(SHATTERPOINT) PATH TO… WHAT?

At first, Rebecca Costa-Brown was certain that Emily Piggot had made a mistake.

She had read the report twice in silence, then a third time more slowly, tracing each detail as though repetition might force it into coherence. A man previously assessed as a baseline human had dealt with a Protectorate hero without powers, submitted to containment without resistance, and then, under observation, had demonstrated an unknown yet powerful ability.

It made far more sense that the initial assessment had been wrong. Hidden powers, suppressed energy signatures, or some method of masking that had slipped through their systems. That was familiar territory. That was something she could work with.

What Piggot described was something else entirely.

Rebecca closed the file and set it aside with care, though the act did little to settle the unease that had taken root. A spontaneous manifestation on that scale, appearing fully formed and without precedent, did not fit into any model she trusted. It suggested a gap in their understanding so wide that it bordered on negligence.

The thought lingered as she stepped into the corridor and allowed herself a single, deep breath before reaching for the woman who would have answers.

Contessa was already waiting.

Rebecca did not bother with the mechanics of how she arrived. The transition from one place to another had long since become routine, a function of power and intent rather than distance. What mattered was the sight that greeted her.

Contessa stood still in the center of the room, expression as neutral as ever. At a glance, nothing had changed. She looked exactly as she always did, straight-backed and in control, a presence that implied power even in silence.

It took Rebecca less than a second to understand that something was wrong.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” she said, her tone even and her gaze steady as she approached. “I understand you have been… occupied.”

The word felt inadequate even as she spoke it. Occupied suggested activity, direction, and a purpose, even if it wasn't obvious. What stood before her did not feel directed in any conventional sense. There was a subtle dissonance to Contessa’s presence, as though she were here only in the physical sense.

Contessa inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the greeting without speaking.

Rebecca studied her for a moment longer than politeness required, then allowed the silence to stretch just enough to make the next words land with weight.

“I have read the report,” she continued. “I would like to hear your version of events.”

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then Contessa spoke.

“The paths,” she said, and paused, as if the word itself no longer held the certainty it once had. “No, everything is disorienting now. I feel free and… trapped… at the same time.”

Rebecca blinked.

Of all the responses she had anticipated, that had not been one of them.

She exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to let irritation surface. Clarity mattered here. Whatever was happening, she needed to understand it before it spiraled any further out of control.

“Are you impaired?” It begged to ask. 

Contessa shook her head once. “No.”

The answer came without hesitation, which only made the situation more troubling.

“Then explain,” Rebecca said, her voice sharpening by a fraction. “Start with Skywalker.”

Contessa’s gaze became introspective in a way Rebecca had rarely seen from the powerful woman.

“Ever since the one called Anakin Skywalker appeared,” she said slowly, “the paths have been…” She furrowed her brow. “Unstable.”

Rebecca felt something tighten in her chest.

Unstable was not a word that had ever been associated with Contessa’s power in any meaningful sense. Despite its limitations, it accounted for variables with a precision that bordered on omniscience.

“Is that why you killed Battery?” she asked.

The question landed harder than she intended, carrying more than inquiry. There was accusation there, and expectation, and the need for a justification that would make sense of something that currently did not.

Contessa’s reaction was immediate. “I had to.”

The words came louder than anything she had said before, sharp enough to cut through the room’s stillness. For a brief instant, the composure slipped, revealing something beneath it that Rebecca could not easily determine.

“I had to,” Contessa repeated, quieter this time, though the strain remained.

Rebecca did not interrupt.

She let the silence settle again, watching and waiting for the explanation that would either restore order or confirm that it had already been lost.

“Was it part of the path?” she asked at last.

Contessa’s expression did not change, yet something in her posture seemed to shift, as though the question itself carried weight.

“No,” she said.

A pause followed, longer this time.

“And yet,” she continued, “it was.”

“Explain,” Rebbeca ordered. 

Contessa was still. “My agent was… curious.”

Rebecca held her gaze, parsing the contradiction and implication, turning it over in her mind and finding no immediate resolution. Contessa did not deal in ambiguity. The entire foundation of her power rested on clarity, on the certainty of action leading to outcome.

This was neither.

Which meant something had introduced uncertainty into a system that did not tolerate it.

Rebecca felt the implications settle in.

An external factor capable of influencing PtV was not simply a problem. It was a destabilizing force at a level that threatened everything they had built their plans upon. And if that factor was tied to Anakin Skywalker, then the situation was already far beyond what the PRT understood.

She had come here looking for reassurance, for answers that would allow her to move forward with confidence.

Instead, she found herself standing in front of the one person who was supposed to have answers, listening to contradictions that only raised more questions.

Rebecca inclined her head slightly, the gesture controlled.

“I see,” she said, though she did not, not yet.

And as she turned the conversation over in her mind, preparing for the meeting that would follow, she understood with certainty that whatever came next would require far more than the tools she had relied on until now.