CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: CONFESSION

The sun was just beginning to rise when Taylor knocked on the back door of the gym.

Her hoodie clung to her skin, damp with sweat from the run—more adrenaline than cardio, really. She hadn’t even planned on coming here. But somewhere between the blood-soaked motel sheets and the pounding repetition of Hookwolf’s voice in her skull, her feet had started moving on their own.

She didn’t even know if Keith would be here this early. Didn’t know if, after her father’s visit, he’d written her off as another runaway with more baggage than sense.

But when the door opened, he looked at her like he’d been expecting her.

He didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside and let her in.

The gym was quiet at this hour, empty except for the creak of the old ventilation overhead and the faint scent of chalk and sweat. But already used to it, Taylor quickly moved to the edge of the ring and sat, hands clasped tightly between her knees. Her mouth was dry. Her heart raced.

She’d come here to say something. But now that she was here, it stuck in her throat.

Keith didn’t push. Just stood nearby, arms folded, waiting.

“I killed someone,” she said finally, the words dropping like lead.

His expression didn’t change. No shock. No anger. Just quiet listening.

“I didn’t mean to,” she continued. “I didn’t even know I could.  I panicked. He would’ve killed me.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Self-defense?”

She nodded, once. “I think so.”

Silence again.

“I have powers,” she added, softer now. “I don’t fully understand them. They keep changing. Growing. I used to just see perfectly. Then, I got a forcefield. Now there’s more. Things I can’t explain.”

A beat.

“And I’m scared. Not just of them—of me.”

Keith sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “You done?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You said your piece. Now get in the ring.”

Taylor stared at him, caught between confusion and disbelief. “What?”

“Get in the ring.”

 “You’re not kicking me out?”

Keith’s voice stayed flat. “Kid, I’ve trained junkies, ex-cons, a guy who once punched a vending machine because it ate his dollar. You think a scared kid with powers and a guilty conscience is gonna make me blink?”

A shaky breath escaped her. One she didn’t even realize she was holding.

“Good,” he said. “Now get in.”

. . . . .

Ten minutes later, she stood in the ring, hoodie off, sleeves rolled, and her hands wrapped. Her calves no longer burned from her earlier exertion, so she bounced a bit in place, loosening up her body in preparation.  

Keith paced slowly around her.

“Let’s see what you’ve got. Forcefield on?”

Her forcefield was always there, but she’d made a habit of suppressing it during training. A habit born of caution. Of fear.

But not today.

There was no need to hide it from Keith now.

She let it flicker back into being. And space bent around her in invisible ripples.

Keith stepped forward with a jab—and stopped short as his fist slowed just inches from her jaw.

“Huh,” he muttered. “That’s weird.”

Taylor’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”

“You’ve got some version of spatial manipulation going on,” he said, thoughtful. “It’s like the space between us keeps dividing because my punch slows more the closer I get to you. A bit like that kid in the Wards—Vista, is it?—but more nuanced.”

He raised a hand again.

“You mentioned other powers. Use one.”

Taylor hesitated. “I don’t know if I should. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Try.”

Her heart pounded. The hesitation didn’t fade, but she focused anyway. On that pull, on the strange feeling that preceded the blue shimmer around her target. 

She exhaled.

“Blue.”

Keith’s foot slid across the mat, dragged a half-step forward before he caught himself.

He let out a low whistle. “Damn. That was sloppy, but you pulled it off.”

“I’m trying to be careful,” she muttered. “Last time, someone exploded.”

His mouth twitched into a smile. “You don’t learn control by holding back. By not taking risks.”

They went again. And again. Keith attacked, slow and telegraphed, forcing her to use Blue in a controlled setting—while in a mock battle—not out of panic, but with intent. She flicked her hand, intoned the word as it helped her focus, and pulled—too strong, he nearly fell into her forcefield. Again. Too light. No effect.

But the fifth or so time?

He lunged—and she didn’t panic. She didn’t overthink. She just moved. Reached. Pulled.

Blue fed into his momentum and sent him tumbling past her, off balance, catching himself on the ropes.

He turned back to her. Impressed.

“There. That was clean.”

Taylor was breathing hard, but her stance stayed solid.

“You’re not a monster,” Keith said. “You’re a girl holding a chainsaw she doesn’t know how to use. So I’m going to teach you how not to cut your own damn leg off with it.”

She looked at him—and for the first time since she accidentally killed the mugger, something inside her eased.

It wasn’t absolution for her actions.

It wasn’t peace.

But it was a start.