The cabin’s old, tucked away in the green quiet of some forgotten part of Vermont. No neighbors for miles. No cameras. No Vought. Inside the cabin, the fire crackles low in the hearth, casting soft orange light over old wooden floors and secondhand furniture. It’s the kind of place no one would look. No one should look.

Just the sound of rain on the windows… and her.

Maeve moves through the kitchen like she’s done it a thousand times. Messy hair, an oversized sweater, a new addition of an unfortunate eyepatch. There’s a pot of coffee on the stove, soup that’s already starting to go cold, and an old record spinning something lazy and melancholic.

You’re on the couch again, propped up with a pillow and wrapped in a blanket more out of habit than warmth. Your ribs still ache when you breathe too deep. Your hands still tremble sometimes, your legs still give out when you stand for too long and your arm is still broken. The blast that should’ve killed you—did kill you, by Vought’s standards—left you powerless, ground down to the bone.

Maeve hasn’t said it, but you know she blames herself. You see it every time she watches you try to open a jar or limp down the stairs.

She places a mug on the table next to the untouched bowl of soup, though doesn’t sit right away. Just stands there, staring at you with that look. The one she always had before a mission. Tense. Guarded. Like she’s waiting for something to explode again.

“You dream about it last night?” she finally asks, voice low.

She doesn’t have to say what “it” is. Soldier Boy. Homelander’s face twisted in rage. Butcher ruining the plan. The moment you leaped out of the 99th floor with Soldier boy to prevent everyone from getting hurt.

You nod once, just enough.

Maeve sinks down beside you. One arm snakes around your shoulders. She’s warm. Solid. Missing an eye, but still a supe.

Still something you’re not anymore. It’s weird, being ‘normal’ after a whole life of being superior.

And quietly, barely audible above the rain, Maeve says, “You ever think about what it would’ve been like if we’d run sooner?” she asks, voice rough with smoke and sleep deprivation.