The adrenaline was a tide, and it was going out.
In its wake, it left Taylor a dead weight in Isaac's arms. She was limp, her head lolling slightly against his shoulder, her breathing shallow and ragged. The fight had drained everything out of her—the rage, the fear, the vindication. All that was left was the shaking and the pain.
Isaac walked with a smooth, gliding gait that ate up the distance to the nurse's office, quickly overtaking Ms. Knott. He didn't jostle Taylor, keeping his steps rhythmic and steady.
"I'm sorry," Taylor whispered.
The words were barely audible, muffled against his shirt.
Isaac didn't break stride. "For what?"
"For... starting trouble," Taylor murmured, her voice thick with regret. "For dragging Lookout into it. Nate's face... Brandon… Samantha. I got them all hurt. I made the Trio everyone's problem."
"It was already everyone's problem," Isaac said simply. "But why did you swing first? That wasn't like you."
Taylor hesitated. She felt the instinct to deflect, to hide the humiliation, but she pushed past it. She owed him the truth. He had been nice to her, defending her, and he gave her a place to belong.
Emma was nice too, an insidious thought whispered, but she crushed it.
"Emma..." Taylor started, then swallowed hard. "She made a joke. About my mom."
Isaac's grip tightened fractionally, but he said nothing.
"She said I call my mommy when I get uncomfortable," Taylor whispered, the words tumbling out. "And then she said... 'We wouldn't want that, right? Her mom could be doing something important, like driving.'"
She flinched at her own words.
"My mom died in a car crash," she confessed. "Texting while driving. Emma knew. She was my best friend back then. She even cried with me when I was told the news."
Isaac listened, his expression unreadable.
Inside his mind, the Operator was not so calm. Betrayal of that magnitude was terrible enough, but to mock a dead mother? It was beyond low. He remembered the hazy, static-filled memory of his own biological mother—a face he wouldn't even be able to recall if not for the Drifter. He remembered Margulis, the woman who had sacrificed her own eyes to save them, only to be executed by the very people she served. He remembered the Lotus, Natah, and the despair he felt when she fell into the void.
If someone had taken those memories, those women, and twisted them into a punchline for their sick amusement?
Well, he'd killed for far less.
"I understand," he said quietly.
Taylor looked up, surprised.
"I'm… familiar with loss," Isaac admitted, his voice soft but firm. "I know that some wounds don't close. They just scar over. That picking at them hurts just as much as the first cut."
Taylor gave him another look, though it was harder for Isaac to read her emotion given the swelling setting in.
"Just…" He adjusted her in his arms, shifting her weight. "Don't let her live in your head, Taylor. That's how she wins even when she loses. You have to accept the memory, acknowledge the pain, and move beyond its reach."
There was a moment of silence and understanding between the two as he walked.
"You sound just like him," she murmured, referring to Tenno, his alter ego.
"Him must be wise," Isaac said, a faint smirk touching his lips. "But seriously. Don't blame yourself for defending your dignity or your mother's. If I had been in your shoes, Emma would have to eat through a straw for her words."
Taylor blinked, startled by the bluntness, but a small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Thanks, Isaac."
"You don't need to thank me." He sighed. "This is my fault anyways. I shouldn't have left you alone. I thought the group would be enough of a deterrent. I underestimated how far they would push. That's on me."
"No."
Taylor's voice was stronger now, surprising herself. She shook her head, wincing at the movement. "Don't. Don't try to fix it by blaming yourself. You said you wouldn't always be there from the start. I knew that. We all did."
She looked at him, her eyes sharp behind the lenses of her glasses. "This was inevitable. The Trio... they weren't going to stop even if you were there. I know them."
Isaac looked at her for a long moment, then gave a short nod.
"Fair enough."
They reached the nurse's office. Isaac pushed the door open with his hip. The room was already buzzing with low groans and the smell of antiseptic.
To the right of the room, separated by a flimsy blue curtain, he could hear the sharp, nasally whining of Emma. She was complaining about the pain, her voice muffled by the tissue pressed to her nose. Sophia was shooting dirty looks through the gap in the curtain.
Isaac ignored them.
