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down the city? I thought, shivering as Abraham and I entered the hideout.
    Lit by yellow lightbulbs screwed directly into the walls, the hideout was a medium-sized complex of steel rooms. Tia sat at a desk at the far side; red-haired and middle-aged, she wore spectacles, a white blouse, and jeans. Her desk was a lavish wooden one that she’d set up a few weeks back. It had seemed a strange sign to me, a symbol of permanence.
    Abraham walked up to her and dropped the flower petals onto her desk. Tia raised an eyebrow at them. “Where?” she asked.
    “Sourcefield’s pocket,” I said.
    Tia gathered up the petals.
    “That’s the third Epic in a row who’s come here and tried to destroy us,” I said. “And each had a connection to Babylon Restored. Tia, what’s going on?”
    “I’m not sure,” she said.
    “Prof seems to know,” I said. “He said as much to me earlier, but he wouldn’t give me an explanation.”
    “Then I’ll let him tell you when he’s ready,” she said. “For now, there’s a file here on the table for you. The thing you asked about.”
    She was trying to distract me. I dropped my backpack—the pieces of my rifle stuck out the top—and crossed my arms, but found myself glancing toward the table, which held a folder with my name written on the top.
    Tia slipped away, entering Prof’s room and leaving Abrahamand me alone in the main chamber. He settled down in a seat at the workbench, placing his gun on it with a thump. The gravatonics glowed green at the bottom, but one of them appeared to have cracked. Abraham took some tools off the wall and began to work on disassembling the gun.
    “What aren’t they telling us?” I asked, taking the file off Tia’s desk.
    “Many things,” Abraham said. His light French accent made him sound thoughtful. “It is the proper way. If one of us gets taken, we cannot reveal what we know.”
    I grunted, leaning back against the steel wall beside Abraham. “Babilar … Babylon Restored. Have you been there?”
    “No.”
    “Even before?” I asked, flipping through the pages Tia had left me. “When it was called Manhattan?”
    “I never visited,” Abraham said. “Sorry.”
    I glanced at Tia’s desk. A stack of folders there looked familiar. My old Epic files, the ones I’d made for every Epic I knew about. I leaned over, opening a folder.
    Regalia , the first file read. Formerly Abigail Reed . The Epic who currently ruled Babilar. I slipped out a photo of an older, distinguished-looking African American woman. She looked familiar. Hadn’t she been a judge, long ago? Yes … and after that, she’d starred in her own reality television show. Judge Regalia . I flipped through the pages, refreshing my memory.
    “David …,” Abraham warned as I flipped a page.
    “They’re my notes,” I said.
    “On Tia’s desk.” He continued to work on his gun without looking at me.
    I sighed, closing the folder. Instead I began reading the file that Tia had left for me. There was only one page inside; it was addressed to Tia from one of her contacts, a lorist—Reckoner talk for a person who studied Epics.
    It is often hard to delve into who Epics were before their transformations, particularly the early ones , the file said. Steelheart is an excellent example of this. Not only did we lose much of what was once recorded on the internet, but he actively worked to suppress anyone who knew him before Calamity. Now that we know his weakness—thanks to your young friend—we can surmise that he wanted to remove anyone who knew him before, in case they did not fear him .
    Still, I have been able to recover some little information. Named Paul Jackson, Steelheart was a track star in his local high school. He was also reputed to be a bully of some stature, to the point that—despite his winning record—he was not offered any major scholarships. There were incidents. I can’t find the specifics, but I think he might have left some fellow teammates with