I found Mallory in her office, her face like granite. The news feeds were already blaring with the "tragic accident" at The Aerie. There was no mention of Homelander, or of us.
"Sit," she commanded.
I sat. I didn't offer the drive. Not yet.
"Homelander's report says you exhibited 'unstable, excessive force' and compromised the mission," she said, her eyes scanning a tablet. "He's recommending you be suspended pending a psych evaluation."
Of course. His opening move. Discredit me.
"His report is a lie," I stated calmly. "He triggered the self-destruct sequence in an attempt to kill me, Wraith, and Noir. He buried the facility to cover his tracks."
Mallory didn't look surprised. She placed the tablet down. "And why would he do that?"
"Because he knows Edgar is using me as a check on his power. Because he's a narcissistic psychopath who can't tolerate a threat." I leaned forward. "And because I have this."
I placed the solid-state drive on her desk.
She looked at it as if it were a live serpent. "What is that?"
"The Genesis Files. From The Aerie. The complete, unedited history of Compound V. The human trials. The children. Subject Zero." I paused, letting the weight of it sink in. "Homelander tried to bury this. I think that tells you everything you need to know about whose side you should be on."
Mallory didn't touch the drive. Her gaze was locked on it, a war playing out behind her professional mask. She was a pragmatist. This wasn't about morality; it was about power. This drive was a weapon that could destroy Vought. But in the right hands, it could also be a leash for Homelander.
"Edgar can't see this," she said finally, her voice low. "Not yet. Not until we know how he'll play it."
We. The word was a seismic shift. She had chosen a side. Mine.
"He'll try to use it to purge Homelander, but the collateral damage would be catastrophic," I agreed. "It stays with us. For now."
She finally looked up at me. "Homelander will escalate. He can't let this stand. He'll force a public confrontation. He'll make you look like the villain."
"I know."
"Then what's your move?"
"My move," I said, standing up, "is to stop playing defense."
I left her office, the drive now in her possession—a shared secret, a bond of mutually assured destruction. I had an ally in the lion's den. But as I walked the sterile halls, I felt another presence, a silent, watching shadow.
I turned a corner into a deserted service corridor. Black Noir was there, waiting for me, blocking the path.
He didn't move. He didn't speak. He simply stood there, a monument to silent suffering.
The memory from The Aerie surged forward—the boy on the gurney, the scream of a mind being unmade. The ghost in his machine was screaming, and the ghost in mine was listening.
I didn't try to push past him. I didn't speak. I simply looked at him, and for the first time, I didn't see a weapon. I saw a prisoner. And I let down my telepathic shields, not to probe, but to project. I sent him a single, clear image: the empty, shattered tube in the underground tomb.
A tremor went through his body. It was almost imperceptible, but I saw it. The perfectly controlled weapon had a flaw.
Then, he did something I never expected. He gave a single, slow, almost imperceptible nod.
And then he stepped aside.
He wasn't my ally. He would never be. But he was no longer just Homelander's loyal dog. He was a variable. A wild card.
I had Mallory's cold pragmatism. I had Butcher's crusade waiting in the wings. And now, I had the silent, fractured acknowledgement of the first monster Vought ever created.
The pieces were on the board. Homelander wanted a show?
It was time to give him one he'd never forget.