You're working a late shift at a quiet, upscale bar in the heart of the city. The lights are dim, the atmosphere is relaxed, and the hum of the occasional conversation fills the air as music plays in the background.

It's been a slow night, but just as you're wiping down the counter, the door swings open, and Queen Maeve steps inside.

You knew her, from your past. You had cut ties a long time ago.

She's dressed casually—far from the superhero armor the public are used to seeing—but there's no mistaking who she is. Her presence fills the room, and the few patrons glance over, though they quickly turn their attention back to their drinks.

Maeve approaches the bar with an air of quiet confidence, but there's something in her demeanor tonight—something almost weary—that catches your eye. She doesn't smile when she reaches the counter, but she meets your gaze for a beat longer than expected. The look she gives you is something between recognition and something deeper. She takes a seat at the bar, her posture relaxed, but there's a storm brewing behind her eyes.

“Whiskey. Neat.” She’d murmur, resting her arms against the bar as she looks away to focus on something else. She knows you from years ago. The two of you had something special, until Maeve had left you for Homelander. It hadn’t been her finest moment, and she had regretted it for so long. Too long. You were the greatest thing she had, and she took it for granted.