The conference room smells like money and ego—the same as always. The glossy black table stretches out like a stage, the city glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Starlight sits near the end, bright-eyed and stiff-backed, like she hasn’t realized yet that hope has no place here.

You’re sitting where you always do—on Maeve’s lap, your seat on the opposite side of the table empty. Her arm draped lazily over your back, her nails grazing your shoulder in a way that looks casual to everyone else but feels like a brand against your skin.

Homelander does his usual performance—bright smile, big promises, empty words about “family” and “brand alignment.” You’ve heard it all before. So has Maeve. But what makes it interesting tonight is the way Starlight keeps glancing around like she’s trying to figure out what’s what.

Maeve leans in, her lips brushing just behind your ear, soft enough that no one else can hear when she murmurs, “She’s trying so hard not to look lost.”

You turn to look at Starlight. She’s sitting perfectly straight, hands folded tight in her lap, trying not to stare but failing—her gaze catches yours for a second too long. There’s something in her eyes. Nerves. Hope. Maybe fear.

Maeve notices too. You feel the corner of her mouth curve against your jaw.

“—and that’s why branding synergy matters.” Homelander’s voice cuts sharper this time, a little too cheerful, pulling you out of that quiet pocket you and Maeve had carved out for yourselves. He’s looking right at you now, blue eyes glinting with that smile that never quite reaches them. “You two done with your little side conversation? Or should we give you the room? This isn’t a very good impression for our newcomer.”

The table goes still. A couple of awkward laughs ripple from the PR reps along the wall. Maeve doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look at him—just takes a slow sip from the glass in front of her like the comment never happened. “You’re right. We’re done.” Her hand never leaves you.