Chapter 36
Taylor
How could this have happened?
Taylor sat on an uncomfortable metal chair inside a cold, empty room with a one-way mirror. Her wrists cuffed and chained to the table, the links just long enough to let her rest her forearms but just short enough to keep her shoulders tense.
The chair itself was bolted to the floor, and the table was set at a distance that felt… engineered. Like someone had taken a ruler to human misery and decided this was the optimal measurement to wring the maximum amount of discomfort out of something as stupidly ordinary as furniture.
On some level she understood why it was a logical precaution when interrogating parahumans, but at the same time it felt like something intended purely for suffering. At the very least, she knew that the real deterrent was a containment foam turret hidden under the ceiling.
Taylor had the chance to observe it in action through her insects, when Bitch was sprayed in one of these rooms a few hours earlier.
I just wanted to be a hero.
Another thought her brain returned to again and again over the past… however long she had spent in custody. Objectively, it was about three days, judging by the lights being turned off and on, and whatever sunlight she could perceive through the distorted vision of bugs outside the building.
But it sure as hell felt much, much longer.
Time just blended together when you were locked up, with only silent guards breaking the monotonous routine to deliver food.
She asked questions. She pleaded. She screamed until her throat hurt. She ranted, because surely if she said the right thing—if she hit the right combination of words—someone would finally listen.
The guards didn't react. They didn't flinch, argue, say 'stop' or 'we made a mistake.'
They just delivered food and left without the slightest care.
Why am I still being detained?!
Her last clear memory was being shot and trying to fight the attacker off. Having her leg pierced through by a laser was already extremely painful, but the next hit overshadowed everything she had ever felt. A flash of electricity followed by the kind of agony that turned thoughts into static.
No matter how fast she had passed out, it hadn't been fast enough.
So, when Taylor had woken up strapped to a medical bed, with men pointing weapons at her, she had, understandably, panicked. Terror had hit like a physical blow.
Maybe she'd been drugged or maybe she'd just been cooked by the shock. Either way, the knee-jerk reaction to lash out had thankfully been slow enough for her brain to recognize the PRT uniform and containment launchers.
The various insects ready to pour from every hole retreated, and no one got bitten or swarmed.
And sure, Taylor understood the PRT's caution. New cape, unknown powers, might react violently to waking up in an unfamiliar place.
Better safe than sorry.
That's why she didn't object much when they threw her into a cell.
It's just a misunderstanding. I am a hero. The PRT has no reason to arrest me. I just have to make them listen, and I'll be let go after this, she thought at the time.
What Taylor did not understand was the three days of silence afterwards. After all, she had explained everything on day one!
After they had left her in the cell, a PRT agent in a suit came in and started to ask questions through the clearly reinforced glass. Taylor had disclosed everything. In great detail, even. Honesty was the best way to clear this misunderstanding.
When he asked who she was and what she was doing at the Docks, Taylor told him she was a new hero, that she fought Lung, that she'd been attacked and fainted from pain.
She had been completely open and thorough in her recounting of events.
The agent listened patiently and took notes.
When it was her turn, Taylor asked—carefully, politely—when she would be released.
The guy just up and left!
With no explanation.
WHY?!
Taylor told the truth as it was! Every humiliating moment of the fight with Lung. Every instant of terror when she'd been sure she was going to die. How she'd pumped him full of venom. How the Undersiders had intervened.
She even admitted that the children she thought she was saving had turned out to be the Undersiders themselves.
Complete and utter honesty!
In hindsight, Taylor might have said too much. Accurate recounting of events was one thing, but she wanted her hero persona to be taken seriously, and admitting how scared she'd been didn't exactly project competence.
But the words had just poured out of her mouth. Stress or adrenaline or whatnot, but she couldn't stop talking until she had explained everything!
And instead of being released, the PRT kept her imprisoned for days!
The anxiety set in fast. Being confined in a room, locked up… it was deeply unpleasant. The cell wasn't even all that small, but the inability to leave dragged unwelcome memories to the surface.
She tried to distract herself, find a way to pass time and occupy her thoughts. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the cell to help. No clock, no book, nothing to fixate on, and so her only option was circling back to Lung, pain, and the certainty that she'd come terrifyingly close to dying. That, and the fact that she was imprisoned and completely alone.
Well, not completely.
Taylor's body might have been locked inside the cell, but her presence stretched throughout the whole building.
