(TAYLOR’S DEMONIC ADVENTURE) CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Seeing people came with the territory of being Gallant. Fear, grief, anger, shame, guilt, he dealt with those emotions almost every day in one form or another, whether during patrols, hostage situations, or simply helping civilians after an attack. Most emotions followed patterns if you spent enough time around them. They rose, peaked, and eventually burned themselves out.

What Taylor was feeling did not follow any pattern he recognized.

It flooded the room in violent waves, hot enough that it felt almost physical against his power. Rage sat at the center of it, immense and unstable, tangled together with humiliation, betrayal, fear, and an old grief so deep it bordered on despair.

And beneath all of it was something else. Something wrong enough that his power struggled to interpret it cleanly.

Dean stood perfectly still a few feet away from her, trying very hard not to make any sudden movements while the room darkened around them.

The shadows crawling across the floor did not behave naturally. They stretched toward the walls in twitching ribbons, swallowing light wherever they touched, and every few seconds the air pulsed with pressure strong enough to make the hair on the back of his neck rise.

Taylor herself had barely moved, standing with her head lowered and her breathing ragged, her hands trembling hard enough that her sleeves shook around her wrists. Above her normal eyes hovered another set glowing bright red through the darkness, fixed on nothing and everything at once.

Missy was still behind Dennis. Dean could feel their fear keenly now, bright and painful against his senses.

Carlos and Browbeat had recovered from being thrown into the wall, but he was tense, his weight shifted forward slightly, as if he was preparing to intercept her if things got worse.

Chris looked frozen, and judging by the silence hanging over the room, nobody really knew what to do.

Dean swallowed.

In retrospect, there had probably been softer ways to phrase the truth.

Telling her hadn’t been wrong. No, he still believed she deserved to know. Finding out later, after joining the team fully, after trusting them, would have been infinitely worse. The betrayal would have cut deeper then.

But maybe he should have handled it differently. Maybe he should have eased into it instead of dropping the truth on her all at once.

Dean winced internally.

Taylor’s emotions twisted violently again, another pulse of fury rolling off her hard enough that his own chest tightened sympathetically, and the shadows thickened in response.

Clockblocker swore quietly under his breath.

“Dean,” Carlos said without taking his eyes off Taylor, “you got anything?”

He did. At least, he hoped he did.

Dean had used his power long enough to know how quickly emotions could spiral when nobody interrupted them. Panic fed on itself. Anger did the same. And right now Taylor was spiraling inward with nothing to interrupt the momentum.

Which meant he needed to interrupt it.

Carefully. Very, very carefully. Because emotional manipulation was delicate even under normal circumstances, and this situation had left normal behind several minutes ago.

He took a slow breath, then he reached for his power.

Emotion sharpened around him into distinct textures and colors only he could perceive properly. Fear curled around Missy and Chris. Concern and caution radiated from Carlos in steadier pulses. Dennis was masking nerves with forced laughter even now, though the amusement was fraying fast.

And Taylor…

For one awful second Dean understood exactly how isolated she must have felt.

No wonder she was breaking apart.

Gently, he shot an emotion from his fingertips in a tight beam.

He started by projecting calm, keeping the beam as gentle as he could make it. Subtlety worked better in situations like this. People reacted badly when powers pushed too hard against what they genuinely felt. He had learned that lesson early.

Taylor twitched.

The shadows along the walls fluctuated briefly, and Dean pressed forward before the effect could fade. He projected reassurance next, careful not to push hard enough for her to recoil from it.

“You’re okay,” he said softly.

Her breathing hitched, and those extra eyes snapped toward him instantly.

Dean very carefully did not react to that.

“You’re angry,” he continued, keeping his voice leveled. “You have every right to be angry.”

Another pulse rolled through the room, but it was thankfully less violent this time.

“But nobody here is trying to hurt you.”

Taylor’s fingers curled tighter.

“You don’t know that,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know Sophia hurt you. More than hurt you.” He chose his next words carefully. “And I know hearing she was here makes everything feel… contaminated.”

Clockblocker glanced sideways at him like he had not expected that wording.

Taylor’s shoulders shook once.

Dean sent another beam of calm toward her.

“She’s gone,” he said. “Nobody here is defending what she did.”

The spike of emotion that followed felt less like anger and more like hurt.

“Then why didn’t anybody stop her?” she asked.

And there it was.

The real wound underneath everything else.

The room went silent, and Dean closed his eyes briefly.

There was no good answer to that question.