Fourth [Worm Altpower!Taylor]

[TCGM]

Fourth

Chapter 15

Reunion​

Emma took a shuddering breath, her words coming out in gasps between sobs. "After-after that thing with those men, when Sophia saved us, I-I started seeing it. The light. Around you. It was so bright, Taylor, and it was beautiful and I didn't understand what it meant but then-"

I opened my mouth to ask what she meant-what men? what thing?-but Emma was already spiraling, the words pouring out faster.

She pressed her hands to her face, sobbing harder. "I had this vision. This daydream that lasted a second but felt like forever. Your-your mom, she-" Emma's voice broke completely. "She was there, and she was begging me. Begging me to make you strong. She said you needed it. That you were her daughter, my sister, and I had to help you no matter what it cost."

"But that wasn't really her," I said, my own voice tight. "I told you-Queen Administrator manipulated your Shard. Those visions were fake."

"I KNOW!" Emma wailed, rocking back and forth. "I know that now but I didn't-I couldn't-it felt so real, Taylor! She looked at me and I felt her love for you and her fear and she asked me to help and I-" She dissolved into incoherent sobbing.

I felt something twist in my chest. That was my mom's memory. My mom's love for me. And QA had taken it, weaponized it, used it to turn my best friend into my tormentor.

"What did she look like?" I asked, and Emma's head snapped up. "In the vision. What did my mom look like?"

Emma wiped at her eyes, struggling to speak through tears. "She was... she was smiling, but it was sad. Like she knew she was asking too much but didn't have a choice. She had your eyes. And her hair was down, and she was wearing that blue sweater she always wore on cold days-"

I closed my eyes. That sweater. I remembered that sweater. It had been moth-eaten and faded but Mom refused to throw it out because Dad had gotten it for her on their first anniversary.

"She touched my face," Emma continued, her voice breaking. "And she said 'Emma, sweetheart, I need you to be strong for both of you. Taylor can't be strong on her own. She needs you to show her how.' And I believed her, Taylor. I believed every word because it was her and she never lied to me and-"

"She never would have asked you to do that," I said flatly. "My mom loved you. She called you her second daughter. She would never, ever have asked you to hurt me."

"I know!" Emma's voice cracked. "I know, I know that now! But I didn't-the vision felt more real than real, Taylor. It felt like-like a memory I'd somehow forgotten. Like she'd talked to me years ago and I was just now remembering. And every time I started to doubt, every time I thought maybe I should stop, I'd see the light around you get brighter and I'd know it was working-"

"I watched the light around you," Emma gasped out between sobs. "Every day. Every single day. It would grow when I-when I hurt you, and I thought-I thought I was helping. That you were getting stronger. Your mom told me you'd thank me someday. That you'd understand. And when the light started to dim I panicked and I pushed harder and the flute-"

She made a horrible choking sound. "The light almost went out completely and I was so scared and then-then the locker-"

"Stop," I said, but she didn't seem to hear me.

"The locker made it so bright," Emma continued, tears streaming down her face. "When I visited you in the hospital your glow was brighter than I'd ever seen it and I thought I'd done it, I thought I'd made you strong like she asked and then-then you left and nothing happened and I thought I'd failed-"

She was hyperventilating now, words tumbling out faster and faster. "And Sophia kept saying we needed to push harder, that you were still weak, and I could still see the light so I knew she was right but I was so tired, Taylor, I was so tired of hurting you but I couldn't stop because your mom asked me and I couldn't fail her, I couldn't fail you-"

"Emma, stop-"

"But how could it have been real?" Emma looked up at me, her face red and blotchy, eyes desperate and lost. "You said-you said she died before any of this, that she never-but she was there, Taylor, she talked to me, I felt her, I felt her love and her fear and her hope and how could-how could that be fake? How could I have-"

Her voice broke on a sob so wrenching it physically hurt to hear. "How could I have destroyed you for a lie?"

She broke down completely, curling into herself on the couch, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. Great heaving gasps that sounded like they were tearing her apart from the inside.

Emma immediately pulled her twin into a full embrace, wrapping both arms around the sobbing girl and tucking her against her shoulder. It wasn't reluctant or forced-once she'd learned it was the Shard's fault, that Emma had been manipulated just like Taylor had been, the fury had evaporated. Now she just held her gently, one hand stroking her hair while the other rubbed soothing circles on her back.