Ventilation ducts, drains, service shafts. It was shocking how many bugs already lived inside the walls of an ordinary building, and now she had thousands moving through the vast complex that was the PRT headquarters.
Inside the walls, insects moved in increasingly complex patterns, growing more intricate by the minute. After three days, if anyone could see what Taylor was doing, they'd be looking at a trippy kaleidoscopic living sheet of bugs lining the walls of the ventilation system, wiring shafts and the plumbing. Like an absurdly complex mosaic that just kept shifting. At least, that's how Taylor imagined it looked from outside.
She tried other things as well, like finding out how many mosquitoes it would take to lift one cockroach. Turned out: too many. By far, the best carries had been dragonflies, but there were other combinations that worked.
There was now also a map of the PRT HQ woven from silk inside the wall cavity on the third floor. She'd have to dismantle it later.
Beyond that, Taylor took to using the smallest bugs to subtly track the movements of people inside the building.
Clerks sat behind desks, occasionally getting up for bathrooms or water coolers; field agents worked out in the gym or trained at the shooting range; and for some reason, two young kids lived directly above her. One of them noticed her bugs with alarming regularity and stomped them out mercilessly—especially in the kitchen area.
That had to be the Wards' space. Partly because it was the only place with children, but mostly because once a day more people arrived—one of them also a kid—and then everyone headed to the gym to spar with powers.
Which made the bug-hating boy Armiger. Taylor had done her homework on Brockton Bay capes while preparing her costume, and Armsmaster's children were the only ones that fit the physical profile.
Weird that they lived on the base, though.
Still, Taylor quickly decided it was safer to pull her insects back from that area, only keeping the Wards loosely tagged when they were sparring and too distracted to notice the occasional fly.
But that aside, Taylor could feel the life of the entire PRT in real time. If she closed her eyes and stopped moving, she could pretend to be the HQ.
Anything to calm her feelings.
There were thousands of activities Taylor performed in real time, but they all came too easily. No matter how many insects she brought under control or how many tasks she layered on top of one another, her mind was never fully engaged to stop contemplating being jailed.
She knew it would be smarter not to use her power at all. But there was no off switch, and also something strange was going on with her range. It waxed and waned without any clear reason, and without really noticing when it happened, Taylor had accumulated a massive swarm. To the point that it would be very hard to quietly disperse it without drawing attention.
It should be fine. It's not like the PRT building had been insect-free even before she arrived.
And it helped Taylor to stay calm. A little. Made it feel less like the walls had been closing in on her.
She'd wondered if they would let her go if she claims to have claustrophobia. Probably not, but maybe she'd get answers that way.
That would be lying though.
Still, the cell was suffocating. Her mask was suffocating, despite how breathable pure silk was!
That was the only silver lining, she supposed. The PRT hadn't automatically unmasked her while she was out of it. They'd taken her costume, swapping it for an orange jumpsuit, but they'd left the mask.
But it should be over now. After three days in a lockup, the guards came in to lead to what looked like an interrogation room. It probably was, because bugs tracked her neighbors — the Undersiders, who were isolated in their own cells — as they were dragged here as well.
So here she was, sitting on a very uncomfortable chair, head resting on her hands chained to the table, thinking about her situation.
It's just a misunderstanding. I'm a hero. The PRT has no reason to arrest me. I just have to make them listen, and I'll be let go after this.
Taylor's head snapped up at the sound of the door being opened. From her position, the first thing she saw was a belly covered by a black suit jacket entering the room, followed by a corpulent woman with an aggressively unflattering bob cut.
The chair—pointedly not bolted to the floor—groaned under the woman's weight as she sat down across from Taylor.
From the way a folder was slapped onto the table and the thunderous expression on the new arrival's face, Taylor had the distinct impression this would not be a pleasant conversation.
"Five," the woman said curtly, attention focused on taking documents from the folder and arranging them on the table in front of her.
Taylor's mind drew a blank. "Excuse me?"
"You have refused to give us a name," the woman said without looking up. "As such, you have been assigned a provisional designation: Five."
"I didn't refuse!" Taylor protested. "I just didn't get around to choosing one yet."
Did they seriously assign her a random number? It was better than the overwhelming majority of the more insect-themed cape names Taylor had come up with so far—which all sounded villainous—but still.
