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Author's Note:Another week, another chapter. In the last story this was the end point but there's 4 more chapters after this. I will admit that they might be a little shorter than the ones before them, I ended them where I felt it made sense. I am writing a third story but its slow going as I'm struggling to bring this narrative to an end. The third story will be the last for Taylor as it currently stands. I appreciate any kind of feedback or comments that people might have :).
 

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5.

The alarm buzzed at 5:03 AM—three minutes early, far earlier than Tyler used to set it. Taylor's hand shot out from under the covers, fingers fumbling across the nightstand until they found the silence button. For a moment she lay there, blinking at the dark ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the house sleeping around her.

She was already getting antsy.

Taylor's bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor with a soft thud, her toes curling instinctively against the chill. She'd set the alarm early for this exact reason—to steal these quiet, predawn moments where the world still belonged to her alone. The coral sundress from last night lay draped over her desk chair like a discarded second skin, watching her as she pulled on black leggings and a sports bra with the same clinical detachment Tyler might have used to assemble gaming peripherals.

She pulled her hair back into a tight, high ponytail.

The first light of dawn hadn't even touched the windows when Taylor slipped out the front door, her breath fogging in the crisp autumn air. She stretched at the bottom of the porch steps, feeling every muscle awaken—not with Tyler's old stiffness, but with Gamma's coiled readiness. The neighborhood lay silent except for the distant hum of a garbage truck three streets over. Perfect.

Taylor's sneakers slapped against the pavement in a rhythm that felt more natural than breathing now—left, right, left, right—each impact sending a jolt up her legs that grounded her in the moment. The predawn air burned her lungs in the best way, sharp and clean, carrying the scent of dew-damp grass and distant woodsmoke. She'd just rounded the corner onto Maple Street when a second set of footsteps synced with hers.

"Thought you'd never show," Liz panted from beside her, her chin length red head flopping in the breeze. There was a black girl flanking her left—tall, with coiled black braids and a runner's build, her brown eyes scanning Taylor with clinical interest.

Taylor didn't break stride. "Since when do you run before sunrise?"

"Since forever" Liz said, struggling to keep stride. "We VolleyBros got to stay in shape after all"

Taylor snorted—VolleyBros was the self-deprecating nickname the volleyball team used, despite being district champions three years running. The new girl wasn't wearing team gear though—just black leggings and a cropped hoodie that showed off abs Taylor would've killed for pre-Gamma.

"This is Tasha, one of my team mates" Liz introduced the other girl. "When she learned we became friends yesterday, she was super jealous"

Taylor nodded, breathing evenly. She sized up the newcomer—her arms had definition that suggested weight training, and she carried herself with the coiled readiness of someone who expected to be challenged.

Taylor matched Tasha's pace effortlessly—another Gamma perk—but kept her breathing deliberately audible to avoid showing off. "Morning," she said between strides, noting how Tasha's gaze lingered on her calves. "You play varsity?"

Tasha smirked, matching Taylor's stride effortlessly. "Juniors captain," she said, tossing her braids over one shoulder. "And you're the girl who climbed the ropes like Spider-Man in heels."

"There were no heels" Taylor scoffed, having read the crazy rumors that had sprung up quickly.

Tasha's smirk widened as she effortlessly matched Taylor's pace. "Metaphorical heels," she clarified, her gaze flicking down to Taylor's sneakers with amusement. "Though I heard Poole made you climb in ballet slippers."

Taylor rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the grin tugging at her lips as they turned onto the bike path circling Memorial Park. The first gold streaks of dawn painted the duck pond's surface, and the rhythmic slap of their sneakers against pavement created an odd camaraderie. Tasha increased their pace subtly—a challenge Taylor recognized from a hundred playground races with Tyler's old friends.

Liz was doing her best to keep up.

Taylor's breath hitched as Tasha surged ahead, her braids streaming behind her like battle flags. The unspoken challenge crackled in the morning air—Gamma-enhanced reflexes versus varsity discipline. Taylor dug her toes into the pavement, feeling the familiar burn in her thighs as she accelerated.

