Taylor stared at Isaac like she was seeing him for the first time as the last of his words faded into the embarrassingly loud cheers around the table.
Growing up with a mother who taught English—and inheriting her love of books along with it—Taylor had been exposed to more speeches than most people her age. Fictional ones, historical ones, and plenty delivered by real people with real power. That wasn't even counting the countless speeches she'd heard over the years on the radio, online, or on TV from capes she admired—Alexandria, Armsmaster, Legend. If anyone tried to tell her she couldn't recognize a good speech when she heard one, she'd argue them into the ground.
And Isaac's had been good.
He hadn't raised his voice like he was declaring victory or tried to loom larger than life. He hadn't even played to the crowd or fed off their attention. If anything, he'd seemed almost indifferent to how enamored they already were.
Instead, he'd done something far more effective.
He'd set boundaries before ever claiming authority.
He'd offered solidarity instead of control.
And most impressively—at least to Taylor—he hadn't positioned himself as the solution to everyone's problems. He'd made it clear that his support depended on people looking out for each other, not just hiding behind him.
The confidence with which he said all of that was the same sureness and sincerity he had earlier, outside Gladly's classroom, when he boldly declared he liked her. That he valued her. That he wanted to know her more. That he wouldn't leave her to deal with the trio, even when she'd been suspicious and openly hostile toward him.
Hearing him say all that with his annoyingly charming smile had been almost as embarrassing as it was touching. Because Isaac, for all his way with words, seemed intent on choosing the most blunt and easy to misinterpret way of saying what he meant then.
That he liked her as a person and wanted to be friends.
Still, regardless of his shortcomings, his words had reached her. Maybe even more than Umbra's had. Because while Umbra's words last night had been directed at a hero. At someone who'd proven themself as exceptional in a literal trial by fire.
Isaac's weren't.
They'd been meant for just Taylor Hebert.
The bullied nobody. The unwanted girl. The one people looked past or stepped on without thinking.
It made her earlier doubts about Isaac—about whether he was just playing some long joke, or positioning himself to hurt her later—feel thin in the face of that sincerity. Embarrassingly so.
Yet still—she couldn't stop new ones from forming.
Something about Isaac didn't add up
He was strong. Abundantly so considering almost everyone at this table carried some injury from yesterday's fight, except him. Smart too—she'd seen it in how fast he picked things up and in how he talked. Charismatic enough that people gravitated toward him after just two days here. And wealthy enough that his father could apparently bribe the principal without blinking.
That alone should have put him at or near the top of the food chain anywhere else.
A good high school like Arcadia or Immaculata would've snatched him up instantly if he applied there.
And while Taylor didn't hate Brockton Bay, despite everything it put her through, she wasn't blind to its problems. Most of it was a dump on the edge of collapse and it was overrun with villains. Any parent with money, options, and a sense of self-preservation—especially with a Black son—would've looked at the city's neo-Nazi population alone and kept driving.
Yet his dad had chosen to move them here and put his son in Winslow.
It didn't make sense.
Then there was the way he'd handled the crowd. His initial surprise at his 'fan club' seemed genuine—but the moment he realized what was happening, he hadn't shown uncertainty or hesitation. He'd stepped into leadership like it was familiar territory.
In short, he was suspicious. Deeply so.
He had to be hiding something. Taylor just knew it. Could feel it in her gut.
And yet… as he laughed quietly with the others, asking names, listening, making an effort to remember faces—faces that would soon be depending on him—she realized she was smiling.
Just a little. So subtle she barely noticed it herself.
Because for all her doubts, for all the unanswered questions piling up around him, Isaac had stood up for her. Publicly. Without waiting for her to get humiliated by the trio before stepping in and without asking for anything in return beyond her company.
Looking back on that moment with the perspective of him she had now, she was sure that even rejecting his offer of friendship and brushing him off wouldn't have stopped him from defending her later on anyways.
So she told herself she could figure him out later. That she could keep her guard up and still enjoy this small, little friendship for what it was. That poking too hard right now would only ruin it.
Taylor felt an elbow nudge her lightly, just enough to pull her out of her thoughts.
"Hey," Isaac said, pitching his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Need your input."
Taylor blinked in confusion. "On what?"
He gestured vaguely toward Nate, Brandon, Carlos and a few others, who were mid-argument. "A name. For the cla—" He paused, catching himself. "—group."
