(AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN) THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

Thomas Calvert wasn’t nearly as subtle as he seemed to think he was.

Taylor had noticed him three days ago, although she had no idea whether that was when he had actually started watching her or merely when she had finally noticed the pattern. He had been in the training room that afternoon, using one of the treadmills while she worked with Reynolds, and there had been nothing particularly strange about that. PRT employees exercised. Contractors exercised. People who spent too much time sitting behind desks occasionally decided that their bodies deserved some attention.

The problem was that Thomas had been there again the next day, then again after that.

He had never approached her, never spoken to her for more than a passing greeting, and never done anything she could point to as evidence that he was interested in her. He simply seemed to keep turning up in places where she happened to be.

Taylor had learned a long time ago that coincidences were worth examining when they happened often enough, and she had also learned that people rarely noticed how much they revealed through repetition.

Thomas varied his routine enough that an ordinary person probably would not have given it a second thought. One day he used the treadmill, another day he worked with some weights, and on one occasion he had spent nearly half an hour talking to one of the other PRT employees before leaving. He never stared at her directly, and whenever their eyes met, his expression remained perfectly ordinary.

That was part of what bothered her.

People who had nothing to hide generally did not need to put that much effort into looking as though they had nothing to hide.

Taylor had no idea what he wanted, but her experience had given her an advantage that Thomas could not possibly account for, assuming he had no knowledge of her power. She knew what it looked like when someone was preparing for something. She had seen gang members choose positions before an ambush, watched villains probe for weaknesses, and spent enough time around people who wanted her dead to recognize the small habits that accompanied calculated preparation.

Thomas was preparing for something.

She just did not know what, and that meant she had two choices. She could confront him and force him to explain himself, which would tell him that she had noticed what he was doing and potentially give him a chance to change his approach, or she could wait.

Taylor had learned the value of waiting.

It had taken her a considerable number of deaths to learn it, which seemed excessive when she thought about it, but some lessons apparently required more reinforcement than others.

So she waited. There was something satisfying about the idea of letting Thomas make the first mistake. Reynolds would probably tell her that she was overthinking it, since he had a habit of saying that whenever she spent too much time trying to anticipate what someone else was going to do. Taylor had gotten better at understanding what he meant, even if she still wasn’t always very good at putting it into practice.

She had finished training earlier that afternoon, and her body still carried the pleasant soreness that followed a hard session. Reynolds had spent most of the last hour making her repeat the same sequence, changing his timing and angle whenever she fell back into an old habit. A few weeks ago, she would have needed to think about where her feet were, where her weight was sitting, and what part of her opponent she should be watching. Now she could do most of it without consciously reminding herself.

She still had to think when something unfamiliar happened, and Reynolds was very good at finding unfamiliar ways to make things happen, but she was starting to notice the difference between reacting to something and simply being surprised by it. Even when he caught her, she could usually tell what had gone wrong before he explained it, and sometimes she knew how she should have responded before she had even hit the mat.

That was new.

Taylor had spent so much time learning through repetition that she had become accustomed to remembering what happened without necessarily understanding all the reasons behind it. Training hadn’t given her more experience, since she had plenty of that already, but it had made the experience she had more useful, and she was beginning to notice how often something she had learned in one fight could help her in another.

She still had a long way to go, but she liked the direction she was heading.

Taylor smiled to herself as she stepped outside.

The afternoon air was cool enough to make the walk comfortable, and the sky had cleared after several days of weather that seemed determined to remain unpleasant. Brockton Bay rarely offered beautiful days without asking for something in return, but Taylor was willing to enjoy one when it appeared.

Her dad was waiting for her.

He stood near the entrance with his hands in his jacket pockets, watching the road as people passed by. He spotted her almost immediately, and his expression brightened.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey, Dad.”

His eyes moved over her before settling on her face.

Taylor knew that look.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You were checking.”

“I was making sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine.”

He nodded, although the answer clearly hadn’t satisfied him. “How was training?”

“Good.”

“Hard?”

“Yeah.”

She could see the concern he was trying to hide, and she understood why. Her dad had always worried about her, but lately he had more reason to do so than he knew. Taylor had become stronger, more capable, and considerably less willing to tell him exactly what she had been through to get there.

They started walking toward the Boardwalk.

They had planned to take the car, but the weather had turned out too nice for that, and the distance was short enough that there was little reason to bother. The afternoon was cool, with a steady breeze coming in from the water, and Taylor found herself enjoying the walk despite the habits she had never quite managed to leave behind.