Taylor's competitive fire ignited like a struck match—Gamma surging through her veins with an electric hum she'd been suppressing so far. Her strides lengthened effortlessly, sneakers barely kissing pavement as she blew past Tasha's left shoulder. The wind tore at her ponytail, carrying Liz's distant "holy shit!" like a victory cheer.

Tasha's startled laugh rang out as Taylor surged past her—not the mocking tone Sierra used, but the delighted surprise of an athlete recognizing unexpected skill. "Oh hell no," Tasha gasped, digging in to chase. Taylor felt the exact moment Tasha's competitive switch flipped; the air between them charged like before a thunderstorm.

Tasha couldn't keep up though.

Taylor breezed through the rest of the park and went two blocks before stopping to sit on a bench and wait for the other two. Her lungs burned pleasantly, not with exhaustion but with the thrill of exertion—like her body was a finely tuned engine finally being allowed to roar. She stretched her legs out in front of her, watching the way her calf muscles flexed under smooth skin that still surprised her sometimes. The bench's cold metal seeped through her leggings as she tilted her head back, letting the rising sun paint her face gold while she waited.

Tasha arrived, winded but not willing to admit. She didn't say anything though, instead taking a drink from the water bottle she was holding.

Liz arrived second, staggering around the corner with her hands on her knees, wheezing dramatically. "Jesus Christ," she gasped, sweat-darkened red hair plastered to her forehead. "Were you trying to kill us?"

Taylor grinned at Liz’s dramatics, tossing her ponytail over one shoulder. "You challenged me, remember?"

Tasha finally looked at her. "You were still holding back yesterday?"

Taylor smiled and nodded. "A tiny bit".

Tasha's water bottle froze halfway to her lips. The morning sunlight caught the droplets trailing down her chin as she studied Taylor with new intensity. "A tiny bit," she repeated slowly, like the words were a puzzle piece that didn't fit. Behind her, Liz collapsed onto the bench with a groan, fanning herself with shaky hands.

The bench creaked under Tasha's weight as she dropped beside Taylor, close enough that their shoulders brushed—a proximity that would've made Tyler flinch, but Taylor barely registered. "You're telling me," Tasha said between gulps of water, "that freakshow rope climb was you *holding back*?" A droplet escaped her lips, tracing the line of her throat before disappearing under her hoodie's collar.

Taylor shrugged, watching a lone leaf skitter across the pavement. "Didn't want to scare Poole any worse than I already had." The truth pinched harder—she'd been terrified of her own strength, of how good it felt to push Gamma's limits.

The silence stretched thick between them until Liz whistled low. "Well shit," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Sierra's gonna piss herself when she sees you at tryouts today."

"Tryouts for what?" Taylor asked, confused.

"Volleyball of course" said Liz as it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"When did I agree to that?" Taylor asked.

Liz's grin stretched wide enough to show molars as she leaned in, the scent of sweat and strawberry gum thick between them. "You didn't," she admitted, flicking a sweaty strand of hair from Taylor's shoulder. "But Tasha here captains junior varsity, and after that little display?" She jerked her thumb toward the park trail still steaming with their footprints. "Consider yourself drafted."

Taylor sighed heavily. "I can't".

Tasha arched an eyebrow. "Can't or won't?"

"Definitely can't" she said, remembering how she tested off the charts during the impromptu fitness test the CDC gave her in her family's weight room.

There was no way it would be fair for her to compete against "normal" people.

Taylor twisted the hem of her running shirt between her fingers, the fabric damp with morning sweat. The truth sat heavy in her chest—Gamma hadn't just reshaped her body; it had rewired her reflexes, her stamina, her explosive power. She'd seen the numbers on Dr. Jones' tablet: reaction times bordering on precognitive, vertical leaps that defied physics, endurance that made marathon runners look sedentary.

"Its just..." She sighed. "Hard to explain."

Liz and Tasha exchanged a look but didn't pursue it further.