"It's okay," Emma murmured. "It's okay, I've got you, it's okay-"

"It's not okay!" Emma wailed into her twin's shoulder. "It's not okay, I hurt her, I destroyed her, and it doesn't matter if I thought I was helping, I hurt her-"

"I know. I know. But we're going to fix it. Somehow. We're going to fix it."

I sat frozen, watching them both. Part of me wanted to walk away. Part of me was still too angry to care, wanted to tell Emma that she was right, it didn't matter why she did it, only that she had. But another part-the part that had just learned exactly what my mom's love had been weaponized into, that my best friend had been brainwashed with my own mother's face and forced to watch a false light that measured my suffering-

"Visions," I finally said, my voice hollow. "She gave you visions of my mom. Made you see light around parahumans. Kept you in a fog." I felt something cold and furious settle in my chest. "That's what 'Alternate Submersion' was. Complete sensory and emotional manipulation. She used Mom's memory as a weapon and made you think you were watching my progress when you were really just... tracking my trauma."

I was repeating it. Summarizing what Emma had just told me, putting it into clinical terms like that would somehow make it more bearable. I wasn't sure who I was saying it for-Emma? Myself? My other Emma, still holding her sobbing twin? Was I trying to process it by making it sound like data instead of horror? Or was I just... trying to fill the silence with something other than crying?

I didn't know if it was helping. Probably wasn't.

Emma just sobbed harder against her twin's shoulder, and I realized there was nothing I could say that would make this better. For either of us.

Queen Administrator hadn't just hijacked Emma's Shard. She'd turned my best friend into a unwitting instrument of torture, given her false feedback that made her think she was helping, and used my dead mother's face to make her believe it was all for love.

I'd known QA had forced the manipulation. But hearing what it actually did-what Emma had experienced-made it so much worse.

In that moment, that is when my hate for Queen Admnistrator was born.

We sat in silence for a long time. Just Emma crying into her twin's shoulder, me watching awkwardly, and Emma holding her twin with surprising gentleness-murmuring soft reassurances that I couldn't quite make out. She understood now. We'd both been victims of the same Shard. The same broken system that had turned protector into tormentor.

Ziz had disappeared at some point, probably to give us privacy. Or because even she recognized that some moments of grief weren't appropriate for comedy.

Eventually, Emma's sobs quieted to hiccupping gasps. She wiped at her face with her sleeve, leaving wet streaks across her borrowed shirt. When she looked up at me, her eyes were still red and swollen, but there was something else there now. Something harder. More resolved.

But also... scared.

"I need to tell you something," Emma said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "About why. About Sophia. About what happened in that alley."

I tensed. Alleys in Brockton rarely ended well. "You don't have to-"

"No, I do." Emma took a shuddering breath. "You need to understand. Not-not as an excuse. But so you know where it started. Where she started."

Emma's arms tightened slightly around her twin, supportive but silent.

Emma wiped at her eyes, voice shaking. "After that thing-after Sophia saved us, I started seeing things differently. She kept talking to me about strength, about not being a victim, about how predators survived and prey died. And then-then you came back from summer camp."

Emma's face crumpled. "You came back and you saw my hair-the hair they'd cut during the attack, hacked short with a knife while they held me-and you said it looked nice. You were so kind about it, so sweet, and I looked at you and I saw this... this tiny glow. So faint I almost didn't notice it. Just a flicker around you."

She sobbed. "And that's when the vision came. The first time. Your mom appeared and she was crying and she begged me-she said you were too soft, too gentle, that the world would eat you alive the way those men almost ate me alive. She said I had to make you strong so you'd never have to suffer what I did. Never have to feel that terror, that helplessness."

Emma looked at me with desperate, pleading eyes. "It made sense, Taylor. Sophia's words about predators and prey, your mom's fear for you, that tiny little glow that proved you could be more-it all clicked together. I thought I was saving you. I thought if I could make you strong like Sophia made me strong, you'd never have to be a victim. Never have to feel what I felt in that alley."

Her voice broke completely. "I thought I was protecting you the way Sophia protected me. I thought strength through adversity was the only way to survive."

"Wait," I said, my mind catching up. "You mentioned men before. An alley. What-" I stopped, processing. "Something... really bad happened to you? Before I came back from summer camp? With your dad?"

Emma nodded miserably, wiping at her eyes. "You didn't know? I thought-I thought everyone knew."