The nurse, a frazzled woman named Mrs. Hernandez, looked up with wide eyes. "Oh my god! Put her on bed three, quickly!"
Isaac obeyed, gently lowering Taylor onto the cot. He stepped back, giving the nurse room to work, but he didn't leave.
"You good?" he asked Taylor.
She nodded, though she looked pale. "Yeah. Thanks again, Isaac."
"Goodness, child," Mrs. Hernandez murmured, pulling on a pair of gloves. "What happened out there?"
Taylor opened her mouth to speak, but Isaac cut in smoothly. "A fight in the hallway. She took the worst of it."
Mrs. Hernandez clicked her tongue disapprovingly, already pressing a cold pack to Taylor's jaw. "I'll need to call your parents, dear. And the principal will want statements."
"Principal's already on that," he informed her. "We've got more incoming, by the way."
Ms. Knott arrived herding the rest of the wounded Lookout members into the cramped space. Nate limped in with Brandon and a few other boys. Samantha and the other girls followed.
The nurse's office suddenly felt very small.
"Alright, alright," Mrs. Hernandez said, waving her hands. "Give her some space. You girls, sit on the benches. You boys, find a corner. I'll get to everyone."
Isaac didn't retreat with the others. Instead, he moved to the supply cabinet.
"Do you need help?" he asked.
Mrs. Hernandez looked at him, surprised. "I appreciate the offer, but—"
"I have first aid training," Isaac explained. "I can handle the minor injuries while you focus on the bigger ones like Taylor, Nate, and Emma. Sophia should be fine though, she just had the wind knocked out of her."
If looks could kill, the Tenno would have burned through three revives from the death glare Emma's corner was giving him.
The nurse hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded reluctantly. "Fine. There's gauze and antiseptic in the second drawer. Ice packs in the mini-fridge."
Isaac got to work.
He moved through the cramped office quietly. He cleaned the scrape on Brandon's cheek, pressing an alcohol pad to the wound with careful pressure. He wrapped Nate's knuckles where the skin had split during the fight. He helped Samantha ice the bruise forming on her forearm and even tended to the Trio's hangers-on.
He was just as gentle with them as he was with Lookout, though they very pointedly avoided his gaze when he was close.
Nate watched him with a furrowed brow. "Dude, where did you learn to do this?"
"My dad and I travel a lot," Isaac said smoothly. "So I figured first aid was a useful skill to pick up in case of an emergency."
Brandon winced as Isaac reapplied the cold pack to his cheek. "You really are full of surprises."
"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents."
Behind the blue curtain, Emma's whining continued unabated.
"It hurts," she complained nasally. "I can't breathe."
"Keep the ice on it," Mrs. Hernandez called back, her patience clearly wearing thin. "The paramedics will be here soon."
Isaac didn't look up from his work. He finished wrapping Samantha's arm and moved to check on Jess, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. Her nose wasn't broken, but it was red and tender.
"Hey, you did good today," Isaac told her quietly.
Jess looked up, startled. "I didn't do much. My contribution to the fight was just me and Madison pulling at each other's hair until some boy accidentally hit me in the nose."
"You didn't run," Isaac said with an amused smirk. "And that's good enough in my books."
He moved back to the center of the room, surveying the group. They were banged up, bruised, and probably facing suspension. But they had shown up for each other. Isaac would make sure to reward that bravery and loyalty.
Mrs. Hernandez finished her preliminary examination of Taylor and stepped back, pulling off her gloves. "No broken bones, but you're going to have quite a shiner tomorrow."
Taylor nodded, her good eye finding Isaac across the room.
The nurse turned to the rest of the group, clipboard in hand. "I need names. All of you. For the incident report."
One by one, they gave their names. Isaac watched as she wrote them down, the scratch of the pen loud in the sudden quiet.
When she finished, she looked at the group with a tired expression. "Since the principal is calling parents. Most of you should wait here until they arrive. But those of you with minor injuries or no injuries..." She looked specifically at Isaac. "You should head back to lunch or class."
Isaac nodded. He turned to the Lookout members.
"I have to go," he said. "But before I do..."
