(AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN…) EXHAUSTION, AGAIN!

Huh, her exhaustion was back.

It crept in rather than crashing down through her thoughts, weighing them down until everything felt distant and oddly muffled, as though the world had been wrapped in layers of cotton. 

The adrenaline was gone now, burned away completely and leaving nothing behind to prop her up except sheer will. What remained felt heavier, deeper, sort of exhaustion that no amount of coffee or energy drinks could hide, making making even the effort of staying present feel unnecessary.

Her dad was here. She knew that because she could see him hovering just within her line of sight, his face tight with worry he was doing a poor job of hiding. The PRT was there too, uniforms and badges and clipped voices—as they spoke into radios and to one another—forming a loose perimeter around the bus and the street. 

And beyond them, flashes. 

So many flashes. 

The media had descended in force, cameras pointed at her from every angle, and shutters clicking in rapid bursts. Every click felt loud and invasive, each one puncturing what little distance she had managed to put between herself and everything that had just happened, and every strobe of light was punctuated by shouted questions and excited speculation. Vultures, her mind supplied distantly, and she did not bother contradicting it.

All of it pressed in on her at once, but none of it mattered.

Only sleep did.

All Taylor wanted was to go home and curl up under her blanket, to let the world continue without her for a while, until it stopped asking things of her and demanding explanations she no longer had the energy to give.

There was something she was supposed to do first, though.

Jessica Yamada.

The name surfaced sluggishly, dragging half-formed images with it: a quiet office, soft lightning, and a gentle voice that asked careful questions and waited patiently for answers Taylor was no longer sure she could give. Therapy. Talking. Digging into things she had spent so long trying to survive rather than understand.

Why do that now? A part of her mind said, overlapping her own. It sounded far too eager in its offer, though that felt comforting rather than alarming.

Another part of her seized on it immediately, relief flooding through her chest at the idea. Therapy could wait. Talking could wait. Everything could wait. She needed sleep more than she needed anything else, even more so than actually understanding her situation..

She had already done enough for one lifetime, hadn’t she?

She lifted her head just enough to notice Armsmaster watching her.

She lifted her head just enough to notice Armsmaster watching her from a short distance away. He was not speaking or pressing in, but his gaze lingered all the same, intense in a way that made her skin prickle. It was not suspicion she felt from him, nor accusation, but concern that reached too far, as though he were trying to look past her exhaustion and slot her into a report that did not exist yet.

She looked away.

“I want to go home,” she said, her voice coming out smaller than she expected. “I’m tired. I just want to sleep.”

The cameras surged closer at that, shutters clicking faster, but her dad stepped in front of her immediately, blocking them with his body. He looked at her the way he had ever since the locker, like she might break if he touched her too hard. Then he glanced at Armsmaster, and for a brief, strange moment, the two of them exchanged a look that she did not understand.

Since when did her dad and a hero share looks like that?

Did it even matter?

Her dad nodded, though it seemed directed more at himself than at anyone else. “Okay,” he said quietly. “We’ll go home.”

Something in her chest loosened at that, a tight knot easing just enough for her to breathe. She took a small step toward him, then another, before lifting her arms in a wordless request.

“Can you—” she started, then shook her head. “Carry me.”

If he found it strange, he did not say so. He simply bent and lifted her into his arms with the same care he had used before, holding her as though she weighed nothing at all. She leaned into him without thinking, resting her forehead against his shoulder, the familiar solidity of him grounding her in a way nothing else had managed to so far.

The cameras kept flashing. Someone said her name. Someone else asked something she did not hear.

It all blurred together as her dad turned away from the bus and started walking, the motion rocking her gently enough to pull her under faster than she could resist. Her eyes slid shut almost immediately, the noises fading into a distant, meaningless drone.

Unchallenged by any other voice in her mind, Taylor hoped she would sleep for a very, very long time.