(TAYLOR’S DEMONIC ADVENTURE) CHAPTER SEVEN

Victoria Dallon was someone everybody in Brockton Bay knew, or at least thought they did. Even people who paid no real attention to capes could recognize her face from news clips and posters, from charity events and recorded briefings, and from the countless moments when Glory Girl had flown into danger with a confident smile and come out the other side looking untouchable. 

She had become part of the city’s background noise, a constant presence in headlines and conversations, familiar enough that it was easy to forget she was a real person at all. She was also everything a hero was supposed to look like. Tall and bright and beautiful, wrapped in an aura of confidence that made cameras love her and crowds cheer for her, she carried herself like someone who had never once doubted that the world would make room for her. 

Even out of costume, that impression lingered, as if the image people had built around Glory Girl clung to Victoria Dallon no matter where she went. And at school, that translated into something just as potent. 

Victoria was the most popular teenager in the city, second only to her sister Amy, and that was only because Panacea happened to be the best healer on the planet. Together, though, the Dallon sisters were practically royalty in Brockton Bay, heroes whose names carried weight, and whose presence could turn an ordinary hallway into something that felt closer to a public appearance.

Taylor knew all of that. Everyone did.

And standing there in the hallway, staring up at Victoria after walking straight into her, it was impossible to forget.

There was no doubt in Taylor’s mind that Victoria was the de facto queen bee of Arcadia High. The kind of person who did not need to demand attention because it followed her naturally, drawn in by smiles and laughter and the quiet certainty that being near her meant being near someone important. 

People like that set the tone for the rooms they entered, shaping the mood without ever having to try. And it meant that anyone who caught Victoria’s interest automatically became interesting by association, whether they wanted to be or not.

And Taylor was already interesting enough.

Being the newly outed parahuman ensured that much. Adding Glory Girl to the picture only doubled that interest, turning the stares and words she had been trying to ignore into something harder to escape. She could feel it even now, the way eyes stayed fixed on her and the whispers that began anew, spreading outward from where they stood as students took in the sight of the city’s golden girl meeting Brockton Bay’s newest Ward in the middle of the hall.

Taylor did not like it.

She was not even sure she liked Victoria.

It was true that she did not really know anything about the hero beyond what was already public knowledge. She knew Glory Girl, yes, but only the polished image meant for cameras and crowds, not Victoria Dallon, the person behind it, and she knew enough to understand that public images rarely told the whole story. Even so, that awareness did nothing to ease the unease that settled in her stomach as she stood there under Victoria’s attention, wondering what expectations might be hidden behind that bright, assessing look.

Because she knew queen bees.

Because Emma had been one at Winslow.

The thought came unbidden, and with it a familiar pang of guilt that she had not yet learned how to shake. Emma Barnes, once her best friend, had ruled her corner of the school with easy smiles and carefully chosen words, and she had been, in Taylor’s mind, the worst of the trio. Sophia had been more physical, more openly violent, and Madison could be vicious when she wanted to be, but Emma had known Taylor. She had known her fears and her hopes, the things she cared about and the things she was ashamed of, and she had used all of it like a weapon.

Emma had known exactly what to say to make her break down.

Most days toward the end, Taylor had dreaded hearing her voice more than anything else, because it meant another reminder that the person who hurt her the most was someone who had once sworn to be her friend, someone she had trusted with parts of herself she had never given to anyone else.

Maybe it was wrong to put Victoria in the same box. Maybe it was unfair, even cruel, to judge her based on nothing more than surface similarities and old wounds that had not yet healed. Taylor knew that, at least in theory, and part of her wanted to believe that Arcadia would be different, that the people here would be different too.

But she could not help it.

Victoria was pretty.

Victoria was popular.

Victoria had a group that followed her wherever she went.

The similarities were there, superficial as they might be, and they were enough that even before Victoria opened her mouth to speak, Taylor was already dreading the conversation.