Taylor's eyes snapped open, tearing herself free from a nightmare that left phantom bite marks. If someone asked, she couldn't say what she'd dreamed, but the sensation lingered like a weight on her chest—as if a damn grand piano were crushing her. She took a deep breath, trying to regain control of her breathing and, in the process, herself.

In truth, it didn't matter what she'd dreamed. The point was it wasn't real—just an illusion. Now she had the power, the control.

When she got tired of toying with Sophia, she could ruin her life, give her what she deserved. Sophia could scurry away like a rat, could try to find an exit, but in the end, she'd discover all her paths had already been mapped by Loki.

A rat in a maze, nothing more, from the very beginning.

Just as Taylor had been when she was powerless, when she was just a foolish girl, suffocated and crushed by the illusion instead of having the intelligence and self-awareness to master it.

Taylor Hebert was free, reborn, almost. That wasn't going to change.

She stumbled out of bed and drifted like a ghost to the bathroom.

She looked in the mirror and didn't like what she saw.

Not that this was new, of course. There wasn't much about herself to like—except maybe her hair—and now it was worse. Dark, sunken eyes, pale skin. She looked like she hadn't slept a wink all goddamn night, though nothing could be further from the truth.

She didn't want to show up to her new school like this. Didn't want the Wards to see her this way. Control was everything, after all. Image was paramount in a performance, an illusion.

Taylor splashed her face with cold water. Refreshing, or so it was supposed to be.

She closed her eyes slowly, focusing on the sound of her heartbeat, visualizing the future. The destiny she wanted to carve with her own hands, the end of all paths.

Then she opened her eyes again and smiled at the mirror.

A practiced smile, like every part of her new act. A textbook smile, so to speak. A photo-ready smile, whether for school or her debut as the newest Ward. A smile that didn't reach her eyes—the only kind Colin seemed capable of.

The thought drew a more genuine smile from her, briefly.

Next, she flashed a wicked grin at the mirror. The smug triumph of victory, when all the pieces fell into place. Ultimate satisfaction, almost orgasmic. Then a timid smile—a powerless girl who just wanted to fade into the background, avoid trouble. Not stand out, for better or worse, because that was the worst thing of all.

Taylor practiced more smiles, each faker than the last. Finally, she scowled unintentionally, turned away, and left the bathroom and her room behind.

Her reflection lingered in the mirror long after she'd gone, brow furrowed.

—

Today was a free day. Tomorrow would be her first day at the new school. Today, she had no responsibilities, not even with the Wards.

So she did the only thing she could call a hobby these days, the only thing she could focus on lately: Taylor went for a run. She hadn't been doing it long, but consistency was key. Skipping one day might not seem like a big deal, but she knew herself well enough to admit she'd quit entirely if she started slacking.

And that couldn't happen.

She had plans, bigger responsibilities. She had to be diligent, take care of herself and her body. She was stronger now without training—she could feel it. Stronger, faster, bigger, more alive, more real, more everything. But that didn't mean she could lounge on the couch scratching her belly.

She had to prove she deserved this… well, second chance. Because that's what this was, right?

It was like she'd died in there, in the dark. It had been brief, disgusting, but not painful, and she hadn't had time to truly panic. The worst part had been knowing the malice required to plan something so twisted and repulsive for months had been aimed at her.

The feeling of being cornered prey. That the real world was even worse than she'd believed, nothing like what her mother had optimistically hoped for.

Still, something inside her had broken.

She wasn't the same. She never would be. Taylor picked up the pace. The exact distance didn't matter.

She wanted to run until she was sick of it, until her legs and lungs burned, until she couldn't take another second. Even if she ended up too exhausted to get home, she had her powers. She'd left a clone of herself under the bed.

Not the most original hiding spot, but it worked. Danny wasn't home anyway. Thanks to the clone, all she had to do was focus, snap her fingers, and she'd be home in a second.

She could run until she collapsed if she wanted, and that's exactly what she'd intended. But then—

"There goes the pillow-biter. Hehe."

A sudden, violent change of plans. Taylor stopped dead. In the park were four kids, all too young to even know what "pillow-biter" meant.

One of the four was on the ground, surrounded. You didn't need to be a genius to figure out what was happening.

"Watch your dick," another said. "Don't let him gobble it up."

The three laughed like hyenas. Taylor highly doubted the victim was actually gay—not least because at that age, he probably had no fucking clue what he even was.

They were hurling insults with the same sophistication as kids their age telling fart jokes or shouting words like "fuck" and "shit." Nothing more complicated than that. Kid stuff, some would say, but Taylor didn't tolerate that shit.

Every bully deserved their own medicine, multiplied by a thousand. Taylor stopped nearby, catching the boys' attention.

To the brats, she probably looked like an older teen.

