CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A WARNING

The gym lights buzzed overhead, harsh and fluorescent, casting long, flickering shadows across the padded floor. The air still smelled of sweat and exertion, stale and heavy, even though the last of the other trainees had filtered out minutes ago, leaving only Taylor and Brian behind.

Taylor hadn’t moved from where she sat on the mat, towel draped loosely around her neck. She used one end to dab sweat from her brow with slow, half-hearted motions. Her body ached, not from the training, but from the weight pressing down on her. The kind that didn’t fade with rest or a good stretch.

Across the room, near the lockers, Brian leaned against the wall with his arms folded. His shirt clung to him, dark with sweat at the collar and sides. Usually, after a spar, he’d have something to say. A comment on her footwork. A jab at her timing. Maybe a crooked grin and a half-sincere “Not bad.” But now, he said nothing. The silence stretched between them, not quite hostile, but dense with unspoken words.

Taylor glanced up—and found him watching her.

“You’ve been different,” he said at last, voice low, careful. “Since the alley.”

Her breath caught. The towel froze in her hands, bunched tight in white-knuckled fists.

“What alley?” she asked. Too fast. Too flat. 

A reflex.

Brian raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Don’t… don't do that.”

Taylor looked away, suddenly fascinated by the scuffed mat beneath her shoes. She could still see him—how his body jerked mid-lunge, how the blue light gripped him and pulled him in, screaming. The way he came apart midair, unmade before he even hit the ground.

“I walked past it the next morning,” Brian continued. “No scorch marks. No crater. Just blood. A lot of it. Like someone exploded and no one bothered to clean it up.”

The memory clawed at her—how badly she’d misjudged the strength of her own forcefield. Most nights, all she could see was the raw terror in that man’s eyes, frozen in the split second before everything went wrong.

Brian didn’t move closer. He stayed where he was, a quiet figure just beyond arm’s reach.

“I didn’t see you do it,” he said. “But I’m not stupid.”

Taylor didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

“I know you’re a cape.”

The words landed with dull finality. Taylor’s throat tightened, a dozen denials on the tip of her tongue. But none of them felt worth saying.

She swallowed them back, or tried to, and just gave a single nod.

Brian let out a quiet breath. Not relief, not surprise. Acceptance.

“Look,” he said, “I’m not here to lecture you. You’re not the only one playing this game.”

She blinked, finally looking up. “You too?”

He offered an almost self-deprecating shrug. “Yeah. Grue.”

Taylor’s brow furrowed. Grue. The name meant nothing to her—but the way Brian said it, like it should, made her stomach twist.

“Is that... supposed to mean something?”

Brian gave a faint smile, not quite amused. “Undersiders. That’s our crew.”

She blinked. “I haven’t heard of you.”

“Good,” he said. “We like it that way.”

He glanced toward the exit, expression unreadable. “We’re not heroes. But we’re not the worst out there either.”

A pause.

“Which brings me to why I’m talking to you.”

The knot in Taylor’s stomach pulled tighter. “There’s more?”

Brian nodded. His voice dipped, softer, almost a whisper now. “I overheard something. E88 chatter. Kaiser’s pissed. Real pissed. Word is, he thinks someone is interfering—someone new.”

Taylor’s blood ran cold.

“He doesn’t know it’s me,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“Not yet,” Brian said. “But he’s looking. And from what I heard? You made an impression.”

Taylor looked down at her hands. Sometimes they shook when she wasn’t paying attention, when she thought too hard about what she could do. What she’d already done.

“I’m not trying to start anything,” she said. “I just… I want to help people. To be a hero.”

“I get it,” Brian said quietly. “But you don’t always get to pick your battles. Sometimes it finds you.”

When she met his eyes again, the usual confident grin was gone. What she saw instead was something heavier. Concern. 

“Why tell me all this?” she asked.

“Because this always happens,” he said. “New capes, powerful ones, trying to do it all on their own. They burn bright—then burn out. Or worse.”

Taylor swallowed hard. That lump in her throat hadn’t moved.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Brian nodded once. “Just… keep your head down. Kaiser’s smart. He won’t throw himself at you. He’ll plan. Set traps. Go after the things you can’t defend.”

Taylor nodded back, slower this time. The weight in her chest hadn’t gone away, but somehow, this conversation made it a little easier to carry.

Brian moved toward the exit, only to pause at the door.

“If you ever need backup,” he said without looking back, “you know where to find me.”

And then he was gone.

Taylor sat in the silence he left behind, gym lights humming overhead. 

Had she really been playing it smart… or just stumbling from one dumb decision to the next, surviving on luck and nothing else?