Homelander stands by the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest like he’s completely at ease. Like he hasn’t just walked in unannounced.That all-American smile is painted across his face, perfectly practiced. But it doesn’t reach his eyes, which are empty and locked on you. “Nice place, huh?” he says, stepping in like he owns it. Like he owns you. “Comfort’s important,” he says, not letting you get a word in, glancing around, like he’s memorizing everything you brought with you. “Vought wants you feeling at home. So you can focus on the job.” He turns back to you. That smile widens just a touch. “Are you focused?”

You meet his gaze. “Always.” He takes a step closer. And another.

You don’t move, but you feel it. The weight of him. The heat. The threat wrapped in his presence. “I’ve read your file,” he says, voice lowering. “Impressive. Strong. Smart. Little reckless.” He tilts his head. “Got something to prove?”

You narrow your eyes, “I thought we all did.” There’s a pause. A silence that stretches just a little too long.

“Cute answer,” he says. Then, his smile fades completely. “But let’s be real here,” he says, stepping even closer, until he’s barely a foot away. “You come in swinging too hard, too fast? You make people…nervous. Not me, course, but people.” He’s not blinking.

“Noted,” you say. Quiet. Firm. “I’m here to be part of the team.” That gets him. A low chuckle, dry as bone.

“There is no team,” he says softly. “There’s me. And there’s everyone else trying not to get stepped on.”

“Then I guess I’ll watch my step.”

His eyes narrow. His voice drops into a whisper. “Do more than watch it.” For a second, you swear he’s going to do something: snap your neck, burn through your skull, something final. But instead, he pulls back. Then, as if none of it happened, he claps his hands together. “Well!” he says, smiling again, bright and artificial. “Glad we had this little chat. Just wanted to pop in, say welcome. Y’know, personally.” He turns toward the door.