"Regardless," the woman continued, brushing her off, "on April 11, at 2:35, you were detained as a suspected villain during the—"
"What? I'm not a villain!" Taylor blurted out. "I already explained what happened, I was trying to stop—"
The woman raised a hand. Thick, sausage-like fingers signaling Taylor to stop.
Taylor bit down on the rest of her words.
"During the altercation between Lung and the Undersiders," the woman finished, voice calm and maddeningly steady. "You failed to comply with surrender orders and were taken into PRT custody along with the rest of the villains."
Taylor's heart started to hammer in her chest. Throughout the building, the insects within the walls shifted restlessly.
Her brain struggled to process the woman's words, trying to reconcile them with the events of that night, as well as the implications.
"That's not what happened," she said, forcing the words out.
The memories rushed through Taylor's mind.
After the giant monsters—dogs—knocked Lung over the edge of the roof, and Taylor struggled to catch her breath and navigate the conversation with the Undersiders, all while processing the shocking revelation that there had been no children, everyone was downed by flashes of greenish-bluish light.
Lasers, she could guess even through the searing pain in her leg.
She didn't know how that was possible, but thinking back, she could remember feeling the trajectory of each beam, which came from above, incinerating small bugs flying around. Which was surprising, considering the speed involved. Not that it had helped Taylor.
After that there was a chorus of raw screaming—hers included—caused by the agony of a limb being burned through.
Then a figure had appeared, wreathed in blinding glow of the same hue as the lasers. She hadn't been able to make out details, but the connection had been obvious.
Exhausted, terrified, and in unbearable pain, Taylor had made a snap decision to sic her bugs on the shooter.
It was a normal reaction. Self-defense.
At the moment, Taylor honestly thought that she was attacked by Purity.
But now, according to the woman, it was a hero?
Had a hero shot her?
What kind of hero just opens fire?
Actually, a glowing PRT hero that could fly and shoot lasers? Were those even lasers? There'd been a surge of electricity at the end, and her bugs had slammed into some kind of barrier...
Was Taylor shot by a fucking Dauntless?
"I am not a villain," Taylor said tightly. "And there were no surrender orders. I was shot and electrocuted—unprovoked."
"You were observed at the scene in the company of the Undersiders," the woman replied coolly, "reportedly engaging them in pleasant conversation, all while directly facilitating an A-class scenario."
"A what?"
The woman's gaze hardened.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous a ramped-up Lung is?"
Dangerous enough to flatten the entire Brockton Bay Protectorate, Taylor thought.
"A little longer," the woman continued, "and the collateral damage would have been measured in six or seven figures, if not lives."
"He was losing!" Taylor objected. "Barely standing after my bugs poisoned him and close to passing out! Another minute and Bitch's dogs would've finished him!"
"You should be aware," the woman said, "that the official Protectorate designation for Rachel Lindt is Hellhound."
"I—what?" Taylor blinked, thrown off her rhythm. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Protocol and propriety," she replied dryly. "Also, calling Ms Lindt by her chosen moniker isn't helping your claims."
Taylor stared at the woman. Was she being contrarian on purpose?
"As for your so-called poisoning of Lung," the woman continued, "our investigation has concluded that to be a false statement. Care to explain why?"
What was she talking about?
"I'm not lying," Taylor objected. "Did you throw him in a cell without a medical check? A blood test or something?"
She wasn't sure what was a proper procedure when detaining villains, but that amount of venom could not have been healthy for anyone. It took a lot to overpower the ABB leader, but he was affected in the end. There must have been some symptoms of acute poisoning, right?
"A toxicology screen and, yes, we did our due diligence," the woman replied. "However, even in the case of a normal person, when it comes to envenomation, those become useless in a matter of hours and by the time your testimony was reviewed the screen would have been indicative of nothing."
"So you just assumed I'm lying?" Taylor demanded in indignation.
Why did people always assume that?
"There was also the absence of clinical symptoms like bite marks, inflammation—"
"Lung is a regenerator! He could have healed by then!"
"—and necrosis," the woman glared at Taylor, clearly not appreciating the interruption. "But the main reason for our conclusion is the fact that during the arrest Armsmaster injected Lung with tinkertech tranquilizer that turned off his regeneration and his well-documented resistance to toxins."
Armsmaster was there too?