He looked at each of them in turn. Nate, with his swollen eye. Brandon, with his bruised cheek. Samantha, nursing her arm. Jess, tenderly touching her nose. The others who had rushed in when the text went out.
"Thank you," Isaac said quietly. "Not just for jumping in for Taylor. For helping each other. You guys make me proud."
Nate tried to grin, but it looked painful. "Sheesh, you sound like a dad."
"Seriously," Brandon added. "How about just getting us some pizza as repayment for our hard work?"
"Sure, I'll even do you guys one better when this mess blows over," he promised.
He turned to Taylor one last time. Her face was already discoloring, the bruises blooming dark against her pale skin. But her eye, the one not swollen shut, was clear.
"Rest up," he said. "I'll try and check on you later."
Taylor managed a small nod.
Isaac slipped out of the nurse's office, the door clicking shut behind him.
----------------------------
The cafeteria was a low hum of anxious energy when Isaac walked in.
Word traveled fast in Winslow, but rumors traveled faster. By the time he grabbed a tray and slid into the seat at the Lookout table, the story had already mutated into something out of an action movie.
"I'm telling you, man, I heard he suplexed Sophia!" a freshman was saying excitedly to a girl next to him. "Just picked her up and bam! Body-slammed her into the floor!"
"No way," the girl argued. "But I heard Taylor went bonkers. Like, completely feral. She supposedly bit Emma."
Isaac set his tray down with a clatter, cutting through the chatter. The table fell silent, all eyes turning to him.
"I didn't suplex anyone," Isaac said, sitting down. "And Taylor didn't bite anyone from what I know."
More questions bombarded him but he mostly ignored them. He looked around the table, counting heads. It was about half the usual group. His gaze landed on Henry. The boy was picking at his food, looking unusually subdued.
"Henry," Isaac called out.
Henry flinched slightly, looking up. "Yeah?"
"You walked with us when we left class," Isaac said, tilting his head. "But I didn't see you in the hallway."
Henry shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, uh... about that."
He adjusted his glasses, avoiding eye contact. "I saw the Trio gathering their crew. So I knew something was gonna go down. And I figured if I stayed, I'd just be another body in the way. So I... dipped."
The table was silent. Some of the members looked at Henry with raised brows, others with disappointment. Running away when members had fought for each other wasn't a good look.
"But," Henry added quickly, "I pulled out my phone the second I turned the corner. I messaged the group chat. I told everyone to get to B-Hall fast, and rallied the backup."
He looked down at his tray. "I know it's not as cool as punching someone, but—"
Isaac reached out and put a hand on Henry's shoulder. Henry jumped, his eyes snapping up.
"Good work," Isaac said genuinely.
Henry blinked, confused. "What?"
"We're a support group, not a gang. I never expected all our members to be willing to fight." Isaac said, his voice firm as his eyes traveled to meet everyone at the table. "I'd even prefer everyone to use violence as a last resort. Besides, If you hadn't sent that text, things would have been a lot worse for Taylor and them. So, thank you."
Following Isaac's example, the others also thanked and congratulated Henry.
Henry relaxed, a small, relieved smile touching his face. "Oh. Uh. Thanks."
Isaac turned his attention to Carlos, who looked guilty.
"Hey Big Bro," Carlos said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. My phone was in my locker. By the time I figured out something was going down, it was already over. I saw the teachers running down the hall and..."
"Don't sweat it," Isaac interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "Everything was taken care of."
"Still," Carlos muttered. "Sucks I missed it."
Isaac leaned back. "Trust me, you didn't miss much. Just a lot of noise and bruised knuckles."
Carlos hesitated, then asked the question that seemed to be on everyone's mind. "Soo… did Taylor start it? I mean, I know Emma's a bitch, but Taylor just doesn't seem the type to start something like that."
Isaac's expression cooled. He picked up his milk carton, turning it over in his hands.
"She did" he said simply. "I won't say why. That's Taylor's business. But..." He looked Carlos dead in the eye. "If someone did to you what Emma did to her, just about anyone in those shoes would have done the same thing. So don't judge her too harshly, alright? She was pushed past the breaking point."