She watched the people around them as they went, keeping track of the streets they passed and the places she could go if something happened. She wasn’t expecting trouble, but expecting trouble had become difficult to separate from simply being aware of her surroundings.

Her dad noticed after a while.

“You don’t have to keep checking behind us.”

“I know.”

“You’ve done it several times.”

Taylor glanced back once more before looking at him. “I like knowing what’s around me.”

“I figured.”

There was no criticism in his voice, which made the observation easier to accept.

They walked for another minute before her dad asked, “How’s school?”

Taylor looked at him.

He gave her a small smile. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“I know that look.”

“I was just wondering why you asked.”

“Because I haven’t heard much about it lately.”

Taylor looked ahead again. “Emma’s been acting strange.”

Her dad’s expression changed.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

He waited.

Taylor sighed. “She’s been watching me.”

“Emma?”

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know.” She lifted a hand vaguely. “Maybe a week, maybe more.”

“Has she talked to you?”

“Not really.”

“Then what makes you think she’s watching you?”

Taylor glanced at him. “I know what it looks like.”

Her dad didn’t argue with that.

Taylor continued walking, watching the pavement ahead of them.

“Sometimes she watches me during lunch. I’ve seen her in the halls too. She usually looks away when I notice, although sometimes she just smiles.”

Her dad’s expression hardened slightly.

Taylor noticed. “I don’t like it either,” she said.

“What do you think she wants?”

“I don’t know.”

The admission sat strangely with her. She was used to having answers, or at least having enough information to make an educated guess. Emma had always been easier to understand than Taylor wanted to admit, even when understanding her had done nothing to make her behavior hurt less. This version of Emma didn’t fit what Taylor remembered.

“Could she be trying to make things right?” her dad asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“You seem pretty sure.”

“I know her.”

He nodded. “She was your friend.”

“She was.”

Taylor didn’t say anything else.

There had been a time when she could have spent an entire afternoon trying to explain Emma, going over every conversation and every mistake until she had convinced herself that there had to be some answer hidden somewhere in the details. She didn’t have the energy for that anymore. She had seen too many versions of the same problem to believe that understanding every reason behind someone’s cruelty would necessarily make it hurt less.

Taylor just didn’t know why yet.

“She doesn’t seem angry,” she said eventually.

Her dad looked at her. “That’s what bothers you?”

“Partly.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know.”

He let the silence sit for a moment.

“Maybe something changed for her.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe she’s moved on.”

Taylor shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“She wouldn’t keep watching me.”

Her dad nodded slowly. “Have you asked her?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I think that’s what she wants.”

He looked at her.

Taylor continued before he could ask.

“If I go over there and ask her what she’s doing, then I’ve given her a reason to keep doing it. Whatever she’s trying to get from me, I don’t want to give it to her.”

Her dad was quiet for a few seconds before saying, “Then don’t.”

Taylor looked at him.

“You think I should just ignore her?”

“I think you should wait until you know what you’re dealing with.”

She nodded.

“That’s what I was planning.”

“I figured.”

Taylor hadn’t expected him to say much more than that, but she appreciated that he hadn’t tried to tell her how to handle it. He was worried, she knew that, just as she knew he was trying not to let her see how much. 

The water was visible now between the buildings, and the breeze had grown stronger as they drew closer to the waterfront.

Taylor let herself relax a little.

She wasn’t thinking about Thomas or Emma, and for once the Empire wasn’t occupying her thoughts either. She was simply walking beside her dad.

The feeling was unfamiliar enough that she noticed it, although she didn’t try to put a name to it. There had been too many times when being with him had meant worrying about what she was hiding, what he might notice, or how much longer she could keep pretending everything was normal.

Lately, though….

“Do you still want to eat when we get there?” her dad asked.

“Yeah.”

“All right.”

They kept walking.

Taylor glanced toward him.

He smiled, and she looked ahead again.

Then something struck her face, warm and wet.

Taylor recoiled, one hand coming up instinctively as she tried to understand what had just happened. She turned toward her dad.

His head was gone.

For one terrible instant, she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. Blood and fragments of bone covered her face and hair as her father’s body remained upright for a moment longer, swaying where he had been walking beside her.

Then he collapsed.

Taylor stared at him.

Her mind refused to accept what her eyes were telling her, and the sounds of the street seemed to disappear beneath the roaring in her ears.

Her dad was dead.