INTERLUDE IV: A PULL IN THE DARK

The first time Taylor used it on purpose, she wasn’t thinking about testing her power. She was just trying to end the fight quickly.

The alley was narrow, lined with dumpsters and stacks of old cardboard that smelled like mildew. She hadn’t planned on being here—not that she planned much these days—but trouble had a way of finding her when she wandered the city at night.

The guy in front of her was scrawny, dressed in layers of mismatched clothing, his hoodie pulled low over his face. He wasn’t a gangbanger, just a desperate mugger who thought cornering a girl alone meant an easy payday. The knife in his hand glinted under the flickering streetlight at the alley’s entrance.

Taylor watched him without reacting. The blade didn’t scare her. It couldn’t touch her—not really. But he didn’t know that.

“Not interested,” she said flatly.

The man sneered. “Didn’t ask if you were.”

He lunged.

Taylor didn’t move. The knife came in fast, aimed right at her stomach—and stopped.

The blade pressed against her hoodie, the force of the thrust transferring as if it had struck something solid, but it didn’t pierce. It never could. The force field held, the same way it always did.

The mugger hesitated, eyes widening as he realized something was wrong. That was all the opening she needed.

She stepped forward, intending to shove him back—to give her space to get into the stance she was taught—but something else happened instead.

The moment she moved, he stumbled toward her, his balance thrown off as if an invisible force had yanked him forward. His arm jerked, the knife-hand swinging wide, completely off target.

Taylor’s breath caught. That was me.

She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed his wrist and twisted, sending the knife clattering to the pavement, then planted a hand on his chest and shoved him backward. He staggered, nearly falling over a pile of broken-down crates.

For a second, he just stared at her, panting. He was trying to make sense of what had happened—trying to figure out why he had lurched forward, why his knife had missed.

Taylor didn’t give him the chance. 

She moved fast, closing the distance before he could recover. A sharp elbow to the ribs sent him doubling over with a wheeze, and a quick sweep of her leg knocked him flat onto the pavement. He groaned, disoriented, but she didn’t stick around to let him get his bearings.

Her hands went to his pockets, quick and practiced. A wallet, a crumpled wad of cash. She took both, flipping through the bills as she stepped back. Nothing big, but enough.

It wasn’t practical—not in the long run. But for now, it was how she kept going. Motel rooms, food, gym fees. Training.

Survival.

She tucked the cash into her hoodie and dropped the wallet onto his chest. Then, without a word, she turned and walked out of the alley, her steps steady despite the adrenaline still rushing through her veins.

By the time she reached the next block, she exhaled, running a hand through her hair.

That wasn’t just a fluke.

It had been instinctive, like back at the gym, but this time, she knew. She had pulled him—not by grabbing him, not by tricking him into overextending—and she had done it on purpose.

Her power wasn’t just perception and a force field. It was something more.

Taylor clenched her fists. I need to figure out exactly what.