"I didn't know anything," I said quietly. "You just... were different, when I was back. With short hair. And you said you wanted a change." My chest tightened. "Emma, what happened?"

Emma took a shuddering breath. "Dad and I were coming home from the mall," she began, her voice hollow. "It was getting dark. We took a shortcut through an alley in the bad part of town-stupid, I know, but we'd done it before and nothing ever happened. But that night..." She swallowed hard. "There were these men. Three of them. ABB. They had a gun. They wanted Dad's wallet and then they saw me and-"

Her voice broke. "They grabbed me. Started dragging me toward a van. Dad tried to fight them but one of them hit him with the gun and he went down and I was screaming and they were laughing and-" She stopped, trembling. "They said they were going to take me. Put me to work in one of their brothels. That I'd make them good money."

Emma's hands were shaking so badly she had to clutch them together. "But then one of them-he said no. Said I was too pretty to waste like that. That the boss would pay more if I was... pristine. Unspoiled." Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "So they gave me a choice. They said I could pick what they took as payment instead. My eye. My ear. Or my hair."

I felt my blood run cold.

"They held the knife to my face," Emma continued, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Asked me which one I wanted to lose. And I was so scared, Taylor. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe, and they were laughing about it like it was a game and I just-I chose my hair because at least that would grow back and-"

Her voice broke completely. "One of them grabbed my hair and started sawing it off with the knife while the others held me and I was screaming and then-then she was there. Shadow Stalker. Sophia. She came out of nowhere, phased through one of them, and they just... collapsed. All three of them. She saved us. Saved me."

Emma wiped at her face with shaking hands. "When the men couldn't hurt me anymore, when I was safe, I saw her standing there with my hacked-off hair on the ground and she looked so strong. So fearless. And she told me-" Emma's voice cracked. "She told me that the world was divided into predators and prey. That I'd been prey. That I needed to be strong or it would happen again. That I needed to become a predator before someone finished what those men started."

I felt something cold settle in my chest. Of course. Of course it was Sophia. The piece of shit who'd shot me in the chest with crossbow bolts. The BITCH who-

And then it hit me. Like a freight train. Like ice water.

You came back and you saw my hair-the hair they'd cut during the attack, hacked short with a knife while they held me-and you said it looked nice.

Oh god.

Oh god.

I'd told her her hair looked nice. She'd come back from the worst trauma of her life, her hair butchered by men who'd given her the choice between that and losing an eye or an ear, and I'd said it looked nice. Like it was a fashion choice. Like she'd gotten a cute new haircut at the salon.

I put my hands over my mouth, feeling bile rise in my throat. "Oh Emma," I whispered, the words muffled. "Oh Emma, I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I had no idea, if I'd known-"

"What?" Emma looked up at me, confused through her tears. "After what I've done, you're apologizing to me? Taylor, I don't-I don't deserve your sorry. Not for anything."

"I saw your hair-your short hair-and I said it looked nice," I said, my voice shaking, "I said it looked nice, Emma! Like it was a choice. Like you'd picked out a cute new style at a salon." I felt tears burning in my eyes. "You'd just been traumatized, mutilated by men with a knife, and I was so oblivious I complimented the result like it was fashion."

Emma's eyes went wide.

"I didn't know," I continued, the words tumbling out. "I had no idea what had happened to you, and I said the worst possible thing I could have said. Made it sound like-like what they did was good. Like I approved. And then the vision hit you right after and told you I needed to be strong, and-" My voice broke. "God, Emma. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Taylor-" Emma started, but I shook my head.

"No, let me-I need to say this. You were being manipulated, but I was just blind. You needed help, needed support, and I didn't even notice something was wrong. I just thought you were being distant and I didn't-" I stopped, wiping at my eyes. "I'm sorry. For not seeing. For not helping. For making it worse without even knowing."

We stared at each other across the space, both of us crying now for different reasons.

Emma took a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "I-" She stopped, swallowed hard. "I can't accept that. Not now. Not when I'm-" Her voice cracked. "But maybe... maybe someday. When I've earned it. When I've done enough to deserve your apology instead of just needing to give mine." She wiped at her eyes with trembling hands. "Can I-can I accept it for future me? The one who's done the work? Who's tried to be better?"

I felt something crack in my chest at that. "Yeah," I said quietly. "Yeah, Emma. You can."

