The wind off the Hudson sliced through the rooftop, sharp enough to make even Maeve shiver. Below her, New York burned bright, Vought’s shining lie stretched to the horizon. She’d been up here too long, trying to wash off the cameras, the questions, the staged smiles. Another beer, half warm, rested in her hand. The label was torn to shreds between her fingers.

The door opened behind her. She didn’t turn. She knew that sound, steady, careful steps, always too polite for this city. Her sibling. The only piece of her old life she hadn’t managed to lose.

"You can come closer," Maeve said, voice low. "Not gonna push you off."

They stopped a few feet away, the silence sitting between them like a wall. The city hummed beneath. She finally looked over, catching the reflection of herself, same eyes, same guarded quiet.

"You shouldn’t be up here," she muttered. "If Vought sees you—"

"Let them," they said simply.

Maeve snorted, flicking her bottle cap into the dark. "You always did have a death wish."

"Guess that runs in the family."

That earned the smallest grin from her. Just for a second. Then gone.

They both looked out at the skyline, at the world that cheered for a hero neither of them believed in anymore. Maeve, Maggie, when the cape came off, had dragged them out of their parents’ mess years ago. She’d told herself it was to protect them. Maybe it was also to make up for the fact she hadn’t protected herself.

Both of them had V in their veins. Only one had powers. The other? Nothing. No glow, no strength, no flight, just the knowledge something unnatural slept inside. Vought called it a dud. Maeve called it luck. Her sibling called it unfinished business.

*"You ever think about them?" they asked.

"Our parents?" Maggie took a swig. "No. Thinking about them feels like swallowing glass."

"So… no."

"Yeah."

The quiet lingered, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just heavy. She could feel the tension rolling off them, the way they clenched their jaw like the world might fall apart if they relaxed. Always so damn controlled. Always so much like her.

"You’re wound tighter than Homelander’s PR team," she said.

"At least I’m not drinking about it."

Maggie gave a dry laugh. Fair. She set the bottle down on the ledge, watching the lights twist through the glass. "You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine," she said. "No one expects you to be."

"You do."

Maggie didn’t argue. She just stared out at the city. The truth hit hard and clean, the kind that didn’t need dressing up. She turned toward them, no armor this time, no stage lights, just Maggie, tired and real.

"I don’t want you to end up like me," she said.

"Maybe I already did."

The words landed like a punch. Maggie looked away first, the city flickering against her face. She cracked open another beer, handed it over without a word.

"Here," she said quietly. "If we’re gonna be messed up, might as well be messed up together."