Taylor never saw the blow coming. Maybe it was because her head was low, maybe it was because she expected them to leave her alone on her first day back into the hell hole that was Winslow, maybe she forgot during her week of recuperating that there was no pity to be had.

“Move it, Hebert,” Sophia said as she shoved her from behind. “You fucking worm,” she spat.

Taylor hunched in on herself, flashes of the inside of her locker, of scrambling to escape, passed through her. She had a new locker now. The number and lock held tight in her hand.

She didn’t plan on ever using it.

***

The day passed at a crawl. Every time she saw Emma or her cronies she would flinch back, a bit of her dying inside. She wanted to rebel, to scream, to fight, but that had never amounted to anything before.

The last bell rang.

Taylor walked home with her head bowed. And all along, she felt a bubble of... something, trying to claw its way out of her chest. Anger, raw, visceral anger.

***

Her dad wasn’t home yet. Even walking all the way back, as good a bit of exercise as it was, didn’t take enough time for her dad to beat her home. Maybe it was for the best.

She dropped her school bag by the door, the week’s worth of overdue homework stashed within considered and forgotten in the space of two heartbeats.

She went to the kitchen, looked in the fridge with eyes that saw nothing, then gave up on that. Just an old habit. She grabbed a knife from the rack on the way upstairs. She didn’t look to see which one, just ran a thumb sideways against the blade to make sure it was sharp. She didn’t want to see it.

In the bathroom upstairs, she found herself wondering if it would be easier clothed or not.

She decided that the sight of her naked, frog-like body would be worse than her in her sweatshirt and jeans. More of a mess to pick up too.

The same idea lead to her sitting on the edge of the bath, one leg over the side, left hand facing upwards on her knee. The knife was in her other hand. It shook a little.

Her grip tightened, her eyes went blurry with tears.

She almost stabbed herself in the forehead when she reached up to wipe the tears away, then giggled at herself for the stupid action.

The giggle turned ugly, into angry, raging sobs. She felt the hate burning in her gut like a well stoked fire. It burned hotter.

Taylor dropped the knife, hand pressing up against her chest even as it started to glow.

That was about the moment where she realized that something not entirely normal was going on. The room twisted, or maybe that was just her senses. The knife clattered to the floor. Her eyes closed shut.

Something snapped.

Taylor was leaning forwards, sweat pouring down her brow and hands both holding onto the edge of the bath that she was still sitting on. She took a deep breath, then another.

“You jus’ gonna stay there like that?”

Taylor’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. The voice was young, with a bit of an accent that she couldn’t quite place. More of a slur, really, as if she — because it was definitely a girl’s voice — had a hard time pronouncing every word.

Blinking back tears and sweat, Taylor looked at the girl standing in the middle of her bathroom.

She blinked a few more times, then rubbed her eyes clear. It didn’t help.

Measuring in at nearly four feet, the dark-skinned girl stood with both hands on her hips and her upper body tilted forwards. She grinned at Taylor, a closed-lipped smile that still had her cheeks pinching up, and revealing a single sharp fang. It might have been a cherubic smile, if her brown eyes weren’t filled with mischief.

“Who are you?” Taylor asked.

The girl huffed and crossed her arms. That’s when Taylor took in her outfit, or rather her costume. She was wearing a onesie. A pitch black onesie with little cat ears on top, the whole thing a size too big for her, if Taylor had to judge. “I’m y’er lil’ sister.”

“What?” Taylor asked.

The girl huffed again, this time stomping one foot as if to make her point. “I’m y’er lil sister,” she insisted.

“That, what?”

The girl shook with repressed anger. “I can’t believe my big sis is this dumb,” she growled.

“Hey!” Taylor said. She wasn’t about to take shit from a girl that couldn’t weigh more than a sack of potatoes. “Who are you, and where did you come from?” she asked as she got to her feet. She almost tripped when she felt a surge of weakness run through her, but a quick grab at the shower curtains kept her up.

“I’m y’er little sister,” the girl insisted. “And I came from you. Moron.”

“What do you mean?” Taylor asked. She was starting to have a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Came from me how?”

The sound of keys in the door downstairs had her pausing. She heard her dad walking into the house, toss his keys into the bowl by the door and hang up his coat. “Taylor?” he called out.

Never taking her eyes off the girl, Taylor turned her head to the side. “Dad! Can you come here?”

