(TAYLOR HEBERT) CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Director Piggot did not like the idea.

That much was evident before Taylor had even finished explaining herself.

“You want to do what?” the Director asked, her voice flat in a way that carried more force than raised volume ever could, her gaze fixed squarely on Taylor as though she were trying to determine whether this was a serious proposal or a particularly ill-timed joke. Either way, it was clear that whatever patience she had been prepared to extend was already wearing thin. 

Taylor held her ground, resisting the urge to fidget under that scrutiny. “I want to go into ABB territory and speak to Lung.”

There was a brief silence that followed, the uncomfortable kind, and Taylor became acutely aware of her dad sitting beside her, of Miss Militia standing off to the side, and of the way the Director’s fingers tapped once against the desk before going still.

“No,” Piggot said.

The word came with no room for misinterpretation.

“You are an untested cape with an unknown power set,” she continued, leaning back slightly in her chair as though to put space between herself and the sheer audacity of what she had just heard. “You have been active for less than a week, and you are proposing to walk into the territory of one of the most destructive parahumans in this city to have a… what? Conversation. That’s not taking initiative, Miss Hebert. That’s poor judgment.”

Taylor felt the push of resistance rise in her chest, but she forced herself to keep her tone even. “With all due respect, Director, I wouldn’t be going in blind.”

“That is not the point,” Piggot replied, her words coming out clipped. “The point is that you do not have the experience necessary to assess the risks involved in something like this.”

Taylor hesitated for only a moment before she said the one thing she knew would shift the conversation.

“I faced the Simurgh.”

Piggot did not react outwardly, yet something in her stilled, the dismissal giving way to something more measured.

“I didn’t just survive,” Taylor continued, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “I drove her off. Whatever the watch is, whatever it can do, it handled that. Lung isn’t on that level.”

For a moment, Piggot said nothing. Then she exhaled slowly, the sound carrying more frustration than concession.

“And there it is,” she said, almost to herself. “Overconfidence.”

Taylor frowned slightly, but remained silent.

“You are powerful,” Piggot went on, her gaze hardening again. “More powerful than we currently understand, and that alone makes you dangerous. But power does not make you infallible, Miss Hebert. It does not mean you can walk into every situation and expect the outcome to favor you.”

Taylor knew that. She did.

Or at least, a part of her did.

Another part, louder and harder to ignore, remembered standing in front of something that most believed undefeatable and coming out the other side.

“It does, however,” Piggot added, her tone far less defined than earlier, “make every misstep more expensive, and not only for you.” 

“I'd rather try,” Taylor said. 

Piggot studied her for a long moment, the silence stretching just long enough to become even more uncomfortable before she finally spoke again.

“I don’t like this,” she said.

“I figured.”

“That was not an invitation for commentary,” Piggot replied dryly, though there was no real heat behind it. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the desk. “But like it or not, you are no longer in a position where I can simply deny your request outright. Not without risking other complications I would rather avoid.”

Taylor did not miss the implication in that, or the faintest trace of resentment—not directed at Taylor so much as at the situation itself—though she chose not to comment on it.

“So we are going to do this properly,” Piggot continued. “You will not be going alone.”

Taylor suppressed the instinctive resistance that rose at the thought. She knew this was what would happen if she came here, but it still felt too much like being babysat, like being managed in a way that undermined what she was trying to do, but she pushed that aside.

“That’s fine,” she said.

Piggot’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though she had expected more of a fight and wasn't entirely reassured by the lack of one.

“I will assign some senior personnel to accompany you,” she went on. “They will remain in position to intervene if the situation escalates beyond your control.”

Taylor hesitated again, then said, “I want them to stay back unless I’m actually in danger.”

Piggot’s lips pressed into a thin line, the expression so sharp it almost looked painful, though it obviously suggested she had very little patience left to give. 

“That is not how this works,” she said.

“It needs to,” Taylor replied, meeting her gaze. “If they step in too early, it defeats the whole point. I’m not going there to fight him.”

“And you believe he will entertain that.”

“I think no one’s tried it like this before.”

Piggot held her gaze, weighing something Taylor could not quite read, before her expression tightened further. It seemed whatever she found didn’t seem to improve her opinion.

“You are asking me,” she said slowly, “to allow one of the most volatile individuals in this city to interact freely with a newly emerged, high-value cape, on the assumption that he will choose restraint.”

“When you put it like that—”

“It sounds exactly as reckless as it is,” Piggot cut in.

Taylor did not argue that point.

She simply waited.

The silence stretched again, heavier this time, before Piggot exhaled through her nose and leaned back in her chair.

“Fine,” she said, the word sounding as though it had been forced out. “They will hold position unless you are in immediate danger.”

Taylor felt a small, quiet sense of victory settle in her chest, though she kept it from showing.

“Thank you.”

“Do not thank me yet,” Piggot replied. “If this goes poorly, you will not enjoy the consequences.”

That… was fair.

“Who’s going?” Taylor asked.

Piggot’s gaze darted briefly to Miss Militia before returning to her. “You will have Miss Militia on overwatch,” she said. “And Armsmaster will accompany the PRT detail.”

Taylor felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders.

“Armsmaster is cleared for duty?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“He is cleared for limited engagement,” Piggot said. “And before you ask, no, that does not mean he will be taking unnecessary risks to accommodate your… ill-conceived actions.”

Taylor nodded, though she felt a small measure of relief at the answer.

“Is that acceptable?” Piggot asked.

“It is.”

Piggot studied her for another moment, then gave a short nod, as though closing the matter.

“Then we proceed,” she said. “You will be contacted once preparations are complete.”

That was it.

The decision had been made.

As Taylor stood to leave, she became aware, in a distant sort of way, that she had not once considered disguising herself for this.

The thought came and went just as quickly.

There was no real point. The watch was not something she could hide, not without drawing more attention to it, and after everything that had happened, after the way her identity had already spread among the people who mattered, the idea of pretending otherwise felt almost performative.

More than that, it felt wrong.

A hero did not hide from the people they were trying to protect.

The thought lingered, tying itself to something Lady Photon had said, something about openness and choice, and for a brief moment Taylor considered reaching out, following up on that offer, seeing what it might mean to stand beside a team that had built itself around that idea.

Later, she told herself. 

There would be time for that later.

For now, there was something else waiting.

Lung.

She was going to walk into his territory and ask him to stop.

The thought should have felt absurd. Instead, it felt right. After all, she wasn't coming to him as a random person. 

And with that decision sitting at the back of her mind, firm enough that it left little room for doubt to take hold, Taylor found that there was nothing left to do but see it through.