"Take my hand," Taylor said, forcing a smile as she reached out to the ghost of a child, who still believed that he was stuck underneath a pile of rubble. There was no rubble, but the child believed it and so there was. Funny how ghost powers worked. No one else but Taylor could've seen or even interacted with the rubble. Still, she reached out. The boy was no older than five or six if she had to take a good guess. A metal cage saved him from immediate crushing, but... the truth was that the boy was most likely crushed to death at some point. Taylor hoped he died painlessly. The boy looked towards her and nodded, his face full of dust and blood, before he reached out and wrapped his little fingers around Taylor's hand. The boy's hands were as cold as ice, but Taylor held her smile all the same as she pulled him right out. And, not a moment later, the metal cage that'd held up the rubble groaned and bent.

That must've been how he died.

"What's your name?" Taylor asked, wiping away the flecks of dust from the boy's face.

"I'm Paul..." The boy said, smiling for a moment, before he faded entirely and disappeared, alongside the rubble that he'd been trapped under, mere moments ago. It was never there, after all. The road had likely been cleaned recently. She wondered, briefly, if Paul would eventually show up to offer his ability, whatever it might be. But, then again, she barely understood the abilities of the dozens of Ghosts she could call on. And there was no guarantee that Paul would ever offer her any sort of help and that was honestly fine. Helping the dead move on from this world and into the next was rewarding in itself, even if it was a task all too big for just one person.

Just how many Ghosts were there in the entire world who needed help to cross over? And how many of them could she realistically help? Probably not even a fraction – not even small fraction.

Taylor frowned, before sighing and shrugging. Oh well. No point crying about things she had no control over; it'd be the same was crying about gravity. Besides, she still had a lot of things to do instead of just moping around and complaining. Taylor saw the signs earlier, posters and directions that showed the location of the refugee camps and there were over four of those right outside the city, each one, Taylor figured, established around a source of fresh water, since the pipes within Brockton Bay suffered... no small amount of damage during Lung and Sukuna's fight. Her father was in one of those camps.

And now, she had the glorious task of having to look for him.

One camp was located just north of the Trainyard, another was to the west of the Docks, and two to the far south, which remained mostly untouched when Lung and Sukuna dueled. The northernmost camps were the ones closest to her house, which meant her father would most likely be in either of them. If not, she'd search the southernmost ones. There were other camps aside from the four, usually under no one's control and entirely without backing or sponsors; she'd search those too if she somehow never found her father in any of the four largest camps. He was alive. He had to be. Legend called on him, after all.

Her fingers trembled slightly from the cold, but she ignored it, focusing on the paths ahead. The northern camps weren't far, a little over an hour of walking if she cut through the remnants of the Trainyard. With the moon hidden behind thick clouds and no stars to guide her, the night felt heavier, more oppressive.

A slight breeze whispered through the ruins, and Taylor felt the weight of unseen eyes on her. The dead were always around her, lingering in places of tragedy. She'd grown used to it, though that didn't make it any easier. Alice drifted nearby, her translucent form hovering silently at Taylor's side, offering a sense of familiar comfort. Mister Randall and Liam were elsewhere, keeping their distance for now. She didn't need a full retinue for this.

"You think he's in the first camp?" Taylor asked aloud, glancing towards Alice, though she didn't expect a real answer. Alice knew about as much as she did, which wasn't a whole lot; still, it felt nice to have someone to talk to. Alice gave her a shrug and maybe a smile, but it was hard to tell with her monstrous visage if she was smiling or not – or always smiling.

The walk stretched on, the silence interrupted only by the occasional distant crash of debris settling somewhere in the city. There wasn't much left of the Trainyard; now, it felt more like a graveyard, with jagged steel beams sticking out of the earth like tombstones – not so different from before if she was being honest, but now the trains had clearly been partially melted and some had completely melted. The camps, she figured, weren't much better. Crowded, chaotic, and under constant threat of disease.

Sukuna had ensured that the city's power structure had collapsed, even if it wasn't his intent. Tinkertech, Taylor hoped, could probably fill in a lot of the gaps. Dragon, the World's Greatest Tinker, would, no doubt, be involved with the necessary constructs to maintain at least some electricity – without it, there would no efficient way to pump water and, without water, people would very quickly die of dehydration.

The first camp came into view—a few scattered tents and makeshift shelters clustered around a water source – some kind of solar powered deep well, probably Tinkertech. Taylor could hear murmurs of conversation, see the faint flicker of lanterns in the distance. Her pulse quickened. She steeled herself and approached, slipping into the shadows as she always did, her instincts honed from days of living in fear and hiding from both heroes and villains.

There were guards at the camp's entrance, rough-looking men with tired eyes and worn-out gear. Not PRT or Police, but volunteers or local thugs turned security; though, I few of them were probably firemen. They barely glanced at Taylor as she slipped by, her presence unnoticed in the dim light. That or they just didn't care.