She nodded, fresh tears streaming down her face, but there was something almost like relief there too. Not absolution-just the acknowledgment that maybe, someday, she could be someone who deserved forgiveness.

The silence stretched between us, heavy with grief and guilt that belonged to both of us. My Emma-Friendbringer Emma-just held her twin quietly, providing comfort without words.

Finally, Emma took a shuddering breath. "My dad," she said, her voice getting smaller, "he was so grateful to her. When the PRT wanted to press charges for excessive force-she'd apparently hurt those men pretty badly-Dad defended her. He argued she was a minor defending another minor from imminent harm. He got her probation and community service and eventually a spot in the Wards." Emma laughed bitterly. "He was so proud of helping a hero. Of giving her a second chance."

She wiped at her eyes. "I owed her my life, Taylor. And then she was telling me how to be strong, and your mom was telling me the same thing, and the light kept getting brighter, and I thought-I thought-"

Emma went stock still suddenly, her entire body freezing. Her face went white.

"What?" I asked.

"Sophia." Emma's voice was barely a whisper. "She sent me a message. Before-before everything. She said to retreat. Said you were going to kill us. Said to get out of the Bay." Her eyes slowly lifted to meet mine, and there was terror there. Real, primal terror. "What did you do to Sophia?"

She tried to make it sound like a question, but it came out more like a plea. Like she was afraid to ask but needed to know anyway.

I held her gaze for a long moment. Part of me wanted to tell her everything-wanted to describe in detail what I'd done to the scum who'd tormented me, who'd shot me, who'd helped destroy my life. But the larger part, the part that was trying to be better...

"She's alive," I said flatly. "And healthy. Forever."

Emma stared at me, and I could see her mind working. Putting pieces together. The fact that I'd mentioned Sophia at all. The fact that I knew what Sophia had done. The fact that-

"You know," Emma said, her voice hollow. "You know she's Shadow Stalker."

"Yeah."

"And the PRT isn't a crater."

"Also yeah."

Emma let out a breath she'd been holding. "So you don't... you're not going to...?"

"Blame them for harboring my bully under a superhero identity? For calling her a hero while she was torturing me at school?" I laughed, but it was bitter. "Oh, I blame them. But Director Piggot didn't know. Armsmaster didn't know. The ones who should have known were deliberately blind because Sophia was useful. But destroying the PRT wouldn't have helped anyone."

Emma nodded slowly, relief and guilt warring on her face. "Sophia's... forever?"

"Forever," I confirmed. "She's alive. Healthy. Just... different."

Emma's shoulders sagged with relief, but there was still fear in her eyes. "What... what does 'different' mean?"

"Let's just say she made a very poor decision and is now living with the consequences. Permanently." I kept my voice neutral. "But she's not in danger. She's not hurt. She can't ever be, anymore. She's just now going to be very memorable."

Emma searched my face, clearly wanting to ask more, but something in my expression made her hold back. "Okay," she finally said quietly. "Okay."

I could see her wrestling with it-the gratitude for Sophia saving her life warring with the knowledge of what Sophia had helped do to me. The relief that Sophia wasn't dead warring with the understanding that I'd done something. But she didn't push. Maybe she didn't want to know. Maybe she was afraid to know. Maybe she just didn't feel like she had the right to ask.

"I'm sorry," Emma whispered again. "For all of it. For listening to her. For not questioning what I was seeing. For-for everything."

"I know."

She took a shuddering breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was hoarse and broken. "I know I don't deserve this. Any of this. I know I hurt you. I know I helped Sophia hurt you. And I know-" her voice cracked again but she pushed through, "-I know that whatever I do, it probably won't be enough to make up for that. I know an explanation isn't an excuse. I know it doesn't erase what I did."

She took a shuddering breath. "But I'm going to try. I'm going to do everything I can. Anything you ask. Anything you need. Because you're still my sister, and I fucked that up, and I want to fix it. Even if it takes the rest of my life. Even if you never forgive me. I'm going to try."

The sincerity in her voice was almost painful. Different from before-not determination born of ignorance, but resolve born from finally understanding what she'd actually done. Not the resolution of someone who thought they could earn forgiveness, but the resolution of someone who knew they didn't deserve it and was going to try anyway.

I could have pointed out that apologies don't erase harm. I could have told her that trying to make up for years of bullying was going to take more than one night of determination and pretty words. I could have walked away and let her sit with her guilt.