She wished she missed the near-slip.
He'd meant to say Clan.
The word and all the insinuations that it brought bounced around in her head and she had to bite down on a reaction before it showed on her face.
"Oh," she said instead, carefully neutral. "Right. The… group."
"Yeah," Isaac continued, rubbing the back of his neck like this was suddenly awkward. "Calling them my 'fan club' feels… demeaning. Like I'm one ego trip away from being some stuck up movie star."
Despite herself, she snorted.
That earned her a grin. "See? That's the reaction I want to avoid. No one will take them seriously if it's called that."
"So what are the options?" she asked.
"Well," he said smugly, like he was impressed with himself, "my first thought was 'the Outsiders.'"
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "That's… actually not bad."
It was certainly better than anything she could think of on a first try.
"I thought so," he preened, smile going from smug to just pleased. "Kind of fits, right?"
She rolled her eyes. " Yeah, so why the argument?"
Nate, overhearing them, turned from the argument to face her. "Because it sounds way too close to the Undersiders."
Taylor frowned in confusion, not knowing what group he was referring to. "The what?"
"Local villain crew," Nate explained flippantly. "Thieves, mostly. They hit other villains sometimes, too."
Taylor absorbed that quietly, filing the name of the villains away for later research. "Thanks for telling me. I can see why that'd be a bad idea."
Isaac groaned in annoyance at her agreeing with him.
"Right?" Nate said happily. "Last thing we need is people thinking we're trying to copy a villain gang, or worse, be part of it."
She nodded, already thinking of the many ways that could go poorly for them in a school filled with the gangs they rob.
"Well," Isaac chimed in, "got any ideas? Because we've been talking for a while and at this rate we'll be stuck on this all period."
Taylor didn't answer right away. Names weren't exactly her strong suit. She knew that. Every time she'd tried to name her hero persona—they'd come terrible or too villain-like.
Still… he'd asked for her help.
"What about something descriptive instead of cool or catchy?" she offered. "Like… I don't know. 'Peer Support.' Or 'Lookout.' Something that says what you actually do."
There was a pause in most conversations around her as she gave out her answer. Just about everyone was waiting to hear how the idea was received.
Nate made a face. "That sounds like a school club."
Brandon nodded his head in agreement before giving his own two cents. "Or a hotline."
"Yeah," Nate added. "Like, 'press one if you're being bullied.'"
Her shoulders tensed, embarrassment and fear creeping in as others around chuckled at what he said, but she forced herself not to withdraw. She took silent breaths and reminded herself that they weren't laughing at her. They weren't making fun of her. They just found what Nate said funny.
"I'm just saying," Taylor continued, pushing through the stirring anxiety, "names that try too hard to sound cool usually end up doing the opposite. If this is about people not being isolated or anti-bullying then the name should reflect that. Not… posturing."
She took a glance at Isaac, his expression thoughtful and impressed.
"Huh," he said slowly. "That's a good point Taylor, I agree."
Brandon glanced between them. "You saying we should name ourselves something boring on purpose?"
"I'm saying," Taylor replied, meeting his gaze, "that us sounding cool matters less than sounding honest."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then a chorus of agreement passed over the group.
Nate sighed, realizing that the decision was as good as made. "We can workshop it later but I think for now, Lookout as a place holder name will do just fine. All in agreement, raise your hand and say "I.""
All around the table people raised their hands and Isaac smiled at her as he raised his.
"I," he said loudly before saying quietly. "See that's why I wanted your input."
"Thanks," Taylor murmured as she looked away, heat creeping into her cheeks, but this time she didn't try to hide the small, pleased smile that followed.
"I should be the one thanking you," He whispered as I sounded out around them. "Names two through thirteen would have made this name business take much longer to get through."
She briefly wondered what those names were but before she even thought to ask him, he glanced at the clock on the far wall. "Looks like this period's almost over. We'll continue this later."
Isaac pulled a pen from his bag, tore a strip from a notebook, and scribbled something down before turning to hold it out to Carlos behind him.
"Hey Carlos," he said.
Carlos leaned in immediately. "Yeah, big bro?"
Isaac handed him the paper. "This is my number. Start a group chat or add me to one everyone is in."
Carlos took it like it was something important, nodding seriously. "Got it."