"As such, it is his expert opinion, supported by our medics, that the amount of venom required to affect Lung at that stage of transformation should have killed him in a matter of hours. Or at the very least, caused massive and very evident tissue necrosis."
Taylor didn't quite know what to say.
Taylor could still feel it—bees, wasps and black widows emptying venom sacs into Lung's legs, ass, even his fucking crotch. Anywhere still not covered in hard scales. The stings had been constant and relentless, fueled by desperation.
It will forever remain a cruel fact of the universe that Taylor's first live encounter with male physiology had been in that particular manner. And unlike sight or hearing, the tactile feedback of her swarm was very clear.
And now this woman says it never happened? Accused Taylor of lying?
"No," Taylor stubbornly denied. "Someone has made a mistake. I'm telling the truth."
The woman looked her in the eye for a few moments.
"Let me put it to you this way, from our perspective, on April 11th, the Undersiders engaged Lung. He deliberately prolonged the fight in order to ramp up and end it decisively. We do not know who initiated the conflict or why. We only know that a few more minutes would have resulted in catastrophic damage."
"Given the circumstances, the simplest conclusion is that you were the newest member of the Undersiders, preparing for an explosive debut. How long you have been affiliated with them remains unclear. As such, any and all measures aimed at putting a swift end to the conflict had been justified."
The woman stressed the last part rather pointedly. Something prickled at Taylor's awareness, but she could not point out what.
"I gave you everything," Taylor said, frustration breaking through. "You know how I got there. You know I'm not one of them."
"Yes, you gave us a testimony, but the false statement about Lung made it all suspect. Again, what was the point? Because if this is some ploy to sue the PRT, I'll say right now that it's not going to work."
Why would she sue the PRT?
The answer struck a moment later.
"Wait, are you telling me that I was being kept in jail because you're afraid I'll sue Dauntless?"
That can't be right, can it?
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Dauntless wasn't even present. The arrest has been conducted by Armsmaster, Argent and Armiger. You and the Undersiders were taken out by Argent."
It took a moment for her brain to process that on her first night as a hero Taylor had been falsely arrested by the whole Arms-family.
Armsmaster, Argent and Armiger were blowing all over the Bay lately. Even Taylor heard about them, despite lacking a phone or a PC at home. Mostly that was due to the increased amounts of fighting between the ABB and Empire hopefuls at Winslow. The Nazis were relentlessly mocked due to Argent's scathing comments about Krieg and were lashing out in turn.
According to rumors, some people even got shanked after school over this.
And that same Argent shot and electrocuted Taylor?
She didn't even know the girl could fly!
Meanwhile, the woman continued. "And we didn't keep you in detention because we were afraid you'd sue; considering the circumstances the case would be thrown out of court."
"I was shot!" Taylor cried.
"I believe I have already explained why it was important to end the fight. Besides, Argent healed the damage."
She gnashed her teeth. The bugs all around the building shifted in agitation.
That didn't make it okay. Pain and suffering aside, there was now a scar on Taylor's thigh.
But right now, she just wanted it all to be over. She could think about everything at home, while not being chained to a table.
"Alright, fine! Why am I still here then?"
"Because the investigation into your connection with the Undersiders was still ongoing."
"What connection?" Taylor snapped. "I've never even met the Undersiders before Sunday!"
"We know that now," the woman stressed. "Lucky for you, there seems to be honor among thieves. Tattletale had more or less confirmed the story of a chance meeting. About the only point she'd cooperated on," she huffed. "Combined with your profile not matching any criminal activity in the city, the PRT tentatively agrees that you are not a villain."
Tattletale did?
Relief washed over Taylor, as she practically slumped on the table.
"Ok. Can I go now?"
She just wanted to get out of here and go home.
Fuck, what will she tell Dad? There was no way he hadn't noticed Taylor disappearing for three days, right?
"No," the woman denied, tapping her folder. "Because there are still charges of arson, property damage, public endangerment, resisting arrest, and attempted murder."
Taylor's head snapped up.
"What? But you just said—"
"That we believe you are not a villain. That does not place you above the law. There are consequences for vigilantism, Five."
"I am an independent hero!" Taylor objected.
"Are you? Because I don't remember you signing up as a PRT affiliate."
Taylor gave her a confused look.
"Independent status requires registration," the woman sighed. "That way capes gain official recognition and certain legal leeway for performing citizen's arrest—including legal protections against resulting collateral damage below a certain threshold. Protections that you notably lack," she said pointedly.
