(TAYLOR HEBERT) CHAPTER FOURTEEN

News traveled slowly, it seemed. In theory, people should have been spilling into the streets the moment the Simurgh had taken to the sky and moved far enough away that the immediate danger passed. In practice, the streets of Brockton Bay remained deserted, the wind off the bay howling through empty intersections and rattling loose signs as though trying to fill the absence of human presence with noise. 

Maybe later, the city would be filled with celebration and triumphant yells, but for now, it felt abandoned.

Only a handful of people moved through the city now, and none of them were here for anything remotely virtuous. They lingered in the shadows of side streets or skulked through shattered storefronts, their movements furtive and twitchy. They were the kind of people who saw catastrophe not as a warning to flee but as an invitation, the kind who interpreted sirens and destruction as an opportunity rather than a threat. The bravest perhaps. Or the most desperate. Or simply the most foolish.

The exact type Taylor never wanted to meet on any day, let alone today.

Still, she ran past them without hesitation. A man with blotched skin stumbled across a crosswalk in front of her, his pupils pinprick small and unfocused, a rust-flecked knife hanging loosely from his fingers as though he had forgotten he was holding it. He glanced in her direction once, blinked as if trying to decide whether she was real, and then continued shuffling across the street, swaying with each step.

Farther ahead, a shattered storefront framed five figures in mismatched jackets and balaclavas. They froze mid-robbery as Taylor passed, their faces obscured by cloth and shadow, their hands still full of whatever they had been stealing. One man clutched a half-stuffed duffel bag of electronics, its zipper caught on the corner of a tablet. Two others were dragging a wide flat-screen television across a broken display counter, leaving shattered glass and dirt in their wake. They stared at her openly, muttering to each other without lowering the items in their hands, but none of them stepped toward her. None tried to stop her.

Not that it would have mattered if they had.

Taylor barely registered them. In truth, she barely registered anything at all except the growing ache in her chest and the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. The dangers of being a lone teenage girl in a half-abandoned city during the aftermath of an Endbringer attack—regardless of whether said Endbringer actually attacked—simply had no room in her mind. She could not feel fear for herself when worry for her father had already swallowed everything else inside her.

All she cared about, all she could care about, was seeing her dad and making sure he was safe. Everything else, everything that might have mattered on any ordinary day, was nothing more than a distant blur, insignificant against the single, intense priority that pulled her forward.

But reality, inconveniently, reared up as she reached the next intersection and stopped short, her breath thinning into something halting and painful. Bending over, she braced her hands on her knees as she dragged air into her lungs in slow, shaky pulls. The world swayed slightly beneath her feet, and a line of cold sweat traced the back of her neck.

Okay. Something else mattered after all.

She needed to find her dad, that much was true. But she had no idea where to start. So she needed to think before she ran herself in circles. 

Where would her dad have gone?

Among the Endbringer shelters in Brockton Bay—and she was embarrassingly aware she had never paid much attention to how many existed or where exactly they were located—the one closest to their home should have been the Docks shelter. That was where he would logically go. 

But knowing the general area was not the same as knowing the specific location. The Docks were a maze of abandoned factories, warehouses, garages, and side streets that twisted around residential blocks, schools, and small business lots. Even locals familiar with the area could find themselves lost if they weren’t paying attention.

Taylor lifted her head and looked at the empty stretch of road in front of her. She saw nothing but broken glass glittering on sidewalks, abandoned cars with their doors hanging open, and the weak glow of malfunctioning streetlights that flickered on and off with no discernible rhythm. There were no signs she could find, and she had no map, or any quick way to search for directions. 

And even if she were willing to ask for help, the looters she had passed earlier were still watching her from a distance. Their faces were still hidden, but their posture carried a kind of desperate hunger that made her skin crawl. It was obvious they had no interest in helping anyone but themselves, and they had left her alone only because she was either beneath their notice or too unpredictable to be worth the trouble. Approaching them would change that opinion immediately.

So how was she supposed to find her dad?

Her gaze dropped to the watch strapped around her wrist. The strange device had saved Armsmaster’s life. It had helped her fight and hurt the Simurgh,.. So if it could do all of that, perhaps—hopefully—it could do something far simpler.

She lifted her arm, studying the device with narrowed eyes. The red glow had faded completely, returning the watch to its original green color. Whatever cooldown it required had passed.

“Please,” she whispered, even though she didn’t know if it could hear her. “Just… help me. One more time.”

She swallowed hard, nerves curling tight in her stomach, but hesitation had no space here. She pressed the activation button. 

The faceplate shot upward, unfolding with a faint mechanical chirp, the tower rising smoothly. A silhouette popped up, one of another alien shape she didn’t recognize. She didn't care. 

Eyes squeezing shut, she sent a desperate thought out into the void, toward the impossible thing bound to her DNA. 

Help me find him. Please help me find him.

Her palm came down hard.

The green light swallowed her whole.