(AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN…) CONFIRMATION

Taylor was right.

Jessica Yamada was already in the room when they brought her in, seated in a chair placed a careful distance from the others, and composed in that way Taylor had come to recognize as intentional. The room itself was one of the smaller meeting spaces inside the PRT building, functional to the point of austerity, with a long table dominating the center and too many chairs arranged around it for this to ever have been intended as a private conversation.

It did not feel like therapy, and that impression only deepened as she took in the others present.

Director Piggot sat near the far side with her arms crossed, her expression firm and assessing, while Miss Militia stood closer to the wall, relaxed in appearance but watchful in a way that suggested she missed nothing. Armsmaster remained slightly apart from both of them, his attention fixed on Taylor the moment she entered, his stillness giving little away beyond focus.

Her dad was there too, seated near Jessica, his presence grounding and out of place all at once.

The tension in the room was immediate and difficult to ignore, pressing in from every direction in a way that made the air feel heavier than it should have been. It clashed with everything Taylor associated with therapy, with quiet offices and gentle voices and the illusion of privacy, but she understood why it was like this.

They could no longer leave her to her own devices. Or at least, they were interested in bringing her in.

The silence stretched just long enough to become noticeably awkward before Jessica spoke, her voice calm as always.

“Taylor,” she said, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Thank you for coming in.”

Taylor nodded and moved further into the room, lowering herself into the empty chair that had clearly been left for her. The seat felt colder than it should have, though that might have been her imagination filling in the gaps left by everything else.

No one spoke immediately after that.

Director Piggot was the first to break the silence.

“What you demonstrated earlier,” she began, her gaze steady on Taylor, “changes things.” Her voice carried the kind of authority that did not need to be raised to command attention.

Taylor did not respond right away. She already knew what they were getting at, and saying it out loud would not change anything.

Armsmaster stepped in where Piggot left off, his words coming out more slowly, though no less clipped.

“Even before you told us, we had our suspicions,” he said. “After the incident with Shadow Stalker, and again after the bus. Your awareness, your reactions, and the way you anticipated outcomes that should not have been predictable suggested some form of precognition or probability manipulation.”

He paused briefly, as if choosing his next words carefully.

“What we observed today goes beyond that.”

Taylor exhaled through her nose, her gaze dropping briefly to her hands before lifting again.

“You mean the part where I died,” she said, her tone flat, “or the part where I came back and killed her before she could do it again.”

Neither Piggot nor Armsmaster flinched at her bluntness.

“Both,” Piggot replied.

Jessica shifted slightly in her seat but remained silent, allowing the others to continue.

Armsmaster inclined his head. “Based on everything we know, the most consistent explanation is that your power activates upon your death. When that happens, you are sent back in time to a point prior to the triggering event.”

Taylor did not react outwardly, though hearing it stated so plainly made it feel more real in a way that the loops themselves had not fully managed.

“It is similar in concept to the abilities exhibited by Alabaster of the Empire Eighty-Eight,” Armsmaster continued, “in that both involve a form of restoration to a previous state. However, in his case, the effect is limited to his own body. In yours, the reset appears to extend to the world.”

The implications lingered in the silence that followed.

Taylor nodded once.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That sounds about right.

Her dad shifted in his seat beside her, his hands clasped together in a way that betrayed more tension than he likely intended. He looked at her like he wanted to say something, but the words did not come, or perhaps he did not know where to begin.

Director Piggot’s expression did not soften, but she leaned forward slightly. “That kind of ability is not something we can ignore.”

Taylor almost laughed at that, though the sound never quite made it out of her throat.

“I figured.”

Miss Militia spoke then, her voice quieter than the others but no less firm.

“You have to understand how this looks from our perspective. A power like yours has a level of strategic value that is difficult to overstate. The ability to retry scenarios, to gather information, and to revise decisions and strategies without permanent consequence… in the wrong hands, that could be devastating.”

Taylor’s mouth twitched at that. “In the right hands too.”

No one contradicted her. That, more than anything, made the tension in the room feel heavier.

Director Piggot’s gaze remained fixed on her. “We need you on our side.”

The words left no room for misinterpretation.

“Preferably,” she added after a moment, “before someone else realizes what you can do and attempts to recruit you.”

Taylor leaned back slightly, the motion slow as she let out a quiet breath.

“I don’t care about that,” she said.

The room stilled, the statement simple enough to cut through the tension more effectively than anything louder might have.

“I don’t care about being a hero,” she continued, her gaze moving from one face to the next. “And I don’t care about being a villain either.”

Her fingers curled slightly against the arm of the chair.

“I just want to live my life without dying over and over again. That’s it.”

There was no anger in her voice, only a tired honesty that was harder to dismiss.

Jessica watched her closely, her expression softening in a way that suggested she had expected something like this.

For a moment, no one responded. Then Miss Militia did, more gently this time.

“I believe you,” she said. “But wanting a quiet life and being able to have one are not always the same thing.”

Taylor’s gaze flicked toward her, then away.

Director Piggot crossed her arms again. “Powers like yours draw attention. Conflict follows them. Whether you seek it out or not.”

Armsmaster nodded once in agreement.

“It is a pattern we have observed repeatedly,” he said. “Parahumans tend to gravitate toward situations that involve some manner of confrontation. It is not always a conscious choice, but it is consistent.”

Taylor let out a slow breath, her shoulders lowering.

She did not like hearing it, but that did not make it untrue.

Unbidden, her mind flashed through memories she would rather not linger on, through loops that had ended violently no matter what she had tried, and through moments where avoidance had only delayed the inevitable.

She knew how it went.

She had lived it.

“I know,” she said quietly.

The admission settled into the room, heavier than anything that had come before it.

There were no more words after that, no attempt to reassure her that things might be different. They all seemed to understand that whatever comfort might have been offered would not hold up against what she had already experienced.

Taylor lowered her gaze slightly, her thoughts turning inward.

If this was what her life was going to be, then there was no real way around it.

Only through it.

She gave a small nod, more to herself than to anyone else, and that was that.