(LIMITLESS) INTERLUDE IV: REALIZATION

Sophia Hess was no stranger to dread. She knew what it felt like to lie to her mom about where she spent her nights. She knew the cold weight of a weapon hidden inside her puffy jacket as she ducked down alleys, hoping for an excuse to use it. She knew the thrill of violence, the clarity it brought, and the sense of purpose it lent to every event.

But this was different.

The call came through Winslow’s front office, discreet of course: “Armsmaster requests your presence at HQ immediately.” There was no explanation given, but none was needed. It was as obvious as the plummeting feeling she felt in her stomach. Not the light flutter of nerves before a patrol, or the bored frustration of another lecture. This was heavier.

She was fucked.

Sophia didn’t let herself panic, outwardly at least. She’d trained herself to stay sharp when everyone else fell apart. As she slipped through the school’s front doors—ignoring the questioning glance from Emma and the furtive, shadowed look in Madison’s eyes—she didn't slow her pace, or look back, or let herself wonder why Madison looked like she was about to throw up.

She couldn’t afford to, not with the black PRT sedan idling at the curb, its tinted windows hiding the driver’s features from view. Not with the knowledge of what waited at the end of this ride.

What do they know?

The question pounded in her skull with every step, matching the staccato rhythm of her boots on the tiles.

No one had ever asked about Taylor in school. Emma had covered things socially, making sure those who had seen it happen stayed quiet. Madison always played dumb, and Sophia? She was a star member of the school’s track and field team. Even if she wasn't liked by many, it was undeniable that she had status. Taylor Hebert had been a nobody, and when she stopped coming, everyone shrugged and moved on. Or so Sophia told herself. 

But now Taylor was back, more powerful than anyone could have imagined, and it felt like the world had tilted under Sophia’s feet.

The ride to HQ was silent. She didn’t speak, and the driver didn’t bother trying to make conversation. Probably for the best.

When they arrived, she entered through the private Wards’ entrance, nodding stiffly to the front desk agent as if this was any other day. As if she were checking in for patrol, or coming early for an extra training session. But, despite her stomach’ grumblings, she didn’t even consider going to the cafeteria first, or anywhere else really. Armsmaster’s instruction had been crystal clear.

The elevator ride felt like it lasted forever, each floor passing with a soft ding that scraped against her nerves. The fluorescent lights overhead cast her reflection in the brushed steel walls, and she felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the cameras tracking her every move.

Who told them? How could they know?

Her thoughts kept spiraling back to that day to the locker. That horrible, bile-stinking locker. She hadn’t done it alone—Emma had planned it, and Madison had backed them up—but she had shoved Taylor in and walked away. She had stood there, listening to the cries for help. And later? She’d gone to patrol like nothing had happened.

She’d looked Armsmaster in the eye for weeks after that, with no remorse.

The elevator doors slid open, and the sudden noise made her jump.

A uniformed officer stood waiting, helmeted but no doubt impassive. “Armsmaster’s office. He’s expecting you.”

Of course he was.

Sophia’s hands clenched at her sides, but she forced her posture straight, and kept her expression carefully blank. She nodded once and stepped into the corridor, footsteps even as she approached the door.

She ran through her options: deny and deflect. Say you didn’t know. Say Taylor never spoke up. Say it was a misunderstanding. Say—

But one look at Armsmaster shut every lie down before it could even take shape.

He stood by his desk, helmet off and arms behind his back, posture military-stiff. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles trembled, his eyes unblinking, and the only sound in the room was the faint tick of a clock to their right. 

He didn’t greet her. Didn’t offer her a seat. Didn’t even acknowledge her arrival beyond that piercing stare. 

Sophia’s throat tightened.

For the first time in a long time, Sophis Hess wasn’t sure she could talk her way out. So she didn’t try. She just waited—silent, tense, and as still as a statue—as the weight of her choices settled over her like a noose drawing tight.

And in that silence, she understood something she hadn't let herself believe until now:

This was the beginning of the end for her.