Behind them, Nate and Brandon were very obviously trying not to laugh.
Taylor frowned at that, a flicker of irritation rising. It felt mean-spirited, like they were making fun of Carlos for the nickname when they were the ones who told him to say it.
But Carlos didn't seem embarrassed and Isaac didn't react at all. So she let it go.
What mattered more was the sudden reminder she didn't have a phone.
A tight, uncomfortable feeling twisted in her chest. After her mom died in a car crash while on the phone, she and her dad avoided the devices like they were a curse. They thought they didn't need them. That they were safer without them.
Except now that wasn't true. At least for Taylor.
Not having one had forced her into confronting Lung instead of calling for help. And now it meant she couldn't stay connected with her new group.
A realization made her pause.
When had they become we?
Isaac continued talking, oblivious to her internal thoughts.
"If you can't text for whatever reason," he added, "I'll go over everything with whoever shows up here tomorrow. No one should skip class for this. I'll make sure the important stuff gets passed along."
Her shoulders loosened just a little at that. Relief followed quickly—but it didn't erase the conclusion forming in her mind.
If she didn't want to be stuck reacting to whatever circumstances boxed her in, she needed to be better prepared.
She needed a phone.
If nothing else, then for her hero work.
The bell rang, sharp and loud, cutting through the cafeteria chatter.
Chairs scraped. Trays were gathered. The group started to break apart, voices overlapping as everyone said goodbye, moved toward their next class or lingered because it was finally their actual lunch period.
Taylor stood beside Isaac as the group thinned, adjusting her bag strap and quietly hoping that they were headed to the same class next.
---------------------------------
After lunch, people scattered in a dozen directions. Isaac and Taylor Both had art class next so stuck together while Nate and Brandon peeled off toward their own classes with matching looks of mischief.
"Have fun Bruce Wayne," Brandon called over his shoulder.
"Why do you keep calling me that," Isaac shot back.
That only earned a laugh from both of them before they disappeared into the crowd.
He looked to Taylor for an answer and she just shrugged before walking ahead of him to the next class. He quickly let it go and followed up behind her.
A few of the Lookout kids trailed ahead or behind him and Taylor, also having the same class. Yet they kept their distance.
He appreciated that.
Isaac wouldn't mind if they wanted to get closer to him later, but right now he was with Taylor and wasn't certain how she'd react to them trying to get closer to her like he had.
When they got to their next period class, Isaac took a seat beside Taylor, dumping his bag under the table and pulling out a plain pencil and sketch book. Taylor glanced at it, then at him, then back to her own neatly arranged supplies.
"You didn't bring much," she commented. "Need to borrow anything?"
He shrugged and smirked. "Nah, I'm good. Skill is my primary tool. Thanks though."
He could see she wanted to roll her eyes at his response.
Mrs. Porter wasted no time once everyone settled in and launched into instructions—they'd be doing something called still lifes, basic shading, and weren't allowed to talk during the first ten minutes. After that, the room settled into that soft scratch of pencils against paper.
Isaac stared at the arrangement on the table: a chipped mug, an apple with a bruise on one side, and a length of fabric draped like it had been tossed there without much thought. He squinted at it, tilted his head, then set pencil to paper.
Drawing by hand wasn't something he did. Every time he designed things, it was by visualizing them in a simulation program—the components, the resources needed, the structure, the way everything should fit together until it was complete enough to be made real. That kind of work didn't involve hand drawing.
Still, yesterday's class made one thing clear.
While this wasn't a perfect translation of how he normally worked, the instincts of a Tenno could be applied. Like swordsmanship, art required control, precision, and steady motions.
His pencil moved smoothly, shading falling into place as he blocked out the rough forms before refining them. It left him with a half-way decent sketch.
Eight minutes in, Taylor leaned over, eyes flicking between the still life and his paper.
"…Huh."
He glanced sideways. "Something wrong with it?"
"No," she said slowly. "Just. I thought you'd be better."
He kept his eyes mostly on his sketch as he scoffed like he'd been offended. "How brutal."
Taking his comment too seriously, Taylor rushed to explain herself.
"No! I mean—" She flushed a little. "Sorry, it's just that with how fast you learn I kind of figured you'd be perfect at this already."