Inside, the camp was a mess. People huddled in small groups, cooking over open fires or trying to sleep on whatever they could scavenge. Children cried, their wails a haunting sound in the otherwise quiet night. The tents themselves were mostly ramshackle things, made of tarp or cloths that were sown together. Taylor searched each face she passed, scanning for her father's familiar features, but no one even remotely resembled him. The air smelled of smoke and unwashed bodies, a sharp reminder of the desperation that hung over the city like a fog.

After a thorough sweep, she approached one of the few organized stations, where aid workers were handing out supplies. A tired-looking woman in her forties glanced up at her, a clipboard clutched tightly in her hands.

"What do you need?" she asked, not unkindly, but with an edge of exhaustion.

"I'm looking for my father," Taylor replied. "Danny Hebert. Is he here?"

The woman frowned and flipped through her clipboard, skimming a list of names. And the list was thick. It took a while for the woman to reach the right set of names that might just have her dad's.

"Danny Hebert… there's a Daniel Herbert, but I don't think that's the guy you're looking for," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head after a moment. "Not here, sorry kid. There's another camp out west of here, maybe he's there. If not, maybe he's in one of the southern camps."

Taylor bit her lip, her chest tightening with frustration. Damn it.

"Thank you," she murmured, stepping back into the shadows as the woman returned to her duties. As quickly and as silently as she came, Taylor walked out of the camp.

She walked for hours, moving from one camp to another, each one filled with the same desperation, the same chaos. Every time, she asked the same question, only to receive the same answer—her father wasn't there. Her hope dimmed with each failure, a gnawing fear taking its place.

Where was he?

Her dad wasn't dead. She knew that much, but that was a few days ago and things could've changed in that time. A villain and a hero could've been fighting and her dad could've just been collateral damage, just another statistic. Taylor gritted her teeth. No, she refused to believe in that possibility. Her dad was alive and she was going to find him.

By the time she reached the southern camps, the night had deepened, and exhaustion clawed at her bones. She passed through the last organized camp, her steps slower, her gaze unfocused. Nothing. No trace of him. She found a few of her dad's friends from the Dockworker's Union, but they were scattered about, instead of staying in one place, which led her nowhere, honestly.

Taylor gritted her teeth in frustration as she walked out of the last of the southern camps. She was tired and angry. Having to avoid the heroes and police officers in their patrols as she trudged through the broken remnants of Brockton Bay had been hard enough. And now, she had no idea where her father was or how to find him. There were other, small camps all across the city, but she knew her dad well enough to know that he'd probably not be anywhere near them.

"You..." Someone suddenly spoke behind her. Taylor turned. It was a girl. Young. Blonde. Tired eyes. Her skin would've been fair if not for the bits of dirt and grime that clung about her cheeks. And yet, the girl had a smile on her face. Taylor didn't recognize her, but it was abundantly clear that the opposite was true. She recognized Taylor. The blonde girl took a step forward, before suddenly stopping – hesitating, though she did her best not to let it show. "You're her, aren't you? You're Taylor Hebert... you're the one who, they say, is responsible for all of this."

Taylor froze, her eyes narrowing. The distant echo of Sukuna's laughter rang at the very edges of her mind. The girl didn't seem dangerous. But she was almost definitely a Cape. And Capes were always dangerous. No point denying anything, was there? She didn't want to deny it, either. But, then again, it wasn't entirely the truth. But, she also didn't feel like explaining anything to anyone. After all, who would believe her if she said that the one who fought Lung hadn't been her, but Sukuna, who just so happened to have taken over her body while she was unconscious? Who would believer if she claimed that there was a literal demon inside her? Nobody. "And if I am?"

The blonde girl forced a smile and gulped. She was afraid, Taylor noted. The girl was deathly afraid. Her hands were shaking as she spoke, "Aha, don't worry. I don't plan on being a tattler. I was just..."

The girl's eyes widened. She fell to her knees, muttering something under her breath – horrified. She saw something, Taylor realized, but what? A small crowd noticed. Taylor gritted her teeth and quickly walked away. She didn't want another headache from... whatever the hell just happened.

Lisa drifted in complete darkness, before her was a freakishly tall, four-armed man, glaring hatefully at her, yet still grinning. Black tattoos covered his body. And behind the man was a shrine of bones, of gigantic animal skulls, a pagoda-like structure atop it. She had no idea where she was or how she got here. Her power wasn't working. Her mind was silent. The only thing she could hear was the sound of her own heart, beating so loudly and so rapidly it was akin to gunfire. Her hands shook, but her limbs were otherwise frozen.

Terror.

Lisa had never been so afraid in her entire life.

"Hello, little girl."

AN: Chapter 29 is out on (Pat)reon!