(LIMITLESS) CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: ECHOES

The hallway to the private meeting room felt longer than it should’ve.

Too sterile. Too quiet.

The rhythmic staccato of her footsteps rang off the tile, echoing like it didn’t belong. Like she was trespassing in her own life.

 A uniformed PRT agent nodded as she passed. They didn’t speak. She didn’t look up.

The door at the end of the hall was labeled simply: Interview Room 3B.

Private. Secured. 

Her hand hovered over the knob. Her forcefield, always present now, shimmered faintly as it rejected contact with the world around her. She blinked, dazed, like she’d just woken from a heavy sleep she hadn’t meant to fall into.

She deactivated it.

Not because she felt safe.

But because she didn't need protection from this. 

A sigh left her lips. 

She also didn't know if she had anything to say.

Still, she opened the door.

For a moment, Taylor stood just inside the threshold, unmoving. One foot on the tile, the other still behind the line where the hallway ended. The room beyond was a box—square and functional, with fluorescent lighting, a polished table, and two chairs. A camera was strategically placed in the upper corner, red light blinking steadily against a backdrop of clean walls painted in shades of calming beige, like the government’s idea of ‘neutral’.

The government’s idea of intimacy.

But none of that registered.

Not compared to the man sitting at the table.

Danny Hebert looked even older than she remembered. Not just tired, but thinned out in some way, like the grief had carved him down to the bone. His shoulders were hunched inward, his beard patchier, streaked with gray, and his clothes hung on him a little looser than they had in her memories.

He finally looked up as the door closed softly behind her.

Their eyes met. 

For a long moment, neither of them said a word.

Then: “Taylor.”

His voice cracked as he breathed her name.

She didn’t mean to move. Didn’t remember crossing the room. But suddenly she was there, standing across from him, close enough to reach out and touch, and yet unable to move.

Her throat was tight. 

Her hands clenched at her sides.

He stood, slow, uncertain, like he thought any quick act might spook her. “God… I didn’t think—”

The words died on his tongue, choked off by everything too heavy to speak. His arms hovered halfway between his sides and an embrace, unsure if they were even allowed.

Taylor stared at him.

And then she broke.

The first sob escaped before she realized it had started. Her knees gave way beneath her, but Danny caught her as she collapsed into him. The hug came instinctively as she allowed herself the small comfort, one arm around her back, the other pressing her head to his chest. 

Holding her like something precious. Like she was still small. Like none of the time in between had ever passed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, over and over. The words spilled out in a mantra of guilt. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His hand trembled where it held her, fingers curling tight—like if he let go now, she’d vanish again.

“I thought you were dead,” he said into her hair, voice hoarse. “I thought I lost you. I thought—”

Taylor shook her head, but no words followed. She didn’t know how to explain what she’d done yet. What she’d become. She only knew the tears kept coming, slow and steady, so she clutched his jacket tighter. She had cried in battle, in silence, after Keith. But this was different. This was every dam breaking.

They stayed like that until the tremors stopped and the tears slowed.

Eventually, they sat.

Danny still held her hand, and she didn’t let go. His thumb ran in slow circles against her knuckles, grounding her.

“I never stopped looking,” he said. “Every day. Every damn day.”

Taylor nodded, jaw clenched as he continued.

“I thought if I just waited long enough, you’d come home. That I’d open the door and you’d be there.”

“I wanted to,” she said quietly. “So many times.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

She looked down at their hands, her voice brittle. “Because I didn’t know how. I didn’t know who I was anymore. And I didn’t think I could come back and still be your daughter after… everything.”

Danny’s face twisted—not in anger, but in hurt. Deep, aching hurt.

“You could’ve been anything. Anything at all. I wouldn’t have cared. I just wanted you safe.”

“I wasn’t,” the admission was barely audible. “But I’m trying now. I’m really trying.”

He nodded slowly, though stiffly. “I can see that.”

Neither of them brought up the word cape. Nor the mask. Nor her powers. Nor the PRT dorm room or the endless surveillance. Not yet. That conversation would come. But not now.

Now was about something smaller. Something more fragile.

The bridge between them. Broken. Burned. But still standing.

Taylor leaned her head against his shoulder, eyes closed.

“I miss her,” Danny murmured. “Your mom. She would’ve known what to say.”

Taylor swallowed the lump in her throat. “She’d be furious with me.”

“No.” She felt him shake his head. “She’d be proud of you. Maybe a bit scared. But undeniably proud.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Just pressed closer. 

The silence that settled between them wasn’t yet comfortable, but it wasn't strained. 

Eventually, Danny kissed her forehead and spoke: “Whenever you’re ready… I want you to come home. Not just to visit. Come back home. We can… figure the rest out together.”

Taylor didn’t promise anything. 

But she nodded.

And for a moment—just for a moment—the ache inside her dulled.