CHAPTER EIGHT: CONSEQUENCES

Taylor’s breath came fast as she ducked under a jab, her muscles burning from the relentless pace of training.

“Keep your guard up,” Keith barked corrections from the side—firm, expectant.

She adjusted, resetting her stance, forcing herself to ignore the exhaustion creeping into her limbs. She was getting better. Not good enough—not yet—but better.

The round timer blared, signaling the end of the session. Taylor rolled her shoulders, stepping back as her sparring partner gave her a nod before heading toward the lockers. She turned to grab her water bottle, but before she could, Keith’s voice drew her attention.

“Hebert.”

She turned, frowning. Keith rarely called her by name.

“Come with me.”

Something in his tone made her tense, but she followed him anyway, weaving through the gym until they reached his office. It was a small, windowless room cluttered with paperwork, a mismatched desk, and a mini fridge that hummed faintly in the background. Keith shut the door behind them, then turned to face her.

“You got something to tell me?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Taylor’s stomach tightened. This wasn’t idle curiosity. He wasn’t just fishing for gossip or making conversation; the question was too direct, too pointed. Keith wasn’t the type to pry—he had always kept his focus on training, not personal lives—but the way he was looking at her now sent a prickle of unease down her spine. He knew something. Or at least, he suspected.

And if he suspected, that meant she’d slipped up somewhere.

Her mind raced, running through every interaction, every moment she might have let something slip. Ever since she realized her “force field” wasn’t always active, she’d been careful—keeping it off during training, making sure she didn’t draw attention. Had someone noticed anyway? Had they put the pieces together?

Did they know she was the cape who had triggered in public?

She forced herself to stay still, keeping her expression neutral. “Not sure what you mean.”

Keith studied her for a long moment—the silence heavy enough that Taylor had to resist the urge to shift her stance—then sighed. He reached into his desk, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to her.

She hesitated before taking it. The moment her eyes landed on the print, her breath caught in her throat.

MISSING

TAYLOR ANN HEBERT

Last seen: Winslow High, Brockton Bay. 

The photo was old—maybe a year or two—but unmistakable. Her dad’s phone number was listed at the bottom.

Her hands clenched around the paper.

“Been up for a few weeks,” Keith said. “Your dad’s looking for you.”

Taylor swallowed hard. She had known—of course she had known—that leaving would have consequences. But seeing it laid out like this, the proof of it in her hands, made it feel more real.

Keith leaned against the desk. “I don’t know what you’re running from, and I won’t ask. But I need to know if you being here is gonna bring trouble to my gym.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze, keeping her expression steady. Her heart pounded, but she couldn’t let it show. If Keith had suspicions—if he was testing her—she couldn’t afford to crack.

She didn’t want to lose this.

So she lied.

“It won’t.”

The words came out level, firm. A promise she wasn’t sure she could keep. But if it meant holding onto this opportunity, she’d say whatever she had to.

His eyes narrowed slightly, weighing her words, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. “Alright.”

Taylor blinked. “That’s it?”

Keith exhaled through his nose. “I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s hiding for a reason. If this is about your safety, I’m not gonna force you into a bad situation.” He crossed his arms again. “But I need you to understand something—this gym ain’t a hideout. If people come looking, I won’t lie for you.”

Taylor nodded, throat tight. By taking her under his wings, he had already done more than enough. “I understand.”

Keith studied her for a second longer, then grunted. “Good.” He gestured toward the paper still clenched in her fingers. “Keep it or toss it. Your call.”

She looked at the missing poster again, her dad’s number staring back at her. Guilt twisted in her chest, sharp and unrelenting.

Taylor folded the paper carefully, tucking it into her pocket.

She wasn’t ready to go back.

Not yet.

But at least now she knew—he hadn’t given up on her.