They finished the rest of the run in relative silence. Liz and Tasha were visibly disappointed but didn't push it. The three of them split up a couple blocks from Taylor's house, agreeing to meet up at school later.

Taylor's sneakers scuffed against the sidewalk as she slowed to a walk, her breath coming in steady clouds that dissolved into the crisp morning air. The three-block sprint home felt effortless—just enough to keep her muscles warm without breaking another sweat. She rolled her shoulders, feeling the pleasant ache of exertion, and marveled again at how different her body felt now. Tyler had hated running; every step had been a chore, lungs burning, knees protesting. But Taylor? Taylor could run for miles and still crave more.

Taylor paused at the front door, fingertips hovering over the knob. The house smelled of brewing coffee and toast—her mother's usual breakfast routine, unchanged since childhood. Except now the scent of strawberry shampoo lingered too, woven into the fabric of the home in ways Tyler's old Axe body spray never had. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The coffee pot hissed as Taylor stepped into the kitchen, still flushed from her run. Her mother's spoon froze halfway to her lips, yogurt dripping back into the bowl with a soft *plop*. "You're... up." Her mother's gaze flicked from Taylor's running gear to the window, where dawn was just beginning to pink the sky. "And were outside?"

"Went for a run" Taylor explained, wiping some sweat with a paper towel.

Kayla came into the kitchen, still groggy. She gave her sister a look and grunted. "You're like a machine".

"I'm going to take a shower now" Taylor announced, heading up the stairs.

The shower water hit Taylor's skin like liquid electricity, every droplet registering with crystalline clarity as she scrubbed the morning run from her pores. She'd turned the temperature up hotter than Tyler ever could have tolerated—another Gamma quirk—letting the steam curl around her shoulders as she massaged shampoo into her scalp.

Back in her room, the outfit Kayla had picked for her to wear last night was lying on her bed already. She groaned, wondering when Kayla had secretly put it there.

Taylor stared at the pleated skirt and blouse combination Kayla had laid out—forest green fabric paired with a crisp white button-down that screamed private school chic. The outfit looked like something Kayla would wear to impress visiting grandparents, not something Taylor wanted to face government interrogators in. She poked the blouse with one finger. "You realize I'll look like I'm cosplaying you, right?" she said silently to her empty room.

Taylor tugged the blouse's sleeves down to her wrists three times before giving up—the fabric kept slithering back to mid-forearm no matter how she adjusted it. The pleated skirt swished against her thighs with every slight movement, a sensation that still made her pause halfway through buckling her shoes. She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror and froze—not at the stranger staring back, but at how naturally the stranger's hands smoothed invisible wrinkles from the blouse. The motion was pure Kayla, down to the slight tilt of her chin while checking her profile.

"Damn," Taylor murmured, turning sideways. The skirt flared just enough to emphasize curves Tyler had never possessed, while the blouse tucked neatly into the waistband accentuated her newly defined waist. She looked... put together. Polished. Like someone who belonged in the yearbook's "Most Likely to Succeed" column rather than the gaming club's group photo.

"You need tights or knee highs with those" Kayla announced from her doorway.

Taylor jumped, clutching her chest. "Ever heard of knocking?"

Kayla tossed a rolled-up pair of white knee socks at Taylor's head—she caught them on reflex, Gamma-enhanced reflexes making the movement seamless. "Mom says Kellogg's here early," Kayla said, leaning against the doorframe. "He's wearing, like, a full suit. You might actually be underdressed."

Taylor turned toward the window. It was strange, he hadn't heard the car pull up.

Taylor's fingers hesitated on the curtain edge, her reflection ghostly against the glass as she peered down at the black sedan parked at the curb. No government plates—just an ordinary car with tinted windows dark enough to swallow the morning light whole. "Did he say why he's early?" she asked, her breath fogging the cool glass.

She shrugged. "He's not alone. There's another agent with him and some woman".

Taylor sat on the edge of her bed, kicked off her shoes and put on the knee highs. Kayla was right, they did complete the outfit.