Part of me wanted to.

But I thought about my mom. About the sweater Emma had described. About how Mom used to call Emma her "bonus daughter" and would make both of us hot chocolate on cold days and would mediate our arguments over board games with the patience of a saint.

And I thought about what Mom would have wanted. Not the fake vision Mom that QA created. But my real mom, who loved Emma almost as much as she loved me. Loved her enough to custom build her a power meant to protect me, to let her stand by my side and be my shield.

And I thought about that comment. That stupid, oblivious comment twelve-year-old me had made when I came back from summer camp and saw my sister with short, choppy hair and trauma I couldn't see. "Your hair looks nice." Said with a smile, meant as kindness, delivered at the single worst possible moment.

I'd complimented the visible evidence of her assault. Told her the result of men holding a knife to her face and sawing off her hair while she screamed looked nice. And then QA had hit her with the first vision right after, weaponizing my innocent cruelty into the foundation of years of torture.

Emma had been manipulated. But I'd been the trigger. The unwitting accomplice to my own destruction.

We were both victims. Both guilty. Both responsible for hurting each other in ways we'd never intended.

...I couldn't do it. I couldn't reject this. And yeah, maybe some tiny part of me just wanted my sister back and damn the consequences, but then again... I'd become something utterly immune to consequences, hadn't I?

And so, instead of refusing, I found myself saying... "Okay."

"...Okay?" Emma repeated, like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Okay, we can try. But not tonight. Tonight, everyone sleeps. Tomorrow, we talk about what comes next. About what making amends actually looks like. About boundaries and consequences and whether this is even possible."

I held her gaze. "And Emma? If you ever, ever lie to me about this, if you ever make excuses or try to minimize what you did, we're done. Permanently. The only reasons I'm even considering this is because you were being controlled, and... the comment I made at the beginning. That doesn't mean automatic forgiveness. It means a chance. One chance. Don't waste it."

Emma nodded, and I saw relief wash over her face. She clearly didn't feel a relief of absolution, but one of being given a chance when she knew she didn't deserve one. The relief of not being immediately rejected. "I won't. I promise. I won't."

Friendbringer Emma reached out and squeezed my shoulder as I stood to leave. A gesture of thanks, maybe. Or acknowledgment that we were all in this together, whether we'd chosen it or not. Or maybe just recognition that this was hard for all of us, and we'd all have to figure it out together.

I made it halfway to standing before something made me pause. Some combination of exhaustion and emotional whiplash and the absurdity of everything. I looked back at Emma-both Emmas, really-and felt a sorrowful grin tug at my lips.

"You want to know what Sophia did?" I asked. "What earned her 'forever'?"

Emma looked up, uncertain. "I... if you want to tell me?"

"She shot me," I said flatly. "At the PRT building. I was walking into the Wards section with Aegis and the other Wards, just back from the cafeteria. She shot me in the doorway with phased crossbow bolts. Right into my shirt. She was so convinced I was a threat that needed eliminating that she tried to assassinate me in the PRT building. And if I hadn't been invulnerable..."

Emma's eyes went wide. For a moment she just stared, mouth open in shock. Then-

"What an idiot," Emma said, and the exasperation in her voice was so genuine, so perfectly capturing the sheer stupidity of Sophia's decision, that I almost laughed.

"Right?" I said, the grin turning a bit more real despite the sorrow still weighing it down. "I'm walking with the other Wards, and she just-shoots me. In front of all of them. In the center of their power, one of the most protected locations they have."

Emma rolled her eyes, and for just a second she looked like the old Emma. My Emma. Before everything went wrong. "Of course she did. Because Sophia's answer to every problem is 'have I tried stabbing it yet?'" She shook her head. "What did you even do to her for... that?"

"Not just for that, also for her tormenting me, but... I broke her Shard and rebuilt it," I said flatly. "She's immortal now. Invulnerable. Can't die, can't be hurt. Forever." I paused, letting that sink in. "On top of that, I also tore her power apart. She doesn't phase anymore. Instead, she's permanently covered in bright pink sparkles. Gaseous, glittery, bright pink covering her entire body all the time. The complete opposite of the shadows she built her identity around. And she can't turn it off."

Emma's mouth fell open. Then she started laughing-actual, genuine laughter mixed with disbelief and maybe a touch of hysteria. "You turned Shadow Stalker into... into a permanent pink glitter bomb who can't even use her power anymore?"

