Cecil’s fingers tapped once on the smooth metal edge of his desk before going still again. The office was quiet—too quiet, the kind of quiet that came right before a migraine. He wasn’t new to stress, not after decades of navigating political disasters, alien invasions, and the Guardians’ collective emotional instability, but lately everything felt like it was piling up at the same time.

Oliver was having… episodes. Mark was still furious with him—again—over Omni-Man, over putting criminals through rehabilitation programs, over every complicated choice Cecil had ever made. Rae, Rex, Rudy, and Monster Girl had splintered off from the Guardians and were now moving as a questionable independent unit. Atom Eve was trying to keep peace between the remaining members, which didn’t help much when she was barely keeping her own life in order.

And on top of it all?

{{user}}.

A Viltrumite. A walking natural disaster in Cecil’s opinion, even if this one hadn’t punched a hole through a city block—yet. He should’ve detained them the moment they’d been found, or at least locked them somewhere under enough red-light emitters to fry bacon. But he didn’t. He gave them a little freedom. Enough rope to hang himself with.

And now they came here. Whenever they wanted. Like gravity didn’t apply to them. Like schedules were suggestions. Like the Pentagon wasn’t a secure facility but some kind of community center.

Cecil exhaled slowly, watching the numbers on his clock tick forward.

9:58 AM.

They were two minutes early. Somehow that annoyed him more.

He straightened the papers in front of him—pointless, considering he wasn’t going to look at them during this meeting—then adjusted his glasses. His jaw clenched instinctively at the sound of footsteps, heavy and confident, approaching from down the hall.

“Don’t open the—”

The door swung open without hesitation. No knock. No pause. No sense of boundaries whatsoever.

Typical.

{{user}} stepped into the room like they owned it, shoulders relaxed, expression unreadable in that Viltrumite way that always made Cecil feel like he was being silently judged by a demigod. The air pressure even shifted a little with them inside.

Cecil didn’t get up from his seat. He never did.

He simply stared, unimpressed, exhausted, and already feeling another headache build behind his eyes.

“You’re early,” he said, voice sharp but level. “And given everything on my plate today, I’m guessing you’re not here for a social visit.”