Taylor descended the stairs with exaggerated slowness, her knee socks catching on the carpet fibers with every step. The murmur of voices from the living room cut off abruptly as her foot hit the bottom step—that unnatural silence where you just know you've become the topic of conversation.

Agent Kellogg stood near the fireplace with the practiced stillness of someone accustomed to waiting—his charcoal suit blending into the wood paneling, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

Agent Cross stepped forward before Kellogg could speak—his navy suit pulling taut across shoulders that strained the fabric, his handshake brisk enough to make Taylor's fingers tingle. "DHS," he said by way of introduction, the acronym hanging between them like a warning. His grip lingered half a second too long, his thumb pressing against Taylor's pulse point in what might have been assessment or threat.

Homeland Security?

Taylor felt a bit of fear creep up her back. What was he doing here?

Agent Kellogg cleared his throat before introducing the fashionable young woman next to him as simply Hannah from some PR firm.

The woman—Hannah—smiled with the warmth of a seasoned talk-show host, her coral manicure flashing as she gestured toward the couch. "I'm here to help navigate your new... circumstances." Her gaze flicked to Taylor's pleated skirt and knee socks with professional approval. "That's a lovely ensemble, by the way. Very collegiate."

Taylor instinctively smoothed the skirt, then caught herself and stopped.

Agent Kellogg's knuckles whitened around his coffee mug as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Let's be clear—your rope-climbing video went viral in twelve countries," he said, his voice low and measured like a doctor delivering bad news. "We can't put that genie back in the bottle, but Hannah's going to teach you how to shake its hand instead of getting strangled by it."

Hannah crossed her legs with the precision of a ballet dancer, her coral-painted nails tapping against a tablet. "Think of me as your hype woman and damage control rolled into one," she said with a smile that didn't reach her hazel eyes. She swiped the screen and Taylor's own face stared back—footage from the gym, frozen mid-leap with ropes coiled around her thighs like vines. "This? Gold. But the comment section?" Another swipe revealed a cesspool of conspiracy theories and hormonal drooling. "Toxic waste."

Taylor's fingers dug into the couch cushions. Across from her, Kayla snorted into her orange juice. "Told you boys would lose their minds," she muttered, earning a sharp look from their mother.

Agent Cross cleared his throat—a sound like a gun being cocked. "Here's the play." He tossed a manila folder onto the coffee table, photos spilling out: paparazzi camped at the school gates, news vans outside their dentist's office, a drone shot of their backyard. "You're officially a DHS-protected individual now. That means surveillance details, press blackouts, and—" his gaze flicked to Taylor's knee socks with clinical detachment "—a curated public persona."

Hannah leaned forward, her jasmine perfume clashing with the stale coffee smell. "First rule: no more athletic displays outside controlled environments." She tapped the screen again, pulling up a mockup Instagram profile. "We'll feed the beast with staged content—you studying in the library, volunteering at animal shelters, that sort of wholesome nonsense."

Taylor's stomach lurched. The account already had 1.2 million fake followers. "I didn't agree to—"

"This will go up in 2 hours" Hannah continued, scrolling through the account, showing pictures that Taylor had definitely not taken.

Agent Cross's knuckles rapped against the coffee table. "You don't have a choice." His voice carried the finality of a judge's gavel. "That video's sending the wrong message. There's already boys out there wanting to get infected because they think they all can become Captain America with tits. Its a Goddamn shitshow"

Taylor's fingernails bit into her palms. She knew exactly which forums he was talking about—the same ones Tyler used to lurk. The realization curdled in her gut like spoiled milk.

Agent Kellogg cleared his throat. "Right now, we can't control V63. We can't contain it..." He paused, switching gears. "We can't predict where its going to prop up next. There is no vaccine, there is no natural immunity. The only thing we have going for us now is that the Goddamn thing isn't airborne".

"Wait, what?" asked Taylor and Kayla at the same time.

Agent Kellogg looked like a man who realized he just slipped up.

Taylor's pulse roared in her ears louder than Kellogg's sudden silence. The agents exchanged glances—that subtle, practiced shift of weight that meant damage control. Hannah's coral nails froze mid-tap against her tablet.