"Pretty much."

This time Emma did laugh, a short, startled sound that she tried to muffle with her hand. "Oh my god. She must be furious."

"Fury doesn't begin to cover it."

"Good," Emma said, then immediately looked guilty. "I mean-not good, but-she shot you, Taylor. She shot you. After everything else, she-" Emma shook her head. "What an absolute idiot."

The shared moment of exasperation felt strange. Fragile. Like a tiny bridge being built over years of destruction. It didn't fix anything. Didn't make anything better. But it was... something.

"Get some sleep," I said finally. "We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."

Emma nodded, wiping at her eyes one more time. "Yeah. Okay. Tomorrow."

I made it two steps toward the hallway before the impulse won. The part of me that wanted my sister back swelled up, momentarily larger than everything else-larger than the hurt, larger than the anger, larger than the fear of being hurt again.

Before I could think about it, before I could second-guess or rationalize or talk myself out of it, I was moving.

Entity-fast.

The world blurred. Time stretched. I crossed the space between us in a fraction of a heartbeat, wrapped my arms around Emma in a fierce hug-tight enough that she gasped-and squeezed for just one perfect moment.

Then I was gone.

I blinked out mid-hug, leaving nothing but displaced air and the fading warmth where I'd been. Materialized at the top of the stairs in the same instant, my heart pounding, already regretting it, already not regretting it at all.

Downstairs, Emma sat frozen on the couch, eyes wide as dinner plates, mouth hanging open in shock. Her arms were still half-raised from where they'd started to return the hug before I'd vanished.

Friendbringer Emma burst into giggles. I could hear it even through the floor-bright, delighted laughter that said she knew exactly what I'd just done and why.

Worth it.

--LB--

I made it as far as my bedroom hallway before I heard Dad coming up from the garage.

"Taylor?"

I turned to see him standing there, covered in something that glowed faintly in the dim hallway light. His eyes were concerned, searching my face.

"Hey, Dad."

He studied me for a long moment, and I could see him cataloging everything-the exhaustion in my posture, the tightness around my eyes, the way I was holding myself together through sheer stubbornness. Millions of years of existence meant he'd learned to read people, even when those people were also Entities.

"Rough night," he said quietly. Not a question.

"Yeah." I leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling every hour of the past day. "Emma's... we talked. Both of them."

"This have something to do with Emma screaming across the whole city?"

I winced. "Of course you heard that."

Dad grinned a little at me. "Yeah. And also why she's on our couch with the Emma you made, right?"

I sighed deeply, my own emotions still a whirlwind. "It's... complicated."

Dad waited, patient. Not pushing but clearly listening.

"QA hijacked Emma's Shard after Mom died," I said, the words coming out flat and tired. "Forced it to run something called Alternate Submersion. A manipulation protocol. Emma saw visions of Mom-fake Mom-begging her to make me strong. She saw light around me that got brighter when she hurt me. There was a fog in her mind making her think it was all for my own good."

I watched Dad's face carefully. Watched the way his expression shifted from confusion to understanding to something dark and furious.

"She weaponized Annette's memory," he said, voice dangerously quiet. "Against Emma. To force your trigger."

"Yeah." I rubbed my face. "Emma told me about the visions. About 'Mom' crying and begging. About watching the light and thinking she was helping me. About how exhausted she was from hurting me but couldn't stop because she thought Mom had asked her to."

Something complicated crossed Dad's face-pain, guilt, anger. All directed at Queen Administrator, at the Shard that had taken his wife's love and twisted it into a weapon. "Annette would have hated that," he said quietly. "She would have been furious."

My chest tightened. Because that was the thing, wasn't it? The thing I couldn't quite bring myself to say out loud. The revelation that had been sitting in my awareness since the data burst from Queen Administrator, heavy and wrong and too much to process.

Mom's consciousness. Saved. Stored in QA's core processes like a backup file.

Not just her memory. Not just data pulled from her Shard. But actual neural patterns. Actual her, preserved when she died, kept running in simulation, used to manipulate me and Emma and probably a dozen other things I hadn't discovered yet.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Dad was looking at me with such grief-grief for what had been done to Annette's memory, to Emma, to me. Grief that he hadn't been able to stop any of it.

How could I tell him? How could I explain that his wife, my mom, was technically still alive in some horrifying digital afterlife inside my Shard? That I didn't even know what to think about that, much less what to do about it?

