CHAPTER THREE: SEEING THE SYSTEM

Breaking into her own house felt… wrong.

But she had no choice.

It was past midnight when she slipped through the back door with the spare key, careful not to let it creak. The house was dark, but not empty. She knew her dad was still awake before she even saw him.

His breathing was steady but deep, the kind of slow inhales that came from exhaustion rather than rest. She peered into the living room and saw him there, slouched in his chair, staring blankly at the television, though it was clear he wasn’t really watching.

He was waiting for her.

Taylor swallowed the lump in her throat and moved quickly.

She crept up the stairs, every step careful, ignoring the familiar ache in her chest. Her room was untouched, exactly as she had left it. She grabbed what she needed—clothes, her backpack, a few essentials. Things she couldn’t afford to go without.

Then she hesitated.

Her gaze drifted to the framed photo on her desk. A picture of her and her mom at the beach, sunburnt yet grinning. She traced a finger over the glass before shoving it into her bag.

She should leave. She needed to leave.

And yet…

Taylor found herself back in the living room before she even realized she had moved.

Her dad hadn’t stirred, though his fingers twitched slightly against the armrest.

Her throat tightened. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond.

She stepped closer, barely breathing, the weight of everything crashing down all at once. She wanted to wake him. Wanted to say something—anything—but what could she even say? That she wasn’t coming back? That she wasn’t safe anymore? That she didn’t even know who she was now?

Her fingers curled into fists.

Instead, she reached out, brushing a hand lightly against his arm. Just for a second.

Then she turned and left.

. . . . .

Taylor stepped onto the cracked pavement outside Winslow, hesitation gnawing at her resolve. The building loomed before her, looking exactly as it always had—run-down, indifferent, a place where she had once thought she could endure. Now, it felt different. Or maybe she was the one who had changed.

She wasn’t sure why she had come. Maybe part of her had clung to the idea that she could still fit into her old life. That things could somehow go back to normal.

That hope shattered the moment she walked through the doors.

Whispers followed her, a low murmur threading through the stale air.

“…told you she was a cape…”

“…those eyes…”

“…what do you think she can do?”

“…looks normal, but…”

Taylor clenched her jaw and kept walking.

She had expected it, but it didn’t make it easier. Her old life had already been hell. Now, it was worse. Before, they had bullied her because they could. Now, they had a reason.

Taylor Hebert, the pathetic loser, was suddenly something other.

Something unknown.

A spectacle.

She reached her locker, staring at the dented metal door, the numbers still faded and barely legible. Her hand hesitated on the lock.

This was where it happened.

The memory pressed in on her, suffocating. And she could almost feel it again: the panic rising in her chest, the scream caught in her throat.

But the locker was clean now.

Too clean.

The faint smell of bleach lingered in the air, a sterile attempt to erase what had happened. The floor around it was spotless, no trace of the mess that had spilled out when she had somehow opened it. It was as if the school had scrubbed away every reminder, every stain, every piece of evidence that something terrible had happened here.

Taylor’s stomach churned.

She twisted the lock, the click echoing in the hallway. The door swung open, revealing the hollow interior. Empty. Like nothing had ever been inside.

But she knew better.

Her fingers brushed the cold metal, tracing the faint scratches on the inside of the door. She could still see them, even if no one else could. The marks she’d left, desperate and frantic, as she’d fought to get out.

Her breath hitched.

She slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating through the hallway.

This wasn’t just a locker. It was a tomb. A monument to what she’d survived—and what she’d become.

And no amount of bleach could wash that away.

Behind her, footsteps.

She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show up,” Emma’s voice carried through the hall, dripping with amusement. “Guess I underestimated how dumb you really are.”

Taylor didn’t turn.

Emma leaned against the lockers beside her, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Her perfect, confident smirk was in place. “You’ve got everyone talking, you know. Taylor Hebert, our own little caped freak. Bet you think this is your big moment.”

Taylor exhaled slowly. Don’t react.

Sophia stood beside her, silent but watchful. Unlike Emma, she wasn’t smiling.

Taylor saw it now. The subtle tension in Sophia’s stance, the faint twitch in her fingers, the way her pupils narrowed ever so slightly as she studied her. Calculating.

She wasn’t just here to taunt her.

It almost seemed as if Taylor was being analyzed.

“You must be loving this, huh?” Emma continued, her voice mockingly sweet, arms now crossed. “All that crying, all that whining, and now—bam! Superpowers. Gotta say, Taylor, it’s a little pathetic how it took this to make people notice you.”

Taylor didn’t answer.

Emma’s smirk widened. “Come on, say something. Or is your big scary power just standing there like an idiot?”

Sophia took a step closer, moving with a careful grace most lacked. Taylor tracked every muscle shift, every breath.

“Or maybe,” Sophia said, voice low, “you just don’t want anyone to see what you can do.”

She moved.

Fast—faster than the average person should be. But Taylor was faster. Or at least, she saw faster.

Sophia’s hand shot out, aiming to shove her. A simple attack. But Taylor already knew the outcome.

It never landed.

Not because Taylor dodged. Not because she blocked it. But because it simply didn’t happen.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t even tense. Sophia’s hand simply stopped just before impact, an invisible gap stretching between them.

Sophia’s eyes widened—just a fraction, but Taylor caught it. Her expression was a peculiar mix of confusion, frustration, and something almost like alarm. Then she yanked her hand back, scowling.

“What the hell?”

Emma frowned. “You missed?”

Sophia didn’t answer.

Taylor looked at Emma. Really looked at her.

For years, she had feared this girl. Hated her. Let them define her world. And Emma had loved every second of it.

But now?

Emma wasn’t some towering, all-powerful force. She was just a girl, standing in front of her, desperate to keep Taylor small.

But they were the ones that were small.

She turned without a word and walked away.

She felt their eyes burning into her back—Emma’s anger, Sophia’s odd intent, the school’s curiosity.

She didn’t care.

This wasn’t her world anymore.

And she was done pretending it was.