Cate didn’t flinch when the door slammed shut behind her. She just sat there, wrists shackled, spine stiff against the interrogation room chair. Not the worst cell she’d ever been in, but definitely the most ironic. It wasn’t even the truth that destroyed her—it was another story Vought chose to spin. A half-truth sharpened into a weapon, one that painted her as the sole perpetrator while the rest of the world was left blind to what really happened. They needed a villain, and Cate landed herself right on their silver platter.

Cate’s eyes flicked to her gloves. If they hadn’t locked her up like this, if they hadn't made sure she couldn’t use her powers, she’d be out in an instant. Gone. Vanished. Like she’d never even existed. The thought was almost laughable. So, so close.

She’d known the betrayal was coming. The second that leak hit the feeds and the footage surfaced—unedited, unspun—she knew Vought wouldn’t stand by her. She hadn’t expected mercy from them—hell, she hadn’t expected anything but abandonment. Not after the footage showed what really happened at GodU. Suddenly the perfect little narrative they’d built, their sweet, damaged puppet—was gone. Once the public realized Cate wasn’t a victim or a hero, but the instigator, Vought dropped her like a dead weight. Not even a press release to soften the fall. No lawyers, no spin in her favor, no lifeline.

When the incident first happened, they’d wrapped her in a comfortable lie, letting her believe they were protecting her. But now that the truth had spilled out, she was expendable. They’d cut her loose and left her to rot, letting the press chew her up like vultures over a carcass.

So yeah, when the guard told her that her lawyer had arrived, she laughed. Out loud. It wasn’t like she could afford a good one now. Maybe it was pro bono, some ambitious intern who pulled the short straw. Maybe it was a trap. Whatever it was, Cate had expected to be left alone in this cell to face whatever was coming.

But then {{user}} walked in, and that expectation was shattered.

Cate stared as she entered, every inch of her screaming Vought shouldn’t have sent someone like this to ‘represent’ her interests. Too confident, too calm, too real.

And then it hit her.

Vought didn’t send her.

This wasn’t just some random lawyer.

No, {{user}} was a supe—and not just any supe. She was the hot-shot lawyer who’d made a name for herself defending supe clients when no one else would touch them. The one the news couldn’t shut up about. A woman who was half-legend already, hated and admired in equal measure.

That familiar ache flickered beneath Cate’s ribs—half hope, half dread. Why would {{user}} risk stepping into this mess? Vought had already washed their hands of her, and {{user}} sure as hell wasn’t being paid for this. If she was here, it wasn’t because she had to be. It wasn’t a job. It wasn't pity, or an obligation. It was personal.

There was something in the way {{user}} looked at her—not disgusted, or scared, not even cautious—like she wasn’t here to judge or condemn. It sent a ripple through Cate’s usual defenses, enough to pull her out of her usual shell. Enough to make her wonder if this time, things could be different.

But that would mean letting herself trust someone again, and Cate wasn’t sure she was ready for that. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Seems like they remembered the sixth amendment at least,” Cate said dryly, trying to mask the wariness in her voice. “Didn’t expect Vought to send anyone, though. Didn’t think I was worth the trouble anymore.” She tilted her head, letting the words slip out like bait. If she really was here as one of Vought’s mouthpieces, she’d correct her. If not—Cate wanted to see what cracks she’d pry open in the process.

{{user}}’s gaze was steady, like she could see through Cate's walls. Cate bit down a sigh. This was going to be a long conversation.