Interlude: Taylor

I stood in front of the mirror, staring at myself.

No glasses.

My face looked off without them, like something was missing. My eyes were sharper, clearer. I could see details I hadn't before—the faint freckles on my nose, the way my hair never quite lay flat. It was strange, unsettling in a way. I'd been wearing glasses for years, and now, suddenly, I didn't need them.

That wasn't normal.

I turned away, moving to my bed and sitting on the edge. My notebook lay open beside me, pages filled with messy notes, sketches, and attempts to understand what had happened to me that day in the locker.

The day I triggered.

Or at least, the day I should have.

But nothing had happened since then. No powers, no strange new abilities. Just... perfect vision. A fluke? Some weird side effect? It wasn't unheard of for a trigger event to come with physical changes, but this didn't feel like what I'd read about. People with powers didn't just lose them right after getting them. If that were the case, the PRT wouldn't be so concerned about monitoring new capes.

So why couldn't I do anything?

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling.

The past few weeks had been... different. Not bad, just different. I hadn't thought much about it before, but I wasn't just going through the motions anymore. There was something to look forward to.

I had people to look forward to.

Nikko.

Greg.

It was weird. After everything, after Emma, after being alone for so long, suddenly I wasn't.

Nikko was... something else. A force of nature. He didn't treat me like I was fragile, didn't talk to me like I was about to break apart at any moment. He teased, pushed, challenged me. And Greg—well, he was Greg, but even his relentless enthusiasm had started to feel... familiar. Comfortable, even.

They made things easier.

They made things feel normal.

I wasn't sure how to deal with that.

Because normal wasn't something I trusted anymore. Normal was a lie. Normal was a trap, something that could be taken away in an instant. I knew better than to get used to it.

And yet...

I glanced at my phone, at the message I hadn't replied to yet.

Nikko: Tomorrow—arcade. Don't think you're getting out of it!

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head.

He was relentless.

I should say no. Tell them I was busy. Stay home and keep trying to figure this out. But the thought of sitting alone in my room, poring over my notes, trying and failing to make something happen—it made my stomach turn.

Maybe I needed a break.

Maybe I needed something good in my life.

I closed my notebook, setting it aside, and picked up my phone.

Me: Yeah. I'll be there.

I hesitated, then added:

Me: Don't expect me to go easy on you this time.

The reply came almost instantly.

Nikko: Pffft. Bring it on, Skitterbug.

Rolling my eyes, I tossed my phone onto the bed and lay back, staring up at the ceiling.

I should have felt more nervous about all of this—about spending time with them, about letting people in again. I'd spent so long building walls, keeping my head down, bracing myself for the next hit. But somehow, being around them felt... easy. Like I didn't have to keep my guard up all the time.

That should have been terrifying.

And yet, I wasn't afraid.

I sighed, shifting so I was looking at my desk. My notebook sat there, the edges of its pages worn from how many times I had flipped through it. The words I had scribbled inside were theories, observations—guesses. Because I had no real data, no proof of what had happened to me. Just that something had changed.

I clenched my fist.

No matter how much I tried, I hadn't been able to make it happen again. No rush of strength, no strange energy, no sense of something more. The last time I had felt it was in the locker, in the moment everything had come crashing down.

A trigger event was supposed to push you past your limit. To break you down and reshape you into something new. But I wasn't broken anymore, was I?

My hand loosened.

I'd changed since then. Not just because of whatever this was, but because I wasn't alone anymore. And that scared me more than anything else.

If I didn't have that pain, that rage to push me—would I ever feel it again?

Would I ever be strong enough to change things?

I reached for my notebook again, flipping it open to a fresh page. My fingers tapped against the pen, my thoughts racing.

Something had been nagging at me all night, a puzzle piece out of place. It wasn't just about the energy I had felt before, or my failed attempts to summon it again. It was something… recent.

Something at the arcade.

I frowned, staring at the blank page.

How quickly I had picked up the game. How my mind had zeroed in on every movement, every pattern, like I had been doing it for years. The way my reflexes adjusted, my hands moving before I could even think. I'd felt it, that same buzzing hum—not as strong as in the locker, but there.

I hadn't realized.

My heartbeat quickened.

That had to be it. My power—whatever it was—wasn't just some sudden burst of strength. It wasn't just a single moment of survival. It was… growth.

I swallowed hard, flipping back through my notes.

My vision had sharpened. My body had adjusted. And back at the arcade, I had learned faster than I should have.

That had to mean something.

I grabbed the pen, scrawling a new heading: Potential Power Theory

• Accelerated adaptation?

• Growth through effort?

• Power increases in response to challenge?

I underlined that last part twice.

If this was how my power worked, if it thrived on challenge, then no wonder I hadn't felt it since the locker. I had been stuck, floundering, waiting for something to happen.

I needed to push myself. I needed to fight for it.

A grin tugged at my lips, something unfamiliar and dangerous sparking in my chest.

If my power wanted a challenge—then I'd damn well give it one.

I shut the notebook, exhaling slowly.

Tomorrow, I'd go to the arcade. I'd let myself have one day.

And then?

Then, I'd get to work.