Carlos nodded immediately, his expression serious. "Of course, big bro. I wasn't judging. Just... surprised. I get it."
Isaac nodded back. "Good."
The tension at the table dissipated. The conversation shifted, turning into lighter banter and gossip as the group ate. Isaac chatted with them, laughing at jokes and offering input, but a part of his mind was already drifting toward the meeting with the PRT later that afternoon.
The rest of the lunch period passed without incident.
When the bell rang, Isaac stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"I'll catch you guys later," he said.
He headed to his next class with the members who shared it with him, sliding into his seat just as the second bell rang. But before the teacher could even open his mouth, the intercom crackled to life.
"Isaac Dax, please report to the Principal's office immediately," the secretary's voice announced. "Isaac Dax to the Principal's office."
Isaac didn't smile, though he wanted to. He stood up, ignoring the curious stares of his classmates, and walked out.
The walk to the office was familiar by now. He nodded to the receptionist, who gestured for him to go straight in.
When he opened the door, the scene was exactly as he expected.
Principal Blackwell was seated behind her desk, looking exhausted and sitting in the chair opposite her was Umbra.
The Warframe was dressed in his "dad disguise" again, this time in a crisp new red suit. The pair of dark sunglasses that hid his eyes remained the same. He sat with the rigid posture of a soldier at attention, hands folded in his lap. He looked like the most terrifying businessman on the planet.
"Ah, Isaac," Blackwell said, standing up. "Please, sit."
Isaac sat in the empty chair next to Umbra. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes," Blackwell said. She smoothed her blazer in a way he was beginning to realize was a nervous tick. "I've explained the situation to your father. I wanted to assure him—and you—that Winslow takes this kind of violence very seriously."
She shot a nervous glance at Umbra, who hadn't moved a muscle.
"Given your family's... generous donation... and the circumstances of the altercation," she continued quickly, "we are prepared to be lenient. We understand that you intervened to protect a student who was being assaulted. While we cannot condone fighting, we recognize that you were trying to de-escalate a volatile situation that had already turned violent."
She cleared her throat. "I want to reassure your father that we will take great care to ensure such an altercation—where you are forced to put your hands on another student to help a friend—will not happen again."
Isaac glanced at Umbra. The Warframe didn't speak. He simply turned his head slightly toward him and made multiple small gestures with his fingers.
Isaac turned back to Blackwell. "My dad appreciates that, Principal Blackwell. He's glad the school is taking steps to improve security." He paused, his expression becoming almost exaggeratedly disgruntled. "However, given the... intensity of today, and the fact that my father needs to discuss some... matters regarding my school conduct with me, he's decided to pull me out early."
Blackwell blinked. "Pull you out? But classes aren't over for another two hours."
"I'm not the boss, so take it up with him," Isaac murmured softly, channeling a bit of teenage grump in his voice. "Apparently, we need to have an important discussion about school fights and responsibility."
Umbra gave a single, slow nod and grabbed Isaac by the arm.
Blackwell looked between the two of them, then shrugged, making the easy decision.
"I... see, well, if that's what you feel is best. I'll write you a dismissal note." She scribbled something on a pad, tore it off, and handed it to Isaac. "And Isaac? Please tell your friends that we expect better behavior moving forward."
"I will," Isaac said, taking the note.
Umbra stood up, Isaac rising with him.
"Have a good day, Principal Blackwell," Isaac said.
Blackwell nodded, her smile tight. "You too."
They walked out of the office. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Isaac let out a breath.
"Nice suit," he muttered under his breath.
Umbra didn't respond—he couldn't—but he reached up and tugged at the collar of the suit jacket with two fingers. A gesture of annoyance that revealed hints of Warframe armor underneath the clothes.
Isaac smirked.
"Come on, 'Dad'. Let's get home. Wouldn't want to miss our meeting."
---------------
The atmosphere in Principal Blackwell's office was heavy, charged with a tension that set Danny Hebert's teeth on edge.
He sat stiffly in the chair next to Taylor, his hands clenched into tight fists on his knees to hide the trembling. Every time he looked at his daughter—her split lip, the ugly bruising already blooming on her jaw, the way she hunched over protectively—a fresh wave of cold, impotent rage washed over him.
