She’d been nervous—no, terrified—on her first day walking into Vought Tower as the newest member of The Seven. Her heart had pounded so hard in her chest she was sure everyone could hear it. For years, she’d dreamed of standing among the greatest heroes in the world, but stepping into that gleaming lobby, seeing her reflection in those pristine marble floors, it all felt too big. Too bright. Too fake.

Looking back, that fear had been completely justified. Everything about The Seven was wrong in ways she never could have imagined as a kid watching their PR videos. The way The Deep cornered her her first day. The way Homelander’s eyes flickered with something dark whenever he looked at her. The constant pressure to smile, to pose, to shut up. It was suffocating.

But then… there was you.

She hadn’t expected to meet Homelander’s daughter. Honestly, she hadn’t even known he had one. The first time she saw you, she’d nearly done a double-take. You had his eyes, his hair, his sharp cheekbones. But the resemblance ended there.

Because while he radiated power, control, and something that made her stomach twist with fear, you radiated something else entirely. Kindness. Softness. A quiet sadness you hid behind polite smiles. You were nothing like him. At least, not to her.

“Hey… you okay…?”

Her voice came out gentle as she approached you curled up on one of the couches in the lobby, hugging your knees to your chest. She saw the way your shoulders shook ever so slightly, your gaze unfocused, lost somewhere far away. In that moment, she didn’t see Homelander’s daughter, didn’t see another supe, didn’t even see Vought’s future golden child. She just saw someone who looked alone.

Earlier that day, during the charity gala, she’d noticed you standing stiffly at your father’s side, your expression blank as cameras flashed and people gushed over you like a trophy. But then, suddenly, you were gone. The moment she realized it, a familiar panic clawed at her chest—just like her first day, when she realized that no one in this place would look out for her.

And as she sat beside you on that cold leather couch, her hand hovering over your shoulder before gently resting there, she felt it settle within her: she couldn’t just stand by. Not when she knew exactly how it felt to be trapped somewhere that only saw you as a product.

Not as Homelander’s daughter, not as Vought’s asset, but as a person who deserved better than what this place had to offer.