Kellogg adjusted his tie with practiced nonchalance, but Taylor saw the tremor in his fingers. "Complicated," he said, too quickly.

"You said it wasn't airborne!" Kayla gasped, pointing a finger at him. "What the hell does that even mean?"

Kellogg's sigh carried the weight of a man who'd just lost control of the briefing. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his wedding band glinting under the living room lights. "Simplest terms?" His voice dropped into the cadence of a parent explaining death to a child. "V63 spreads through fluid exchange. Saliva, blood, semen—"

Kayla's orange juice glass hit the coffee table with a sharp *clink*. "So kissing? Like how Taylor—" She caught herself, frowning at her part in it.

"Primary transmission vector, yes." Kellogg's thumb brushed his lapel where a CDC badge should've been. His gaze locked onto Taylor. "But airborne means coughing, sneezing, breathing the same air. This isn't that. Yet."

Yet? That was a scary thought.

It was even scarier that they'd been lied too for years. "So you're lying to us all then?"

Kellogg's sigh fogged his glasses as he removed them. "Standard containment protocol," he said, polishing the lenses with meticulous care. "Panic spreads faster than any virus." The lenses caught the morning light when he replaced them, turning his eyes into opaque rectangles. "Imagine schools shutting down nationwide because kids shared soda bottles. Or—" his gaze flicked to Kayla "—locker rooms becoming hot zones from sweat contact."

Their mother spoke up then. "So it passes from person to person" She looked at Kayla then Taylor. "Was it all just unlucky circumstance then?"

Agent Cross cleared his throat with the sound of a revolver's hammer cocking. He pulled out a manila folder worn at the edges, its surface mottled with coffee stains and what might have been dried blood. The documents inside whispered against each other as he spread them across the coffee table—pages so heavily redacted they looked like abstract art, black bars obscuring everything except random prepositions and the occasional ominous "WARNING."

Taylor leaned forward, her pleated skirt brushing against the manila folder's edge. One document caught her eye—a grainy surveillance photo paperclipped to a nearly blank page. The girl in the image couldn't have been older than sixteen, her dark curls framing a face frozen mid-laugh, one hand raised to tuck hair behind an ear. Completely ordinary except for the timestamp in the corner reading "12HRS POST-EXPOSURE" and the medical tag around her wrist.

12 hours? How?

"Do you recognize this girl at all?" Asked Cross, Taylor shook her head.

"Who is she?" she asked, still staring at the girl in the photo.

"Moira Bowen" Agent Cross said simply. "Subject Zero".

Taylor's breath caught in her throat—the words "Subject Zero" carried a weight that made the room tilt slightly. She reached for the photo, her fingers brushing the edge where the girl's—Moira's—smile was already fading at the corners under her touch. The timestamp glared up at her: 12 hours.

"Is she like me then?" she asked, concerned.

Agent Cross sighed. "Moira was one of the first, maybe even the first. There's a lot to sift through. She was an Alpha. I'm sure the media told you that it takes weeks for Alphas to change but that's a lie. Moira was infected and changed in twelve hours."

Taylor swallowed hard, glancing at Kayla—her sister's face had gone pale. Twelve hours. That was faster than any timeline they'd been given. Faster than Taylor's own transformation.

Agent Cross tapped the photo with a blunt fingertip. "Moira's transformation wasn't gradual. It was violent." His voice dropped, carrying the gravelly weight of someone who'd seen too much. "First gen Alphas didn't just change—they *erupted*. Bones reshaping overnight, muscle tissue regenerating faster than their skin could contain it." He flipped to another page—a medical scan showing what looked like a human silhouette caught mid-explosion, limbs elongated at grotesque angles. "Twelve hours after exposure, Moira Bowen could bench press a Harley Davidson."

Taylor's knee socks suddenly felt suffocating. She crossed her ankles tighter under the coffee table as Cross continued, "Initial containment was a joke. We treated them like quarantine cases—hospital gowns, IV drips, the works." A grim smile twisted his lips. "First Alpha broke through three-inch safety glass like it was cellophane. Ripped a steel door off its hinges to get to a male orderly."