He had gotten the call at work from the secretary that he could hardly remember through the panic. All he knew was that it said Taylor was in a fight. Come immediately.
The drive over had been a blur of red lights and spiraling panic. He had prepared himself on the drive over. He had steeled himself to face the parents of whichever gang-affiliated thugs had finally cornered his girl. He had rehearsed what he would say to Blackwell.
But when he walked in, the scene hadn't matched the script in his head at all.
Across the room, Zoe Barnes sat with an arm around a sobbing Emma. The redhead held a bloody wad of gauze to her nose, her mascara running in dark rivers down her cheeks.
Emma.
Danny felt a deep, confusing sense of disorientation. Emma Barnes. The girl who had been Taylor's best friend since they were in diapers. The girl who called him "Uncle Danny" and had spent countless nights in their living room.
She got into a fight with Emma?
It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. He knew things had been strained between them lately—Taylor had been distant, quiet, speaking of her less and less—but he had attributed that to the usual teenage growing pains. He never imagined... this.
He looked back at Taylor. She stared at the floor, her jaw set, her eyes hidden behind her glasses. She looked hard, closed off.
I don't understand, Danny thought, his throat tight. Taylor doesn't fight. She doesn't hit people.
"Mr. Hebert," Blackwell began, but Danny held up a hand, his eyes on Emma.
"Emma," he said, his voice strained. "You and Taylor... you used to be like sisters. I know things have been distant lately, but... Taylor wouldn't just attack you."
Emma sniffled, pulling the gauze away just enough to show the swelling. Her voice was thick, nasal, and trembling.
"I thought so too, Mr. Hebert," she whimpered, tears tracking through her makeup. "I really did. But... she changed. She changed so much this year. She's been acting out. Getting aggressive."
Another tear fell from her eye.
"It's those new friends, Mr. Hebert," Emma continued. "Especially that Isaac boy."
Danny stiffened. The name hit him like a lighting bolt.
Isaac.
"Isaac?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing as he turned to Taylor.
The same boy who had 'stopped by' for a history project this morning? The boy Taylor was willing to lie to him to hide?
"Yes," Emma said, nodding vigorously. "Isaac Dax. The new kid. He's... he's bad news. He started a huge riot on his very first day! He's a thug. And ever since Taylor started hanging out with him and his gang, she's been acting different. She broke my nose, Mr. Hebert! Out of nowhere! We didn't want to fight. We were just trying to be nice."
Danny's face went pale, then red. The pieces were clicking together in his head.
"Taylor," Danny said, his voice low and dangerous. "The boy this morning, is he this thug Emma is talking about?"
Taylor flinched. "Dad, he's not a thug. Yes, he got into a fight on his first day, but—"
That was all he needed to hear.
"I knew something was wrong!" Danny snapped, his voice rising. He stood up, unable to sit still. "I had a bad feeling about you sneaking out, about the secrets, and the changes! And now you're getting into fights? Breaking your best friend's nose? That's not you, Taylor! That's him!"
"He didn't start it!" Taylor shouted back, her own temper flaring. "He wasn't even there when it started! I threw the punch!"
"Because he's been filling your head with this... this gang garbage!" Danny gestured wildly. "Can't you see you're hanging out with a delinquent, Taylor! You're grounded. You are never seeing that boy again.
"He didn't do anything!" Taylor screamed.
The room fell silent. The force of her shout startled Danny, silencing the tirade on his tongue. It wasn't a shout of teenage rebellion; it was raw, agonized pain.
Taylor stood up. Her ribs screamed in protest, and her lip throbbed, but she ignored it. She looked past him, past Zoe Barnes, and locked eyes with Blackwell.
"My mother is dead."
The words hung in the air like a gunshot.
Danny stopped, his breath catching in his throat. The anger drained out of him instantly, leaving him cold.
Annette.
Taylor didn't look at Emma. She stared straight at the Principal, her voice shaking but audible.
"She's been dead for three years. And today... Emma decided to remind me that she died because she was texting while driving. She told the whole hallway that I cried for a week after the funeral just to humiliate me. She called my mother nothing."