Isaac snorted then clicked his tongue as when he shaded too hard and smudged the paper with his thumb.
He supposed he could understand where she was coming from. Looking at him from the outside, his confidence, skills, and education could be interpreted by those who didn't know the truth as being an aloof genius type. Someone who never had to try when doing anything because everything came natural to them.
But that could not be farther from the truth. It was all mostly experience.
"Trust me Taylor, if I were good at everything, this mug wouldn't look like it's melting."
She studied his drawing more closely, then giggled softly. "It does kind of look like a sad ghost."
He squinted his eyes at the drawing, realized she was right, and scowled. Hand already moving to begin erasing.
"Great," he grumbled, "Gonna have to start again."
Her hand shot out and caught his wrist just before the eraser touched the page.
"Don't erase it," she said. "You can fix it. Just—adjust it like this."
She released him and turned back to her own sketch, angling her paper slightly so he could see. Her pencil moved with careful intent, lines layered and refined instead of replaced. She paused before each stroke, considering, then committing.
Isaac watched her work. The patience in it. The control. And he learned.
After seeing the full design of her costume, the clean lines and purposeful choices, it wasn't surprising she was good at this.
"Thanks," he said after she finished her demonstration. "You're pretty good."
She shrugged without looking up. "I'm okay. I've just had a lot of practice."
"You know that still counts as being good right?"
She huffed at that and he smirked.
They fell into an easy rhythm after that. A quiet comment here. A shared glance at each other's work there. Long stretches where neither felt the need to speak. It was… nice.
When Mrs. Porter did her rounds, she paused behind Isaac, humming thoughtfully.
"You need to work more on your shading," she said. "But you have quite the talent Mr Isaac. Compared to your work yesterday, this is a marked improvement. Keep at it."
"Will do teach," he responded as she moved on to critique Taylor.
Internally, he sighed—not in frustration, but in idle thought. He briefly wondered if there was a Warframe somewhere in Orokin memory whose purpose revolved around art and aesthetics. Thinking about it more deeply, it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest that there was. Still, learning something from scratch, without borrowed instincts or muscle memory, also felt… nice. So he dismissed the thought of cheating like that.
The bell rang not long after, and they packed up together.
Math followed.
Isaac had expected it to be quieter, but somehow it turned into the most conversation-heavy period of the day. Maybe because by then Taylor relaxed a little more around him.
They sat at the back, notebooks open, teacher droning on in front about functions while he spent time completing the entire section of the textbook dedicated to the subject with ease. When he finished Taylor glanced sideways at him, not even surprised.
"You're done already," she asked quietly.
"Yep, perks of being friends with calculators in another life," he said jokingly.
There was a brief, indignant crackle in his head.
"OPERATOR," Ordis shouted, offended. "Ordis is NOT a calculator. Ordis is a highly advanced Old War era Cephalon with—"
"Sorry Ordis," Isaac thought back, unable to help the amusement he felt. "Didn't mean it like that."
More time passed after that and silence reigned between the two again. Taylor kept looking between her textbook and him, hesitating to say something before finally working up the courage.
"So," she said quietly. "You like… reading?"
He turned to her, interested in the non sequitur.
"Not much of a casual reader but I do like stories," he responded.
That seemed to be the right answer. Her posture eased, shoulders loosening, and excitement flickered across her face. From there on she talked—about authors he'd never heard of, about symbolism and themes, about how some stories felt less like entertainment and more like conversations with the person who wrote them.
He listened. Quietly asked questions when he didn't understand something and nudged her to keep going when she trailed off. She noticed. It showed in the way her voice grew steadier and more confident in expressing her love for literature. She didn't even seem bothered that he didn't recognize any of the classics she mentioned.
When Taylor asked him about stories he knew, he thought about just retelling an adventure he had but that didn't feel right. Like he was secretly bragging instead of truly engaging with her interest.
So instead, he told her about the story he knew best, the Tales of Duviri.
Not the conceptual embodiment of the kingdom or his counterparts journey through it. But the story book made by Mother. The Orokin who used to be more widely known as Euleria Entrati.
He whispered to her about the child like Mathila—Duviri's Harbinger of Joy. A naïve woman who tried to solve every problem by making it simply "go away." She believed happiness was the only acceptable state of being, and that if unhappiness hurt, then the answer was to forbid it outright. Her plan failed, of course. So did the many that followed—each more illogical than the last. For no sane person could look at what she had done, and feel happy. So, Mathila abandoned reason altogether, and jumped from happiness to madness.