Kayla made a small, strangled noise. Their mother's knuckles had gone white around her coffee mug.

Hannah's coral nails clicked against her tablet. "Media blackout kept it contained. I'm sure you remember all the business about the first kids being put in glass cages?"

"There was a horrible fire right, they all died?" Taylor said, remembering the tragedy.

Agent Kellogg rubbed his temple. "Officially, yes."

Agent Cross leaned forward, the leather couch creaking under his bulk. "Unofficially? We had seventeen Alphas secured in Facility Twelve when the northeast blackout hit. Backup generators failed—just for ninety-three seconds." His thumb traced a crescent-shaped scar on his palm absently. "Ninety-three seconds was all Moira needed."

Taylor's Gamma-enhanced hearing caught the tremor in Cross's breathing as he continued. "Security footage showed her snapping the titanium restraints like twigs. She didn't run—just walked down the corridor unlocking every cell." His coffee mug trembled slightly. "By the time emergency lights came on, all we found were bent bars and two security guards with dislocated jaws from where she'd... persuaded them to hand over keycards."

Kayla's orange juice sloshed as she set the glass down hard. "Jesus. Where are they now?"

Agent Kellogg looked at Agent Cross, who nodded. "Of the 17 who escaped, 3 were killed, 6 were caught and are currently in a secure, undisclosed location"

"And the others?" asked their mother.

Cross sighed. "They scattered to the wind. Infecting people here and there, making sure the virus spread. Every time we get close to one of them, they disappear" He looked directly at Taylor. "The only person in this room to ever run into one is you."

The color drained from Taylor's face. "I don't know..."

"Are you sure?" asked Agent Cross, raising an eyebrow.

Suddenly she knew. The girl. The one who kissed her.

She instinctively touched her lips. Kayla grabbed her other hand.

"We traced the text message you received" Agent Cross explained. "It was from a burner phone. Agents found it eventually in the trash. We lifted prints" He leaned forward and flipped a page in the file on the coffee table, showing fingerprints. He tapped them. "They were a match for Moira"

Taylor's fingers trembled against her lips—the same lips Moira had pressed hers against at Sierra's party. The memory unfolded with sudden, brutal clarity: the girl's dark curls brushing Taylor's cheek, the scent of cherry ChapStick, the way she'd whispered "You're going to be so beautiful" before pulling away.

Taylor's knees buckled, her pleated skirt brushing the carpet as she sank onto the couch's edge. The coffee table's cold surface pressed against her palms—real, solid, anchoring her against the vertigo of realization. "She kissed me," Taylor whispered, her voice cracking on the admission. "At Sierra's party. Just... just walked up and—"

Agent Cross sighed heavily. "I'm truly sorry this happened to you."

Taylor's vision tunneled, the agents' voices distorting as if underwater. The photo of Moira swam in her vision—that ordinary girl with her laughing eyes and medical bracelet—now rewritten in her mind as patient zero. The girl who'd kissed her. The girl who'd made her.

"Where is she now?" she finally asked.

Agent Cross exchanged a glance with Kellogg before answering. "We don't know," he admitted, the words landing like stones in the silent living room. "Moira's been off-grid since infecting you. But we have leads." He tapped another photo—a blurry CCTV still of a dark-haired figure scaling a fire escape with spider-like grace. "She favors university towns. College parties provide... ideal transmission environments."

Taylor's fingers twitched against her skirt pleats, the fabric suddenly feeling too thin, too flimsy against her thighs. The room's air thickened with unspoken implications—Moira wasn't just patient zero. She was hunting.

He showed another still but a different girl, in a different place. It was a party scene too and the boy she was getting close with was...

"Jason" Taylor gasped.

"He was at a family reunion in Seattle" Agent Cross said, Taylor nodded, remembering what Callie had told her. "He and his cousins were out partying. From what he tells us, the girl tried to come onto him, he pushed her away because of his sexual preferences and she spit in his face."

