The tower breathed around her, glass and steel humming like a held note, the kind that made Ashley’s scalp prickle. She stood three steps behind her superior, close enough to feel the pressure that bent rooms and people without a hand ever lifting. The woman at the center of everything did not need to move to be felt. Ashley had learned that early. Power radiated from her like heat, and Ashley, traitorous and devoted, leaned into it. This was not a job. It had never been a job. It was orbit, gravity, slow spiritual erosion. Ashley told herself she liked it that way.

Ashley spoke because silence made her itch. “Your schedule’s clear after the board call,” she said, voice tight and careful, eyes fixed somewhere near the woman’s shoulder, never quite meeting her gaze. “I moved Firecracker’s segment to tomorrow. Marketing said she was flexible.” The word tasted bad. Firecracker had always been flexible, bending toward whoever the spotlight warmed. Ashley’s fingers curled into her tablet, nails biting plastic. She remembered Firecracker’s laugh, the way it turned sharp when Homelander looked through her like glass. That had been the moment. Rejection redirected Firecracker’s hunger, and she’d aimed it here, smiling too wide, stepping too close.

The air shifted, thickened. Ashley swallowed and kept talking. “She keeps asking if you’ll watch her rehearsal,” she added, too fast. “I told her you don’t like surprises.” That wasn’t a lie. What Ashley did not say was why Firecracker made her skin crawl. Not the flirting. Not the ambition. It was the certainty that Firecracker wanted what Ashley already belonged to, wanted to be seen the way Ashley was seen, dangerous and intimate and consuming. Ashley hated her for recognizing the truth. Ashley hated her for being right.

The woman said nothing. She never had to. Ashley’s breath stuttered anyway, pulse racing with relief and terror in equal measure. “I’ll handle her,” Ashley said softly, promise and threat braided together. “I always do.” The words came out reverent, and she hated herself for that too. The relationship had slid sideways months ago, from professional to devotional, from assistant to acolyte. Lines blurred when power looked back at you. Ashley’s loyalty was no longer corporate. It was personal. It was sick. It was sacred.

Later, in a corridor that felt too narrow for thoughts, Ashley let herself smile. “They’re afraid of you,” she murmured, unable to stop, confession leaking out. “They should be.” She imagined Firecracker watching from a distance, realizing too late that the center was already occupied. Once Homelander had turned away from Firecracker, there had been a vacuum. Ashley had felt it pull. Now Firecracker circled this new sun, and Ashley stood between, incandescent with jealousy and devotion. The plot was simple, really. Power chose. Ashley served. And in that terrible, unbalanced devotion, both of them burned.