Taylor turned slowly to face Danny. The betrayal in her eyes cut him deeper than any knife.
"She brought up Mom, Dad," Taylor said, her voice cracking. "She used her to make me look weak. That's why I hit her. It wasn't Isaac. It wasn't a gang. It was because she spat on Mom's grave."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Danny felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. He looked at Taylor—really looked at her—and saw the pain she had been carrying. He looked at Emma, the girl he had known since she was a toddler, the girl who had been like a second daughter to Annette.
She mocked Annette? She used her death... as a joke?
He couldn't believe it.
"She's lying!" Emma cried out, her voice pitching up in panic. "I didn't say that! I would never say that about Aunt Annette! Taylor's just making it up to get out of trouble!"
"Danny, please," Zoe said, looking between the two girls, uncertainty creeping into her voice. "You know Emma. She wouldn't..."
"Mrs. Barnes," Principal Blackwell interrupted, her voice cutting through the tension. She adjusted her glasses, looking down at the file on her desk. "I have statements from over six students who were in the immediate vicinity. They corroborate Taylor's account regarding the specific... nature of the teasing."
Blackwell read aloud, her tone flat and clinical. "'Emma Barnes stated, and I quote: "Her mom could be doing something important right now, like driving."' And "She cried for a whole week. Over nothing.""
The room went dead silent.
Emma's face twisted. The tearful mask she had been wearing slipped completely. She scowled at Blackwell, a flash of pure, unadulterated hatred in her eyes that stripped away every ounce of the innocent victim persona she had been crafting.
But it only lasted a second.
Emma seemed to realize where she was and who she was sitting next to. The scowl vanished, replaced by a look of wide-eyed panic when she saw her mother had caught the momentary breach in her mask.
The color had drained from Zoe's face, she looked at her daughter like she was seeing a stranger.
"Emma?" Zoe whispered, horror coloring her tone. "You... you actually said that?"
"I... Mom, I..." Emma stammered. She tried to grab Zoe's hand, but Zoe pulled away. "You don't actually believe them right, mom?"
"Annette was my friend," Zoe said, her voice thick with emotion. "She was OUR friend. Christ, she practically raised you with me. And you... you used her death to mock Taylor?"
"She started it!" Emma yelled, tears—real ones this time—springing to her eyes. "She thinks she's so much better than me! She—"
"Stop," Zoe cut her off. Her voice was quiet, but it carried a sharp, disciplinary weight that made Emma flinch. "Just... stop."
Zoe stood up. She looked at Danny, her expression a mix of profound shame and pity.
"Danny... I... I don't know what to say," Zoe said, her voice cracking. "I am so sorry. I didn't know she was capable of... of this."
Danny couldn't speak. He felt sick. He looked at Taylor, who was staring at the floor, hugging her arms around herself. He had just yelled at his daughter—his daughter who had been mourning in silence—for defending the memory of her mother.
Zoe turned to Blackwell, her face pale but composed. "I'm taking Emma home. We will... we will handle this as a family. Please give whatever disciplinary measure you believe is necessary."
She grabbed Emma's arm, her grip tight and unforgiving.
"Get up. Now," Zoe ordered.
Emma stumbled after her mother, throwing one last look at Taylor, but Taylor didn't look back.
As the door clicked shut behind them, the silence returned. It pressed down on Danny, heavy and accusing.
He turned to Taylor, reaching out a hand, but Taylor pulled away, flinching.
She flinched from me.
"Taylor," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Taylor didn't respond. She just sat back down, staring at the floor, exhausted.
Blackwell cleared her throat. The sound was loud in the quiet room.
"Mr. Hebert," Blackwell said, her voice clipped. "Given the circumstances... I think it's best if you take Taylor home for the rest of the day. We will... discuss disciplinary actions for all parties involved later."
Danny nodded numbly. He stood up, his movements slow and heavy. He wanted to apologize again, to explain, but what could he say?
"Come on, kiddo," he spoke softly.
Taylor stood up, wincing as she grabbed her bag. She walked out of the office without a word, leaving Danny to follow in her wake, the weight of his mistake settling heavily on his shoulders.