Taylor POV

  The disposable phone Danny Hebert had bought was a burn-orange plastic model with no brand for ten dollars at the corner shop. And it sat on the kitchen table like an accusation. Taylor watched her father circle it the way he circled a live wire: close enough to fix it if it sparked, far enough that the memory of pain lingered.

  He rubbed a thumb along the rim of his chipped coffee mug.

  “Humour me,” he said at last. “Keep it on you and check in twice.”

  Taylor pushed damp hair behind one ear.

  “You hate phones.”

  “I hate the idea of you being in danger more,” he answered, and the words hung heavier than steam in the cramped kitchen.

  She remembered the funeral two years back. Black umbrellas, her own numb disbelief while everyone talked about how Annette Hebert had been a light, a spark, a voice.

  “I’ll text when I get there,” she promised, lifting the phone between forefinger and thumb, as if sheer contact might burn. “Every half-hour mark and then when I leave.”

  Danny nodded, but tension still pinched the corners of his eyes. “Run if it feels wrong,” he said for the third time.

  “Dad, it’s a café on the Boardwalk,” she said tartly. “In broad daylight.”

  “She’s a cape,” he countered. “You’re a cape. That means trouble doesn’t need a dark alley to come up.” He scrubbed a hand over his stubble.

  Taylor swallowed. “We’ll both be unmasked for this meeting. The chances of her making trouble are really low.”

  “I know,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. He reached into his pocket and slid a small canister across the table. A travel-size pepper spray, battered but functional. “Take it anyway.”

  She offered a faint, wry smile.

  “Against a Thinker?”

  “Against muggers on your way to the bus stop,” he said. “Humour me twice.”

  Taylor pocketed the canister, shoulders easing.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Danny looked like he wanted to hug her, but the phone between them felt like a wall. Instead, he placed a broad hand on her shoulder, squeezed once, and stepped back.

  “Get your answers,” he said. “Just come home after.”

  She left before she could second-guess the plan, the phone a foreign weight against her leg.

  ------

  The Boardwalk café hadn’t bothered with a proper sign. Just COFFEE & SANDWICHES peeling in gold vinyl over a salt-chalked window. Exactly the sort of place tourists overlooked and locals forgot to recommend. Inside, fluorescent tubes washed the scuffed lino in dull white, and a pastry case hummed like an overworked fridge.

  Two baristas argued good-naturedly near the espresso machine. Neither spared Taylor more than a glance. No other customers except for the person she came here to meet.

  Lisa Wilbourn lounged in a corner booth with a cup tall enough to qualify as a bucket, whipped cream slipping lazy avalanches down the plastic lid. She wore faded jeans, white sneakers, and a lavender top that made her look disarmingly normal, as if the entire city hadn’t almost war-zone’d itself around her nearly four days ago.

  Taylor didn’t bother looking around. She’d already mapped the cafe with her bugs long before she entered. Still, it paid to catalogue her options. The corner presents a good view of the door. The bar isn’t too close, so the chances of being overheard are low. The baristas? Maybe they were capes. Maybe not.

  Just a week ago, Taylor would have considered the whole thing paranoia. Encountering Seraph in person made such precautions feel completely inadequate.

  “Hey, Taylor,” Lisa greeted, smile tilting when she was close enough.

  She gestured at the opposite bench.

  “Sit. I promise not to bite.”

  Taylor slid in, palms flat against the sticky tabletop.

  “My dad’s on speed-dial,” she said by way of greeting.

  “Excellent.”

  Lisa glanced at the burner phone bulging in Taylor’s hoodie pocket.

  “New toy?”

  Taylor arched a brow.

  “Good guess.”

  “Not hard. Latest union safety measure, courtesy of Papa Hebert,” Lisa winked. “Tell him thanks. Makes my job easier if you’re not in a missing-persons report by 3 p.m.”

  Taylor chose to ignore that. Instead, she inhaled the faint scent of burnt caramel from Lisa’s drink and scanned her surroundings once more. Nothing stood out this time, either. Lisa just rolled her eyes.

  “Relax, would you? We’re fine. I’d know if anyone was trying to listen in.”

  A dry look was Taylor’s response. Carelessness nearly got her burned twice.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Have it your way,” Lisa huffed.

  Once their relative privacy was confirmed, Taylor spoke.

  “Before we start, I need to know.”

  Lisa prompted her to continue with a look of curiosity.

  “I’ve looked into your activities, you and your friends. Not a lot of information on PHO. Mostly rumors about heists. Are any of them true?”

  Judging by the wry smile gracing the blonde’s lips, she’d already anticipated the questions.

  “Some, not all,” amusement suffused her voice, “not even most. We mostly target other gangs and places covered by insurance. No fighting if we can help it. Just grab what we want and go.”

  That confirmed most of the, admittedly few, things Taylor could find out about the Undersiders. To her credit, Lisa hadn’t even tried to deny being a criminal. She said it outright when they met the other day.

  However, it was apparently more complicated than that. Frankly, Taylor was highly skeptical of her ‘cops and robbers’ spiel, but that’s not what brought her here.

  No. Today, she was more interested in the figure who managed to cast a pervasive shadow over her city.

  “Tell me about Seraph.”

  “Going straight for the jugular,” Lisa set her coffee aside, whipped cream already melting into pale eddies. “Okay. Cliff-notes first?”

  “I want everything you’re willing to share.”

  “That’s a dangerous word, but okay.” Lisa folded her arms, suddenly more businesslike. “He isn’t listed in any PRT database, domestic or foreign. No PHO chatter predating the Lung beat-down, either. His armor’s definitely nonstandard, as there are no visible joints or obvious power source, yet what EM sensors managed to catch him while flying through the city went haywire. His wings don’t flap. Instead, they torque air currents as a form of thrust, much like how jets push air to achieve flight. All of those would usually point to high-tier tinker tech, except nobody’s been able to match its signature against any known tinkers.”