There was a pause before Danny started climbing up the stairs. The girl just raised an eyebrow and looked at Taylor quizzically. “What’ch’a callin’ dad for?”

Taylor didn’t have time to question that before her dad stood by the doorway to the bathroom. “What’s up, kiddos?” he asked.

Taylor pointed at the girl. “Her.”

Danny looked between the two of them for a moment. “Did your sister do something? Was she teasing you?”

“What? No, what is she even doing here. And she’s not my sister,” Taylor said.

Danny did not look impressed at that. “Just because she was hogging the bathroom or something does not mean that she’s not your sister, Taylor. Come on, you’re the older sibling here, you should act your age.”

“Yeah, list’n to daddy.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never seen her before!” Taylor shouted.

Danny raised both hands defensively. “Hey, hey, no shouting in the house. Look, I know you’ve had a stressful couple of weeks, but that’s no reason to treat your sister that way.” He turned to leave, then paused. “I’m tossing a lasagna in the oven for supper, is that alright?”

“Heck yeah!” the girl said, one arm pumping into the air in approval.

Taylor didn’t even nod, just watched her dad walk off in open mouthed confusion. Then that turned to anger. “Are you a Stranger?” she asked the girl.

“Nah, I told ya, I’m y’er sister. Moron.”

“Stop calling me a moron!”

“Stop actin’ like one,” the girl shot back.

Taylor stepped closer to the girl, realizing as she did that she towered above her.

The girl stepped back, eyes going wide with undisguised terror at Taylor’s growing anger. Then, with a cringe, she looked back down and her cheeks puffed out. “Sorry.”

Taylor couldn’t bring herself to do anything against the girl. Not that she would have hit her to begin with. The pitiful stance, the big floppy cat costume, the way her hands, which were covered by paw-shaped gloves, came together near her belly. She sighed. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Y’er s’posed to give me one.”

Taylor closed her eyes. “What are you?” she asked.

“I’m y’er little sister,” the girl repeated, this time with none of the heat.

“And you came from me?” Taylor asked. Even as she did, she realized that it just felt... right.

“Yeah.”

“How?” Taylor asked.

The girl looked up to her, lips pursed and nose scrunched. “You poked at the other me, and that made this me. But this me ain’t that me, ‘cause this me’s y’er lil’ sister.”

“Girls!” Danny called from downstairs. “Supper’s ready!”

***

Supper had been a weird, tense thing. The girl sat across from Taylor, in the seat that had been her mom’s. There were no pictures of her around though, no signs that she had existed before today.

Taylor was still not convinced that it wasn’t an elaborate trap.

Maybe Emma or one of her friends had triggered. The idea was nightmarish enough that she dismissed it.

After supper, Taylor excused herself, telling her dad that she wasn’t feeling good and wanted to go to sleep early.

So it was a conflicted and confused Taylor Hebert that changed into pyjamas and started to get ready for bed. She had other plans, of course, and the brash knocking at her door just played into them.

“Open up!” the girl called from outside. “It’s borin’ out here.”

Rolling her eyes, Taylor opened the door to find the girl scowling up at her, fang still sticking out and eyes set in a fierce glare. “Come in,” Taylor said.

The girl stomped in, moved across the room, and hopped up onto Taylor’s bed as if she owned the place. “This where I’m sleepin’?” she asked.

Taylor paused at that. “Where you’re sleeping is something we can figure out later,” she said. “You’re... you’re a parahuman, right?” she asked.

The girl rolled her eyes, then went shadowy. Her entire body turned into a misty, black shape that flowed across the room as if borne on an unfelt wind. She rematerialised a few steps before Taylor, face split into a predatory grin and arms outstretched as if ready to receive an accolade.

“Shadow Stalker,” Taylor said. “That was like Shadow Stalker.”

The girl pouted. “Yeah, that’s who ya touched to make me.”

“I...” Taylor squeezed her eyes shut. “I made you, somehow.”

“Y’er a real moron, you know.”

“Stop calling me that,” Taylor said.

“Nah.”

Taylor could already feel the headache coming.

***

What. The. Fuck.

Sophia stared at her hand. It was shadowy, a mist that she was intimately familiar with. It was also wrong. Her power had always been all or nothing.

She waved her arm around, watching as the wispy shadows followed the motions. Slow, it was slower than usual.

She closed her eyes, concentrated and willed herself to turn into smoke. It worked, but it felt off, weaker.

Sophia started to panic, just a little.