bullet.

They were nowhere on Coldeyes, as far as Dan knew. The man might not even be in the state, if Dan's theory about a teleporter was accurate. Coldeyes had explicitly mentioned sticking around the city, but that could have easily been meant to mislead. But it had been several hours; plenty of time to discover where he'd bunkered down with his men. Most of the Crew's heavies were injured in the raid. At least, those that were in Austin...

Dan really hoped they didn't have a teleporter.

"They don't need a target," Abby interrupted his musing. "The FAT takes time to mobilize. Probably another twelve hours, at least. The National Guard take between six and ten, so they'll be in the city before morning. In the meantime, anyone breaking curfew is gonna be in for a world of trouble."

"I saw that Coldwater contracted with the city," Dan noted.

He could almost see her nodding. "They'll probably be posted as security for sensitive infrastructure. Villains like to attack bridges, power plants, anything that can cause widescale panic."

"So it's bad," Dan summarized sadly. He didn't want to leave the city. He liked it here; it was where he kept all his stuff. And it felt too much like he was losing some kind of important battle. Abby was right, though. Dan had gotten by so far on luck, and the help of his friends. His interference had endangered himself and others, no matter what he'd found, and still people were dying. He'd felt less and less in control each day. Less and less useful.

He felt... defeated.

Dan had certainly done his part. Cornelius' rescue might have taken hours longer without Dan's power, but that was what he'd been trained to do. That was Dan's role: search and rescue, to help in a crisis. He wasn't APD. He wasn't a soldier, or a federal agent, or a private investigator. He was out of his depth, and that was growing more and more apparent. Even stumbling upon a goldmine, tracking the movements of Bartholomew and his savior, was pure luck, and it was only through Gregoir's assistance that anything at all would come of it.

Things were escalating out of control, and Dan feared he was no longer capable of making a measurable difference. He didn't have the skillset, nor the authority. He was stubborn, but he wouldn't risk destroying this new life he'd won for himself. He'd done everything that he could think of. Maybe it was time to get out of the way, and let the professionals do their job.

"Please, Danny."

Hearing Abby's voice begging him to leave set his decision in stone.

"Okay," he said, softly. "I'll pack up some stuff, and head out of town before things get bad."

"Thank you!" The relief in Abby's voice was palpable. "You can come here! I'll clear it with our security!"

"Will do," Dan replied with a small smile. "Let me know when I can appear. I still remember where the mansion is."

Appearing inside the Summers' fortress without warning or authorization while they were on high alert sounded like a great way to get shot.

"I'll text you," Abby promised. "Can you do me a favor, first?"

"Name it," he replied.

"Can you speak to Aunt Maggie? I know that Mama Ana hasn't said anything to her, and I want her out of the city."

"The roads have checkpoints in place," Dan pointed out. "Nobody in or out."

"I'm going to charter a flight for her from a private airport. I'll use the company's name to get it authorized. You just need to get her there."

Dan was confused by the request. "You think she won't want to leave?"

"She can be stubborn," Abby explained succinctly. "She'll see it as a favor from Mama Ana, and they really don't like each other."

It was the understatement of the century, Dan thought to himself, but he didn't say so. He did his job as a loyal boyfriend, and agreed to Abby's request. She sent him the address of a private hangar, and asked him to let her know once Margaret agreed to leave with him. Dan knew the older woman had a car, so he'd simply accompany her to the plane, then meet her at the manor.

It was with a heavy heart that Dan began to pack up some of his belongings into a small luggage roller. It wasn't really something he'd ever expected to use, given that he'd always had the option to teleport home in an instant for anything he needed, but Dan was now forced to operate under the depressing reality that his house might not be standing when he returned.

He found Merrill's rarely-used cage and packed up a week's worth of food inside the self-filling bowl. He refilled her little water bottle, changed the bedding, then deposited a protesting mouse inside with a few whispered apologies. He'd keep her here until he spoke to Margaret. Merrill was small enough that Dan could bring her with him when he teleported, and he didn't want to scour the house for her when he was ready to leave.

He finished packing, and placed his suitcase on the counter next to Merrill's cage. After a moment's consideration, he stepped into his kitchen and pulled out a few of Abby's favorite coffee blends. He tucked them inside the suitcase, nodded his head, and turned to leave.

Dan exited his house through his front door for what might have been the first time in a week, locking it behind him. He stood on his front porch, simply breathing in the air of the city. A part of him had expected to see smoke on the horizon, sirens in distance, or other signs of the approaching calamity. Instead, it seemed a night like any other.

He walked down his paved sidewalk, idly noting that officer Perez had understandably been pulled from his post guarding Dan's house, and spun to face his front yard. This was his home. Not just a place that he lived, but the place that he'd been reborn. It was where he'd found a new life, love, and happiness. He dearly hoped he wouldn't lose it, but he committed the sight to memory all the same.

Then he snapped a picture of it on his phone, like a sensible human.

He wouldn't look at it like this again; not until the situation in Austin had calmed, and he knew it was safe. He'd pick up Merrill and his luggage when it was time to leave, and he wouldn't linger. This would be his last moments with his home, for what may be a long while.

"Goodbye," Dan whispered to the Gothic fortress that he'd come to love. It felt like he was losing everything, all over again. But Dan had felt it before, and he knew how to deal with the loss. He let the wind carry his words across his yard, watched the grass bend and sway, and heard the chimes he'd placed in his back yard sing him a parting melody.

"I'll be back," he promised himself, he promised the world. He turned on his heel, and vanished.

He appeared in the Pearson lobby, and strolled forward two steps before stopping. He'd completely forgotten what day of the week it was. Sunday. The hotel bank was closed, and Margaret was off work besides. He slapped a palm over his face, and prepared to jump to the woman's home that she so rarely used. Something about the lobby made him pause.

There was something wrong with this picture, his instincts told him. Something is different; something is missing. He looked at the room with clear eyes, taking it in as Cornelius had taught him. What was, what wasn't? The teller was gone. No surprise there, the bank was closed, but normally the night manager would occupy the front desk when Margaret was away. It wasn't technically her job at all, but the lazy sob left it to her, and she was too polite to complain. On her days off, the man should be sitting on his ass, playing solitaire on the lobby computer.

Dan's eyes slowly scanned the room, looking for the familiar shape of the Pearson's manager. They fell on something else. A man that Dan had never met, but remembered keenly. Someone whose blank eyes stared guilelessly back at Dan, before glancing down at a small slip of glossy paper held in his hand, then back up again. Dan recognized the man's face from security stills, and the photo ID of his driver's license.

Burl Meyers sat in the lobby of the Pearson, and he stared at Dan with eyes full of recognition.