  Taylor kept her face blank, but her mind was roiling, trying to process everything she’s being told.

  “What about the aura?”

  “Ah…that,” Lisa’s fingers traced a lazy circle on the table. “Not really much to say about that since you’re the only one who’s been exposed to it. As far as I could tell, though? It’s got psychological intimidation baked right in. Similar to Glory Girl’s aura, in a way, but ten times more intense. Won’t know for sure until I see him use it again, but it’s like…”

  Lisa scrunched her nose in contemplation.

  “It’s like the difference between watching a horror movie and actually experiencing it. Less artificial. More visceral.”

  Taylor fought the urge to shiver. She knew exactly what Lisa meant. With that said…

  “So you don’t know everything.”

  “Honesty badge accepted,” Lisa leaned forward. “What I do know? Dropping Lung meant nothing to him. Like swatting a fly. You already know this, being right there and all. But that alone earns him a slot on the Protectorate’s watch list.”

  The memory reared up without prompting. Lung trying to pull out the sword. Seraph casually touching down on the rooftop while disregarding the most dangerous cape in the city. Menace and dread radiating off of his form like steam.

  “Then there’s you.”

  Lisa’s words brought Taylor’s thoughts back to the present and her pulse ticked faster.

  “What about me?”

  Lisa steepled her fingers.

  “Footage compilations show your swarm covering nearly the whole city. That single act brought a lot of people’s nightmares to life. Say what you will about the Bay’s reputation for cape violence, but what you did? This city’s never seen anything like it.”

  Taylor wasn’t hearing anything she didn’t already know. The few clips she could stomach to watch showcased exactly how frightening her power could be. Even her dad had been struck speechless.

  She wasn’t given more time to think about it as Lisa continued.

  “You’ve drawn a lot eyes, Taylor. If you could pull off a biblical plague like that in a panic, what can you do if you really try?”

  “What makes you think I can?” Taylor asked quietly.

  “Educated hunch,” Lisa’s smile was small, almost sympathetic. “And you haven’t denied it.”

  Taylor let the silence answer for her.

  “Look,” Lisa went on, “I’m not here to blackmail you. I want the Bay in one piece. Wildcards can just as easily break cities quicker than Endbringers if they start chain reactions that go wildly out of control. So let’s talk Unwritten Rules.”

  Taylor nodded, gripping her Styrofoam cup.

  “Rule one,” Lisa said, ticking it off, “no outing civilian IDs. That’s scorched-earth escalation. Rule two: hospitals and shelters are neutral. Period. Rule three: don’t kill Wards or Protectorate capes unless you want the Triumvirate kicking in your teeth. Comas are a grey zone. Call it a yellow card. Rule four: collateral damage stays below ‘national headline.’ Keep battles to abandoned docks or warehouse rows if you can.”

  “Seraph broke rule three,” Taylor murmured. “Glory Girl and Shadow Stalker–”

  “Are technically alive,” Lisa gave a delicate shrug. “Technicalities matter. The system’s a mess, but it’s the only mess preventing total war.”

  Taylor’s throat felt tight.

  “So where do I fit?”

  “You?” Lisa’s gaze softened, startlingly kind. “You’re holding a nuke but pretending it’s a pocket flashlight. That’s… dangerous, but also fixable. Learn the rules, pick your fights.” She paused. “And get allies before someone puts you in a box that you can’t get out of.”

  Taylor swallowed, her tea having gone lukewarm.

  “Allies like you.”

  Lisa didn’t flinch.

  “Maybe. I’m not gonna pretend my life’s perfect, but I pick my own friends. You still get to decide who you want to be.”

  Something in Taylor loosened, a knot of fear giving way to wary possibility. Still, she had to probe.

  “Not afraid of my swarm?”

  Lisa hesitated. It was the first genuine crack in her composure. Then she shook her head.

  “No. I believe you held back. You didn’t lose control even when you should have.”

  Taylor looked down at her hands, remembering the roar in her skull, the feeling of being a passenger while thousands of tiny lives answered an instinct that wasn’t entirely hers.

  Could she command that storm again? She honestly didn’t know. But letting Lisa believe she could, that offered leverage.

  She lifted her gaze.

  “That’s what you’ll tell your team?”

  “I’ll tell them you’re smart enough not to nuke your own city,” Lisa’s smile returned, edged with something like respect. “And if I’m wrong, well… we’re both in trouble.”

  Taylor surprised herself with a dry laugh.

  “Fair.”

  Lisa glanced at the wall clock.

  “We should wrap this up.”

  Taylor slid out of the booth.

  “My dad’s expecting a debrief.”

  “Tell him the coffee’s terrible,” Lisa said, collecting her drink. “And tell him good job on getting you a phone. I’ll sleep a whole lot better knowing I have a way of contacting you.”

  “Why’s that?” Taylor asked.

  “Thinkers worry about everything,” Lisa said lightly, then shifted to something more serious. “Staying in touch means fewer guesswork on my part.”

  Outside the booth, they parted without theatrical farewells. Just a nod to each other. Taylor stepped into the late-morning sunlight, salt wind tugging stray hair across her eyes. She thumbed a text: Leaving. All good, and pressed send.

  Across the street, a bus hissed to a stop, doors folding open. Taylor climbed aboard. As it pulled away, she looked back. Lisa was gone, as if she’d melted into the mid-week crowd.

  Taylor closed her eyes, replaying the conversation.

  The bus rattled south, carrying her toward home, explanations, and a future balanced on a secret she wasn’t sure she could live up to, but one she couldn’t afford to surrender.