OnAHiatus
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(LIMITLESS) CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: ASHES
🕑 Added 2025-04-29 04:20:33 +0000 UTCThe room lights were dimmed to their lowest setting, but Taylor barely noticed. She sat rigid on the narrow bed the PRT had assigned her, staring blankly at the muted glow of the television mounted high in the corner.
The screen cycled the same footage on loop: ash-blackened wreckage, the broken skeleton of what had once been a gym, charred walls crumbling under the weight of the fire’s destruction.
"Suspected gang violence," the news anchor droned, voice too polished, too detached to mean anything.
Taylor muted the broadcast and let the silence crush her instead.
The smell of smoke still clung to her, no matter how many times she had scrubbed her body raw. Her hair, clean but still damp, clung stubbornly to her forehead. And her hands—trembling slightly—sat uselessly in her lap.
No bruises. No cuts. No sign she had thrown herself into the wreckage after swearing, pulling at shattered beams and twisted steel until the responders dragged her back.
The forcefield had kept her intact.
Physically, at least.
Keith was gone.
Gone because of her.
Because she hadn't been there.
Because she hadn't been enough.
She flexed her fingers once, twice. The skin on her hands was flawless. Even if she had lost control of her forcefield, any injury would have mended in seconds. And yet, she could still feel the rough scrape of concrete against her palms, the stubborn grit under her nails that wasn't really there.
The memory of helplessness was worse than any injury could have been.
A soft knock came at the door. Taylor barely registered it.
She didn't move
Then her phone buzzed against the mattress—an official PRT notification. After a long moment, she forced herself to pick it up, reading the notification through blurred vision:
WARD ORIENTATION POSTPONED.
RE: Hebert, Taylor.
New Date TBD.
Of course.
Even the PRT was walking on eggshells around her now.
The Wards—the other kids they were supposed to introduce her to—were being kept away.
Like she was a bomb still ticking down.
She could almost hear what they must be whispering in their offices:
She’s unstable.
Not ready.
Liability.
Taylor lowered the phone to her lap, feeling the weight settle heavier on her chest. Isolation wrapped itself around her ribs and squeezed.
Another knock. Louder this time. More insistent.
"Taylor?" a voice called gently.
She recognized it instantly—Miss Militia. Always careful. Always kind in a way that made Taylor flinch more than if she’d been shouted at.
Taylor still didn’t answer.
The door cracked open, and Miss Militia peeked inside before entering, expression somber. She wasn’t in costume now—just a simple dark green jacket, jeans, hair tied back—but her lower face was still covered by a scarf.
“I know you have received the message,” she said, voice low. “We can reschedule the orientation. As long as you need.”
Taylor stared past her, unblinking, to the television where the ruins of her old life was displayed in black-and-white replay.
Miss Militia hesitated. Then, softer, almost cautiously:
“Your father’s here.”
Those words got through the fog in Taylor’s head.
Her heart kicked painfully against her ribs. Her head jerked up—an instinct more than a decision—and she met Miss Militia’s gaze for the first time.
“He’s waiting in one of the private rooms,” the woman continued. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Taylor said nothing. She couldn’t seem to find her voice, her lungs suddenly too small, too tight. A thousand thoughts warring in her head—none of them clear, none of them kind to her.
Miss Militia didn’t press. She just nodded once, respectfully, and stepped back out into the hall to give her space, though she left the door slightly ajar.
Still, Taylor was alone again.
The silence pressed in harder, heavier.
She stared down at her hands, flexed them again.
Perfect. Unscarred. Protected.
Useless.
Keith was dead.
The gym was ashes.
And the last thing tethering her to her old world—her father—was waiting for her on the other side of that door. Just mere steps away.
Taylor closed her eyes.
And breathed.
Comments
OnAHiatus
Thank you. And yeah, the next two chapters will be emotional. Then we move on to the next arc
Dragonin
:( Still good!