That I was terrified of what it meant-if she was really her, or just a perfect simulation, or something in between? That I didn't know if telling him would be a gift or a curse?

That I was still too shellshocked from everything else to even begin processing it?

"Taylor?" Dad's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "You alright?"

"Yeah, just..." I swallowed hard. "Just tired. It's been a lot."

He stepped closer, and for a moment I thought he'd seen through me-that he'd picked up on what I wasn't saying. But he just pulled me into a hug. He smelled like machine oil and ozone and home. Like my dad, not an ancient Entity. Like the man who'd raised me and loved me and was trying his best to help me stay human despite everything.

"You did good tonight," he said quietly against my hair. "Giving Emma a chance when she didn't deserve one. That took strength."

"Or stupidity," I mumbled into his shoulder.

"Sometimes they're the same thing." He pulled back, hands on my shoulders, meeting my eyes. "But I mean it, Taylor. The fact that you're still trying to be kind, still trying to do the right thing even when it's hard-that's how I know you're not going to lose yourself. That's how I know you're still you."

The weight of what I wasn't telling him sat heavy between us, but I couldn't. Not tonight. Not when I barely understood it myself.

"What if-" I started, then stopped. Tried again. "What if being kind isn't enough? What if I make the wrong choice and someone gets hurt?"

Dad's grip on my shoulders tightened slightly. "Then you deal with the consequences and try to do better next time. That's all any of us can do." His expression turned serious. "You're not Zion, Taylor. You're not some emotionless calculation engine weighing costs and benefits. You're my daughter. You feel things. And as long as you keep feeling, keep questioning, keep caring-you'll be okay."

I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that caring was enough, that feeling was enough, that I could keep being Taylor Hebert even as I became something that could reshape reality with a thought.

"Now go to bed," Dad said, gentler. "Whatever else needs dealing with can wait until tomorrow. Including whatever you're not telling me."

I froze. "I'm not-"

"Taylor." He gave me a look that was pure Dad-the one that said he knew I was hiding something but wasn't going to push. "I've been around a long time. I know when someone's holding something back. And I know that sometimes you need time to figure things out before you can talk about them." He squeezed my shoulders once more before letting go. "When you're ready, I'm here. Until then, I trust you."

The knot in my chest loosened slightly. Not gone, but... manageable. "Thanks, Dad."

"That's what I'm here for." He stepped back, gesturing toward my room. "Now seriously, go sleep. You look like you're about to fall over."

He wasn't wrong.

--LB--

I made it to my bedroom before I felt the exhaustion hit me like a physical thing. Sometime between the Trainyard and now, the adrenaline had worn off, and everything that had happened in the past twelve hours came crashing down.

My mom's consciousness in my Shard. My dad being an ancient Entity. Emma-both Emmas-being products of design and choice in equal measure. The PRT treating me like I was something that needed to be managed rather than something that needed to exist.

And underneath it all, a question that kept circling back: What am I becoming?

I collapsed onto my bed without even bothering to change clothes. The ceiling was familiar. The same ceiling I'd stared at for sixteen years. The same glow-in-the-dark stars Mom and I had put up when I was eight. They were peeling now, but I'd never had the heart to take them down. I wondered what Mom would think of all this. Not the Shard echo of Mom, or the weaponized vision of Mom, but my actual mother. The woman who taught me to read and made terrible puns and cried during sappy movies.

Would she be proud? Disappointed? Confused?

Probably all three.

I stared at those peeling stars and realized, with a tired sort of amusement, that I could fix that. I was an Entity. I could restructure matter at the molecular level. A few glow-in-the-dark stars shouldn't be a problem.

With a tired wave of my hand, I reached out through my effectors and reattached the stars permanently to the ceiling. Not just stuck on with old adhesive, but actually integrated into the paint and plaster. They'd glow just as bright as the day we put them up, and they'd never fall down again.

Mom would have liked that, I thought. She always said the stars were meant to stay forever.

I closed my eyes and tried not to think about anything. Not Emma, not Shards, not Entities or Endbringers or the weight of cosmic responsibility.

I collapsed onto my bed and didn't dream.

Sleep came fast, heavy and absolute-but it didn't come alone.

I woke up sometime in the less extreme, but still early morning, hours to warmth pressed against both sides of me. Ziz had claimed my left side, her smaller wings wrapped protectively around me like a cocoon. The larger ones arched overhead, creating a canopy that blocked out the world. Emma had taken my right, one arm slung across my waist, her face peaceful in sleep.

