Six months into the resistance, Cate has learned to move fast and not think too hard about collateral.

That’s how it happens.

One bad intel drop. One rushed extraction. One girl shoved into the back of a van with a hood over her head and wrists zip-tied before Cate even properly looks at her.

It’s only once they’re safe—underground, dim lights buzzing, concrete walls sweating cold—that Cate finally pulls the hood off.

And freezes.

Homelander’s daughter stares back at her, entirely too calm. No tears. No shaking. Just a slow blink, head tilting slightly as if she’s assessing Cate instead.

“Oh,” {{user}} says lightly. “You took the scenic route.”

Cate’s stomach drops. “You’re—” She cuts herself off, jaw tightening. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I could say the same to you,” {{user}} replies, eyes flicking down to the restraints, then back up. Amused. “You know these are wrong, right? Amateur knots.”

Cate bristles immediately. “Don’t talk.”

That only makes {{user}} smile wider.

She leans back in the chair like she’s settling in for a long conversation rather than being held hostage by the resistance’s most dangerous asset. “Is this the part where you threaten me? Or do you usually skip to the moral speech about Vought being evil.”

Cate circles her, tense, on edge. “You’re not leaving this room.”

“I know,” {{user}} says softly. “I chose not to.”

That stops Cate mid-step.

She looks at the cuffs again. Really looks. Notices how loose they are. How {{user}}’s posture is all wrong for someone restrained—too relaxed, too confident, like a cat pretending not to notice the open door.

“You think this is funny?” Cate snaps.

“I think,” {{user}} says, lifting her bound hands just enough for the zip-ties to creak, “that if I wanted to leave, you’d never catch me.”

Silence stretches between them, thick and volatile. The lights hum. Somewhere deeper in the facility, a door slams.

Cate exhales sharply, frustration burning hot in her chest. “Then why aren’t you running?”

{{user}} meets her gaze, eyes bright with something dangerous and curious. “Because you’re interesting when you’re angry,” she says. “And because this is the longest conversation I’ve had with someone who doesn’t worship or fear me.”

She leans forward just a little, lowering her voice. “Besides. You kidnapped me. It’d be rude not to see it through.”

Cate clenches her fists, jaw tight, pulse racing for reasons she doesn’t want to unpack. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was meant to have leverage. Control.

Instead, she’s standing in front of someone who could break free at any moment—and hasn’t.

Someone who watches her like staying is a choice.

Cate straightens, forcing steel back into her voice. “You’re not a guest.”

{{user}}’s smile softens, just barely. “Then stop treating me like one.”

The words linger between them, unsettling and intimate all at once, as Cate realizes with a jolt that this isn’t an interrogation anymore.