Taylor didn't like the jackass, she liked Jasmine even less but that was pretty low.

"What about Henry?' she asked, trying to piece things together.

"Some girl---most likely Moira---faked an injury. Blood all over. Henry got infected that way" Agent Kellogg whistled low. "We think she infected the two in Huntsville as well."

So the virus really wasn't airborne. It was carried by these fucktards and spread intentionally.

That was fucking messed up.

Taylor was floored. "So its them, its all?"

"At first yes" Agent Carson looked defeated. "Its got a mind of its own now. Sometimes accidents, sometimes on purpose. They started it but they're not the full cause. The virus is constantly mutating on its own as well. Your Gamma strain is different than from Moira's Alpha one. We're not sure why. All we know is that she and her friends like to create their own hotspots and watch the chaos roll out."

Taylor's fingers twitched "So I'm just... collateral damage?" The words tasted bitter—like chewing aluminum foil.

Neither Agent said anything. Kayla squeezed her hand tighter.

"You're you" her sister finally said. "Fuck Moira. Fuck all those other assholes. You're better than them in every possible way."

Agent Kellogg smiled. "She's not wrong actually" This time he flipped to another page in the file, this one less redacted than the others. "These are Moira's vitals, Moira's fitness tests. You're better than her. Stronger. Faster. Superior."

That was a scary thought. "Doesn't that put a target on me?" she asked, looking at them, waiting for someone to disagree.

Agent Kellogg finally spoke. "It was one of the reasons we hoped you would keep a low profile" He sighed. "We can't change that now. What we can do is protect you. Monitor you, keep an eye out for her."

Agent Cross leaned forward, his navy suit pulling taut across shoulders that suddenly seemed less like government-issue and more like prison bars. "Surveillance protocol starts now." He tapped his tablet, and a holographic grid shimmered above the coffee table—their neighborhood rendered in cold blue lines. "Three teams rotating eight-hour shifts. Plainclothes only. That black sedan?" He zoomed in on their street. "Gone within the hour. Next vehicle will be a UPS truck."

The hologram would have been cool if things weren't so damn scary for her.

Agent Cross's finger traced the holographic grid, his nail leaving temporary distortions in the blue light. "Bedroom windows are your weak points," he said, zooming in on Taylor's second-floor window with clinical precision. The hologram rendered her curtains as translucent veils—useless against high-resolution surveillance. "Assume every keystroke on your laptop is logged. Every text message archived." His gaze flicked to Kayla. "Yes, even the ones you delete."

Agent Cross tapped his tablet again, and the holographic neighborhood grid dissolved into a schematic of their house—every room glowing with pulsing red dots. "Motion sensors in every doorway," he said, pointing to the kitchen entryway where a dot blinked lazily. "Pressure plates under carpets—don't rearrange furniture." His finger slid to Taylor's bedroom, where three dots formed a triangle around her bed. "Audio pickups here, here, and here. They're sensitive enough to catch a whisper from thirty feet."

Agent Cross tapped his tablet again, and the holographic schematic rotated to display their backyard in lurid green wireframes. "Perimeter's rigged with microwave motion detectors," he said, pointing to ghostly lines that pulsed along the fence. "Step past the property line after curfew, and you'll trigger silent alarms at three separate command centers." His eyes locked onto Taylor's. "Not that you'd hear the sirens—response teams deploy with noise-dampened engines."

"What about my morning runs?" she asked, nervous they'd cancel them outright.

Agent Cross's smile didn't reach his eyes as he tapped his tablet—the hologram dissolving into a real-time satellite feed of their street. "Your runs are already mapped," he said, zooming in on Taylor's usual route with unsettling precision. Red dots pulsed at regular intervals where plainclothes agents would station themselves. "Think of them as invisible mile markers. Stray outside the corridor..." His thumb swiped, the map tilting to reveal an aerial view of the park where she'd raced Liz and Tasha. Three black SUVs materialized at the perimeter like chess pieces. "We'll redirect you gently."