"Now, despite what labels the media uses, unregistered crimefighters are legally classified as vigilantes tolerated only insofar as they are a net benefit. The PRT usually lets them be, even cooperates at times, but there is always a line," she looked Taylor in the eyes. "And you, Five, run over it at breakneck speed."
"The fire was all Lung!" Taylor argued. "All those accusations stem from his actions! You can't possibly hold me responsible for that. I acted in self-defense and defense of others. Children were in danger. You expect me to stand by and just let someone murder them?"
"The Undersiders were in danger," the woman corrected. "Regardless of intent, you intervened on behalf of known villains."
"Intent matters!" The cuffs rattled as Taylor slammed hands on the table.
"Save that for the jury," the woman brushed her off. "With a good lawyer, you may wiggle out of some charges, but attempted murder is a serious matter which puts your whole case in jeopardy."
"Wait, what attempted murder are you talking about? Lung? You said you don't believe I poisoned him!"
"I am referring to the attempted murder of Argent."
"I wasn't trying to murder her!"
"By your own admission," the woman replied calmly, "your swarm included wasps, bees, and black widows. You've just spent five minutes talking about how you had enough venom to put down a raging dragon. It's a little late to backtrack."
"You've said you don't believe me!"
"I said we don't believe you poisoned Lung," she corrected Taylor. "Your attack on Argent is another matter entirely. Frankly, if not for highly unusual circumstances, you might have succeeded. You are lucky that your misguided attempt to save imaginary children didn't result in an actual dead child."
Lucky.
Almost burned. Shot. Electrocuted. Days in cell. Threatened with prison time.
Lucky.
Taylor felt hollow, but there was an odd sense of familiarity in all of this.
But before she could figure out the source of that feeling, the woman pressed on.
"Now, given the gravity of the charges, I'd say you are facing up to ten years," she said calmly, as if not describing the ruination of Taylor's life. "Assuming the DA does not throw the book at you, with your admission of being a minor and competent legal counsel, that would likely mean juvenile detention until you reach the age of majority. Whether you are released after that depends on behavior and assessment."
Two years of juvie...
Taylor's breath hitched, and she experienced a weird sense of disconnect with her body. It wanted to hyperventilate, but instead the insects throughout the building surged violently, mirroring her distress. Taylor forced herself to breathe, to rein it in, before bugs spilled out of every hole in the building. That would only give the PRT excuse to add more charges.
"Of course, I don't need to tell you how much impact juvenile detention will have on your life. Even should you be released right after, having that on your record will certainly negatively affect your job and education prospects."
The room started to swim.
But... it was weird. It almost felt like this person intentionally tried to make things sound as bad as possible for Taylor.
"That's the best-case scenario," the woman continued. "Your power complicates matters. While you don't seem to be a Human Master, the Master classification itself could still color a jury's perception, even without the judge trying to get political. With the Canary trial ongoing, it is, as Armiger put it, a bad time to be a Master in court."
The Wards are joking about sending me to the Birdcage?
Even in her own head, the thought came out small and broken.
Taylor had heard about Bad Canary. A famous singer on a fast track to the worst place on Earth. People at Winslow sometimes liked to joke about fitting names.
Winslow... Armiger… Argent's brother… wait—
Suddenly, all the pieces just clicked.
"Is this it?" Taylor whispered.
"Hm?"
"You don't believe a word I say."
"Miss Hebert, there is no proof they stole your flute."
"You make everything out to be my fault."
"You can't keep blaming your failing grades on other people. If you had simply completed your coursework instead of inventing ludicrous claims…"
"You try so hard to shield Argent."
"Enough. Miss Hebert, given the frequency of your complaints, I'm starting to think you are the one targeting them."
"It's because of Armsmaster, isn't it?" Taylor spat. "Because his little girl shot me and I defended myself. Can't do that to the Protectorate leader's daughter, right?"
This whole exchange had felt sickeningly familiar.
It was the same as every time Taylor complained about bullying. A call to the principal's office where she was made out to be the troublemaker. Emma could pour juice into her hair, Sophia could shove her on the floor hard enough to leave bruises, and Madison could steal her stuff, but Blackwell always acted like Taylor was the problem.
At best, nothing could be done because there were no witnesses in the crowded halls of Winslow; at worst, Taylor did it to herself to get Emma in trouble!
