(TSSFH) CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE - TAYLOR

The day she almost died, really died, wasn’t the day she fought Mannequin. Or the day she did her best to rescue civilians while Leviathan rampaged just blocks away.

It was a random Tuesday.

She didn’t remember much at first. Just a sense of her knees buckling, the pressure in her chest tightening like it wanted to wring the life out of her lungs, and cold sweat beading under her mask. Her bugs had dropped mid-flight like tiny marionettes with cut strings, and she had hit the ground hard in the hallway of their new hideout.

It lasted less than five minutes.

Later, the news would call it Eidolon’s Fall.

The PRT wouldn’t give details. Doctors shrugged. Capes whispered. But the truth came in dribs and half-heard testimony: it had hit dozens across the city. Some nearby capes, mostly heroes, had outright died, while others had crumpled under the same wave of invisible pain.

And afterward, when her strength returned and she’d somehow made it to the couch, she curled with her head between her knees, heart pounding and her bugs buzzing fitfully as if trying to comfort her. There, Taylor had felt something she hadn’t in a long, long time.

Perspective.

Because at that moment of collapse, none of it had mattered. Not the Empire. Not the ABB. Not the battles she fought or the mask she wore. 

Only the weight of things left unsaid.

Only the people she still had.

Only her father’s face.

So she went to Lisa first.

Lisa, who hadn’t woken up since that Tuesday. Her hospital bed had been moved to a secure room in Coil’s underground lair. Machines breathed for her now. And her eyes fluttered sometimes, but never opened.

Taylor sat beside her and tried to talk.

She spoke about school. About the way things had been before she triggered. About dumb things like her favorite coffee and vending machines and the way it seemed the city was the center of every terrible event so far.

She didn’t mention Coil’s death, or Dinah’s disappearance, or the slight anger that Lisa had hidden all of it and didn't bother to tell anyone until she thought she was dying.

Not yet.

Not while Lisa looked so small, so fragile, buried under wires and tubes.

Then she went to Rachel.

Bitch had fared better than Lisa, but only just. They’d strapped her wrists, though not out of fear, but necessity. She hadn’t woken since the collapse, and the medical staff weren’t taking chances. With her dog-like instincts and baseline aggression, they weren’t sure what might happen when consciousness returned. Would she fight? Flee? Lash out blindly? They didn't know and Taylor didn’t blame them.

Rachel had always operated on instinct, on survival. She didn’t trust easily, and she didn’t heal quietly. If she were aware of the tubes in her arms or the plastic muzzle-like respirator strapped to her face, she would’ve torn the whole room apart trying to escape.

So they restrained her. Just in case.

Taylor stood at the foot of the bed, watching the slow, even rise and fall of her friend’s chest. The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing filling the silence.

“You’d hate this,” she murmured. “The machines. The restraints. Being helpless.”

Her throat tightened. She clenched her jaw, forcing the feeling down. Rachel would have hated that too, hated the pity.

“If Panacea were here…” she trailed off, but the thought didn’t need finishing. Panacea was gone, according to her sister, and there was no one left who could fix what had happened to them.

Taylor didn’t stay long.

Brian found her just before she reached her neighborhood. He didn’t say anything at first. Just fell into step beside her, their shadows stretching long under the dimming light of the setting sun.

When he reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away.

It surprised her, how much that helped steady her.

“You don’t have to come,” she said softly.

“I know,” he replied, giving her hand a small squeeze. “But I want to.”

The walk felt longer than it was. Every sagging porch and bent streetlight felt like a fragment of a past she’d left behind but never stopped carrying. The damage from Leviathan was still visible, though her neighborhood had been lucky. Compared to others, it had survived. He had survived.

It made her feel worse… the fact that she hadn't checked up on him until now.

When they reached her house, Taylor stopped at the bottom step.

It looked the same. Chipped paint, crooked porch light, rust-browned doorknob where her father’s hand had always rested.

She let go of Brian’s hand.

“I should do this alone,” she said.

He nodded and stepped back.

Taylor took a slow breath and knocked.

The door opened faster than she expected, and there he was.

Danny Hebert looked older. He had always looked tired, but this was different. A weariness that didn’t just settle into the lines of his face, but  was in the way he held the door, the way he looked like a man who had been through a lot in such a short timeframe.

He stared at her, his breath caught in his throat.

“Taylor?”

Her throat was dry. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. And for a terrifying second, she considered turning and running away again. She’d done it before when she disappeared into Skitter. Into a mask that was easier to wear than being his daughter.

But not today.

“Hi, Dad,” she said.

He didn’t speak. Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. And for the first time in what felt like forever…

She didn’t pull away.