Shit.

"One more thing, no more unnecessary physical displays to draw attention to yourself"

Agent Cross tapped his tablet again, summoning a holographic wristband that hovered above the coffee table. "You'll wear this," he said, rotating the image with a flick of his finger. The sleek silver band looked innocuous—like something Kayla might buy at the mall—but the pulsing green light at its center betrayed its purpose. "GPS, vitals monitor, and panic button all in one." His thumb brushed the hologram, making it expand to reveal microscopic needles lining the inner surface. "Microdermal adhesion. Can't be removed without triggering alerts."

"No sports either "Agent Kellogg added.

Hannah's coral-tipped fingers swiped across her tablet with practiced ease, her smile widening as she intercepted the tension. "Before you panic," she said, voice smooth as fresh ice, "let me show you the upside." The screen bloomed into a carousel of logos—Nike, Adidas, Lululemon—each sliding past with dollar amounts that made Taylor's throat tighten. "Endorsement offers started pouring in the moment that rope-climb video hit two million views."

Kayla snatched the tablet, her eyebrows climbing toward her hairline. "Holy shit—Under Armour wants to pay you six figures just to wear their sports bras?" Her finger stabbed at the screen before flipping to the next offer. "And Victoria's Secret wants you for their new 'Athletic Elegance' line?"

Hannah reclaimed the tablet with a chuckle, swiping to a familiar magazine masthead. "But this one's my favorite." Sports Illustrated's iconic cover template appeared, blank except for the words "Future Swimsuit Edition" and a placeholder silhouette. "They want you for next year's shoot. First non-professional athlete ever featured." Her manicured nail tapped the blank space where Taylor's transformed body would soon grace newsstands worldwide. "Historic."

Their mother finally spoke up. "I thought you wanted her to keep a low profile" She waved her hand at the tablet. "That is hardly low to me"

Agent Cross sighed. "We know" He looked at Taylor. "We can't stop it now. Our only play is to control it"

Taylor's fingers traced the edge of her pleated skirt, the fabric suddenly feeling both too heavy and too flimsy. The idea of millions seeing her—judging her—made her stomach flip. "I don't know how to model," she admitted softly.

Hannah's laugh was a practiced tinkle. "Sweetheart, with that bone structure?" She swiped to another screen—a side-by-side comparison of Taylor's face and a famous young supermodel named Vivienne. "You're genetically engineered for this. Literally." Her coral nail tapped the Sports Illustrated mockup again. "This isn't just money—it's narrative control. We put you in tasteful athletic wear instead of letting the internet Photoshop you onto porn sites."

"Can I think about it?" Taylor asked, not sure what to say or how to respond.

"Sure" Hannah said, shooting a look at Agent Cross before he could protest. "I'll send you the details. Let you and your mother go through it together. We don't have to rush this. You do what you want and when you say NO, that's the final answer"

Agent Kellogg looked at his watch. "I think we have to stop it here unless the girls want to be late for Taylor's second day back to school?"

Their mother sighed, standing abruptly. "Fine. But we're continuing this conversation tonight." She shot a look at Agent Cross that could've melted steel. "Full disclosure. No more surprises."

"Yes ma'am" the agent said with an apologetic bow. "It was not our intention to blindside you all like this"

They excused themselves after that and left.

Well the two agents left, Hannah was still there.

"I'm your ride for today" she said as if it was already decided.

Taylor and Kayla exchanged glances—another decision made for them.

"Guess I'm texting Jess to let her know" she said, taking out her phone to text her friend.

They waited while Kayla texted then turned to them with a big smile. "All good. So what do you drive?"

Hannah smiled. "You're gonna love it!"

It was then that Taylor realized that Hannah was no more than 25. She wasn't sure why she hadn't noticed before.

Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all, she thought, hopefully.

Author’s note: As I’m sure all of you know, comments are life blood to an author. I’m not begging or demanding, but I certainly would appreciate anything you have to say (or ask). It doesn’t have to be long and involved, just give me your reaction to the story. Thanks in advance...EOF