(THO) CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Emily Piggot had always been a woman who thrived on control.

A necessary trait for commanding the capes under her watch. The foundation of every choice she made, every strategy she executed. A shield she wore every single day because she’d learned early, as a field agent and later as a director, that without it this job would devour her from the inside out. Control was the only thing standing between order and catastrophe, so when that control slipped, no matter how slightly, she noticed.

Which was why this… situation felt off.

Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown had always kept her cards close. She didn’t share unless she had to, and even then, it was through layers of policy, clearance, and political half-truths even some Thinkers had issues interpreting. That was fine. Piggot didn’t like her, but she respected her and her work ethic.

But this interest in Gojo Satoru? That was something new, and had struck her as suspicious from the start. 

On some level, Piggot understood it. Anyone with a shred of strategic awareness, or even half a brain, knew that Gojo was worth watching. The man wasn’t just powerful, but based on what they have found out so far about his abilities, he ranked up there with the Triumvirate. Virtually untouchable: immune to most Thinker analysis, Tinker surveillance, and even brute-force engagements.

But it wasn’t just observation anymore. Costa-Brown was invested. Slipping Satoru into her schedule, holding private meetings, and securing permissions Piggot herself couldn’t even get from the city’s mayor on a good day. The intensity of the Chief Director’s focus was notable.

Then came the bombshell: Gojo had agreed to work with the PRT on a case-by-case basis.

Piggot had nearly choked on her coffee when the file landed on her desk, and had even read it multiple times to ensure she hadn’t made a mistake. 

Because it didn't make sense. 

Gojo Satoru—aloof, untouchable, and impossible to classify Gojo Satoru—had made it abundantly clear from the beginning that he was neither a hero nor a villain, and preferred to operate outside the established system. He had refused every offer and ignored every attempt at negotiation, some with disastrous consequences for those involved.

And now he was somehow working with them? 

Piggot didn’t believe in miracles, not anymore at least, but she believed in politics. She knew how things worked at the highest level, and knew that, by some quiet miracle or terrifying manipulation, Costa-Brown now had some kind of leverage over Gojo.

And, as if that wasn’t enough, Piggot was being “officially” authorized—like she’d ever had a real choice—to let Gojo meet one of her Wards.

Authorization granted to allow Gojo Satoru supervised contact with Vista.

Her office felt smaller than usual as she reread the last part. Not exactly claustrophobic, but it left her clutching the memo so tightly in her hands that her knuckles ached.

Because it reeked.

Not of malice, necessarily, but of covert action. Of decisions made in places she wasn’t invited to, and by people who’d decided the people mostly affected didn’t need to know, whittled down into neat paragraphs and tidy signatures. 

She thought of Nilbog. Of the squad she’d lost because support capes had vanished at the worst possible time, thanks to discreet deals that left her squadmates hanging.

The screams over the comms still haunted her dreams, sometimes. So did the silence that followed.

Emily Piggot prided herself on not letting old ghosts cloud her judgment, but ghosts were useful reminders, too.

She would follow the directive, of course she would. Orders were orders, and she wasn’t naive enough to think disobedience would accomplish nothing. But Emily Piggot had survived in a place where capes had died in droves. Power didn't scare her anymore. What scared her were the people in control, so she wouldn't just watch Gojo or Vista. 

She would watch Costa-Brown, too.

So she folded the memo neatly, tucked it back into its file, and turned to her computer.

Whatever game was being played behind closed doors, she would be ready.

Because the city might belong to the capes, but the consequences of their actions fell on her and her alone. And she would not let the people under her watch down again.