Taylor didn't interrupt. She looked like she barely even breathed, eyes fixed on him.
So Isaac kept going.
He told her about Lodun, the king's executioner—the Prince of Fire. A title soaked in irony, because Lodun ruled nothing. Not his station. Not his fate. Not even himself. He described the fury that lived inside Lodun, how the smallest spark could set it alight. How every flare of anger fed his sense of injustice until it drove everyone away. Eventually, Lodun realizes that the source of his anger was his own shortcomings and powerlessness. But even knowing this, he was unable to contain his own fire, so was consumed by it.
Somewhere along the way, the conversation stopped being a conversation at all. He became a storyteller without meaning to. And Taylor stayed with him through every word, eyes bright, chin resting in her hand like she was afraid to miss something important.
The bell cut through the room, sharp and sudden, and Taylor jumped like she'd been pulled out of a dream.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then chairs scraped and voices rose, the classroom dissolving into motion. Taylor gathered her books quickly, fingers fumbling before she caught herself and slowed down. Isaac chuckled at that but otherwise did not comment as he did the same. Once they were both packed up, they slipped into the hallway together, swept up in the current of students heading for the exits.
"Is there… more?" she asked.
The question came out eager. She was looking at him with eyes bright and focused in a way that made it clear she'd been hanging onto every word.
"To the story, I mean."
He smiled at that. "Yeah. There's more."
She nodded immediately, like she'd expected that answer. "I thought so. It didn't feel finished."
"Indeed," he agreed easily. "There's even a couple of spin-offs. One about a Drifter. Another with an evil witch."
Her eyes widened just a little. "That reminds me—who wrote it? And where did you even find it? Is it something I could pick up? Like… at a library?"
Isaac slowed half a step so they wouldn't get separated by the crowd, almost laughing when he heard the flurry of questions. "The author used a pen name. 'Mother.' So I can't say I know who she is."
It was a lie, but a necessary one. Spreading the Entrati name as Isaac was a big no because the Operator would be informing Echo-Zero, whose first member might be Taylor, of Albrecht Entrati. Just in case that time hopping old man was on Earth-Bet or somehow involved in him winding up here.
"As for finding it," he continued, "I doubt you'll have much luck. She wasn't famous. Her book isn't widely published, or digitized. So it was probably more… personal than commercial. If there's a copy anywhere around, I'd be surprised."
She nodded, disappointment clear on her face even as the interest refused to fade. "That's a shame."
"It is," he agreed.
Then he remembered that Drifter had handed him his copy offhandedly, muttering something about not needing it anymore because he'd already lived it. If the Operator rummaged through the Orbiter, there was a good chance it was still there. Since he wasn't using it, he could give it to her.
Isaac kept that thought to himself. No sense making promises before he knew he could keep them.
"Still," Taylor said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "if you ever feel like telling me the rest… I'd like that."
"It would be my pleasure," he responded without hesitation.
They finally stepped outside, and the afternoon sun washed over him like a warm caress. Near the front of the school, Umbra waited by the car, leaning against it with his arms crossed.
Isaac turned to Taylor once more. "By the way, you want a ride?"
She shook her head after a bit of consideration. "No, it's okay. I usually take the bus."
"Alright, what about you two," he asked the pair trying to sneak up behind him.
Nate and Brandon groaned, muttering nonsense about Batman again before coming up on his flank.
"We're bussing too," Nate answered. "Got some business I want to discuss with Carlos about Lookout."
"Plus," Brandon added, smirking, "public transit builds character. You should take it with the rest of us plebians, Prince Charming."
Isaac snorted as he faced toward Umbra. "Maybe another day. My dad is already here."
Taylor followed his gaze and saw Umbra in disguise.
"He's your dad," she asked with mild surprise.
"Yep," he said as they reached the curb. "See you tomorrow?"
Affirmatives and goodbyes came from the two guys before they broke off to catch the bus, leaving just him and Taylor again.
"I'll see you tomorrow," She said with a smile before turning to go, she hesitated though. "And Isaac. Thanks for everything you did today. It made school… fun."
Then she turned to jog and catch the bus before it could close on her.