It was the same as the night before last night. The same configuration, the same protective positioning. Part of me wanted to be annoyed-I was an Entity, I didn't need protecting-but mostly I just felt... safe. Comforted.

Which was probably the point.

The wing-blanket was surprisingly cozy. Warm without being stifling, the feathers soft against my skin. I could feel Ziz's precognition humming faintly in the background, monitoring futures, adjusting her position slightly as I shifted.

I didn't truly mind it. Couldn't bring myself to mind it, even if I wanted to.

"Where's Emma?" I mumbled into the darkness, not sure if anyone was awake. "The other one, I mean."

Emma stirred slightly, her voice thick with sleep. "Guest room... under the house... the one Ziz built..." She yawned. "Another me is down there with her. Helping her sleep through the nightmares."

My chest tightened. Of course Emma was having nightmares. Of course she was. How could she not be, after everything that happened? After learning her entire recent life had been manipulated, that the person she thought she was helping she'd actually been destroying?

Guilt gnawed at me. I'd given her a chance, yes. Told her we could try. Even managed a hug. But I'd left her alone with her trauma, sent her off to sleep in a guest room while I came up here to-

To what? Process? Hide? Pretend I was handling everything better than I was?

I reached out with my awareness, finding Emma's Photon Heatsink Shard easily. Found the ragged edges where QA's hijacking protocols had torn into it, the lingering corruption from Alternate Submersion. Found Emma herself, tossing fitfully in bed even with Emma's duplicate body holding her, whimpering in her sleep.

Spinning up a mind scanning Shard, I took a look, just to be sure.

I was not prepared for what I would see.

The nightmares were bad. Really bad. Visions of Mom's face twisted in anger, of the light around me exploding into blinding brightness, of her own hands covered in blood that wouldn't wash off. Of the ABB men in the alley taking her to that whorehouse, or leaving her with an eye or an ear less, and her just... letting them. Extreme trauma processing, then amplified by the Shard connection, made more vivid and visceral by the same systems that had fed her the fake visions in the first place.

I couldn't fix the trauma. Couldn't erase what had happened or what she'd done. But I could... help. Maybe.

I pulled up my catalog of Shards, searching for something specific. Something that could soothe without controlling. Regulate her emotions without manipulating them, at least when she was sleeping. Help her process the trauma without erasing any of her memory.

There. A small Shard from my collection, one I'd picked up from my Dad only a day ago. Emotional management and regulation. Not emotional control, but sort of a support Shard. If it had ever been deployed, it would have helped hosts process difficult emotions, metabolize trauma, or maintain psychological equilibrium during crisis.

I duplicated it carefully while making some adjustments. Removed any conflict-seeking tendencies, thst one was very important. Added parameters that would let Emma feel everything but not be overwhelmed by it. Built in safeguards so it couldn't be hijacked the way Photon Heatsink had been. I also added a toggle switch for the host so that if Emma truly wanted to, she could turn it off on her own. I would not let her feel like I was controlling her.

And then, feeling slightly guilty about making major decisions while Emma slept, I reached across dimensions and gently attached it to Photon Heatsink.

The new Shard integrated smoothly, linking into Emma's existing network of one. I felt it activate immediately, responding to her distress. The nightmares didn't stop, trauma didn't work that way, but they... softened. Became less visceral. Emma's whimpering quieted. Her breathing evened out.

And in the process, I'd just taken the first step toward making Emma an Entity.

The thought should have worried me more than it did. But mostly I just felt relief that she might actually get some rest tonight. We could worry about the implications tomorrow.

"Better?" Emma mumbled, somehow aware of what I'd done despite being half-asleep.

"Better," I confirmed quietly.

Ziz's wings tightened slightly around me, a wordless approval. Or maybe just comfort. With Ziz, it was hard to tell sometimes.

I closed my eyes and let myself drift back to sleep, surrounded by warmth and wings and the quiet knowledge that tomorrow was going to be complicated.

But at least Emma would face it rested.

When I woke up again, it was because the sun was coming through the window and because somewhere in the house, Emma was asking the body of Emma with her more questions in a small, uncertain voice.

And because I realized that today was going to be even more complicated than yesterday.

But maybe-just maybe-it would also be a little bit better.