Blackwell knew the truth, but didn't give a damn. It was easier to make Taylor out to be a liar and attention seeker making up ridiculous claims—all because Emma's dad was a lawyer!
This conversation had been following the same damn script. Beat for beat. The only difference was the scope of the consequences.
Under Taylor's accusing gaze, the woman looked caught on the back foot for the first time in this conversation.
"Are you suggesting... that I am being pressured by Armsmaster to give you rough treatment… because you attacked his daughter?"
She made a convincing show of disbelief, but Taylor caught it—the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth.
A smirk.
"So you admit it!" Taylor accused.
"There is nothing to admit," the woman replied, shaking her head. "The very notion is ludicrous on many levels."
Ludicrous!
Taylor's temper nearly reached a boiling point, but before a wave of insects could burst out of the ventilation system and do something she would later regret, the woman abruptly shifted the conversation.
"That nonsense aside," she said, folding her hands atop the folder, "your situation is not without an exit."
Taylor froze. "What?"
"The PRT has broad discretion in parahuman cases," she said. "I'll spare you the legal minutiae, but the important part is this: the charges against you can be dropped."
Dropped.
"How?" Taylor asked. "You just spent all this time telling me how fucked I am. Now you're telling me it can all just go away?"
It made no sense! Was she jerking Taylor around for the sake of it?
"Tattletale corroborated enough of your account to justify leniency," the woman replied. "Your actions can be framed as juvenile recklessness instead of criminal intent. Naturally, we can't just let you go; there will have to be assurances that this behavior won't repeat itself. Such assurances, Five, come only from oversight. Meaning that you will have to join the Wards."
Ah. So that's how it is, Taylor thought.
The PRT attacked her while she was fighting Lung.
Then they'd discovered Taylor was a hero. The woman tried to make shooting Taylor without warning sound justified, but she tried too hard. No way it was normal, or at the very least, Taylor suspected it wasn't as clear-cut as it was presented.
Now the PRT was either trying to cover up their fuck up, or protecting Argent because she was popular, or Armsmaster was trying to get back at her for fighting his daughter. Maybe all of that.
They'd thrown her in a cell, threatened her with juvie, and now they were graciously offering to make it all go away—if she came under their authority.
At this point, it was surprising that the PRT didn't just brand Taylor a villain and make her go away. After all, according to this woman, their only confirmation was Tattletale's word.
Even through the mask, the woman seemed to read her hesitation. "I strongly recommend you take that option, Five," she continued. "It's that or prison time."
What other choice did Taylor have? Her back was against the wall.
"So I have to give up my freedom either way," she said miserably.
"Don't be dramatic." The woman rolled her eyes. "As a probationary Ward, you'll be under additional oversight. Your actions will be scrutinized, but as long as you play ball, your life will remain largely the same. Complete your probation and, if you abide by the terms, your record will be expunged, and your involvement in this mess will be history."
Taylor wondered if the 'terms' included a clause that she couldn't sue the PRT or something to that effect.
"...Why probationary?"
"Because actions have consequences," the woman said flatly. "And because I don't want you or your legal guardians to get clever and pull you out of the program the moment the charges are dropped."
It would also make Taylor a target. An almost-criminal forced into the Wards under threat of jail.
She wanted her cape identity to be an escape. Something that would get her away from Winslow and the Trio. Instead, she'd be the odd one out again; a prime target for bullying.
This was exactly why she hadn't wanted to join the Wards in the first place.
"Arcadia," Taylor said, grasping for something. "Will I get transferred to Arcadia?"
If her cape life went down the drain, maybe she could at least escape the Trio?
The hope died instantly. "Transfers to schools publicly known to host the Wards mid-year attract too much attention."
I don't even get that much?
"So," the woman said, opening the folder and sliding a document across the table, "what will it be, Five? The Wards—or juvie?"
The document was some kind of registration form, with blank spaces for her name and Social Security Number waiting at the top.
What choice did she have? Prison?
Taylor wanted to be a hero. Even if it was as a probationary Ward, as long as she got to help people, that was all that mattered, right?
Right?
"Fine," she said quietly, miserably, and reached up to pull the mask from her face.
And if her vision got misty, that was because she didn't have her glasses.
Not because of tears.
A/N
If you want to read 4 chapters ahead or support me visit my p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / kirunax