"What're you staring at? We're just playing."

"Fuck off," Taylor said, and they scattered.

She held out a hand to the boy and helped him up. His mother, she assumed, hadn't done him any favors with his outfit. He was small but looked even younger dressed like that. Fresh out of kindergarten, ha.

"What's your name?"

"Ethan. Thanks for… for… for…"

"Don't mention it," Taylor cut him off before he could keep stammering. She hadn't really done anything, so she didn't feel she deserved thanks. She'd just shown up, and the bullies, as usual, had bolted at the first sign of trouble. "You're not the only one they mess with like this, you know."

"You too? But you seem so… confident."

"Well, more accurately, they used to." Taylor gripped his shoulder. "Look, I'll buy you a Coke or something, and I'll tell you what to do, okay? To make them stop. Because this isn't the first time, right?"

"No, it's not," he murmured, his voice soft, barely audible.

Honestly, the answer didn't matter much. Even if it were the first time, there'd always be a second, third, fourth. It never stopped until the bully got bored.

She bought them both Cokes from the nearest vending machine and sat with Ethan on a park bench. Taylor took a long swig from her can, sighed like it was the best thing she'd ever tasted, and looked at the boy.

"Listen close, okay? This'll serve you for life. Not just school, or high school—maybe even college. Depends on you, whatever. Listen. Bullies are wild animals, nothing more. They do what they do out of instinct. Crying or begging won't help, got it? If you tell teachers, they'll say something stupid like 'shake hands and make up.' As if that'll fix it. It'll just make the bullies hit you twice as hard for snitching. And your parents—even if they're on your side—can't just transfer you to a better school or move cities. It's not that easy."

Ethan hung his head.

"I know I'm screwed. Just tell me what to do."

"You have to hit them where it hurts, okay? Not kill them—don't get me wrong." The kid was maybe twelve, tops, but she wouldn't be surprised if he'd thought about it. Who hadn't? It was the first escape anyone imagined. "You'd be doing the world a favor, trust me. But it's not worth ruining your life over. Worse, making them look like victims."

Ethan frowned harder.

"That's… gross."

"Yeah, it's gross," Taylor said. "So we're not going there. What I mean is, find their weak spots. Everyone's got them. Take the middle kid—what's his name?"

"Eric."

Taylor nodded.

"Right. His weakness is probably that he's built like a whale. Use that."

"But my mom says that's not okay."

"Of course it's not okay to judge people by their looks. But he's not just some fat kid—he's a fat asshole. He deserves it. He asked for it. Besides, you don't want to know how to be a good boy, follow the rules, and still get fucked over, right? You want to know how to make it stop. That's how."

"But I don't get it," Ethan protested. "He already knows he's fat. Everyone does. What am I supposed to do?"

"Attack, like I said. Crack jokes about his weight. Whale pictures in class? Compare, say he and the whale make for a great weight loss ad, before and way before. Rushing to leave class? 'Make way or he'll bust a hole in the wall'—I don't know, make shit up."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"There are a million ways to hit a weak spot," Taylor pressed. "That's why it's a weak spot. At your age, you're starting to notice girls, even if you pretend you're not. If you know he likes a girl, give him fake hope, get him to confess in public, humiliate him. I don't know him—just throwing ideas out. But you get it, right?"

"Yeah, but… that's just doing to him what he does to me."

"Bingo."

"That's not right."

"Right and wrong shouldn't matter. Or, sorry—better yet, right and wrong depend on who you ask, and you can't be doing the 'right' thing now because you're miserable. He attacks you for fun. You attack him for peace of mind. No comparison, kid."

"I… guess that's true."

"It is. And even if it weren't, it's time to grow up. You can't always do the 'right' thing. Sometimes you have to choose, and this is simple: Do you want to be a victim or not? I went through the same as you—worse—and trust me, things don't magically get better. People say school isn't the real world. They're right. The real world's worse. Out there, you can't cry to Mommy, Daddy, or teachers. School becomes high school, then college, then work. The only difference is the people screwing you over get smarter. That's the truth, kid. If you don't prepare now, they'll eat you alive. This is easy compared to what's coming."

Ethan looked away. Bad sign. But then he took a deep breath.

"Okay. Okay, I'll try."

Taylor stood, took another sip of her Coke, crushed the empty can in her hands, and tossed the remains into a trash bin ten meters away. Swish.

She ruffled Ethan's hair.

"Glad to hear it. I was like you once. Now I'm… new. Things only get better if you make them better."

Ethan nodded. He looked determined.

"Good luck, squirt. You've been brave so far. Just be a little braver. Keep your head high—you deserve it. You're better than those worms. You're a good kid. You just can't afford to be good all the time."

"What's your name?" Ethan asked softly, after a pause.

Loki, she almost said.

"Taylor," she answered finally.