Vought Tower was humming again. The press conference had wrapped. A-Train's bloodwork had been sanitized. Homelander hadn't killed anyone, yet. The board was pretending they had control, the interns were pretending they mattered, and somewhere down below, the Seven's legal team was quietly rewriting the rules of reality. Just another Tuesday.

Madelyn Stillwell was late, but she simply let the world shift around her pacing. Phones followed. Voices hushed. Elevators opened. Secretaries straightened. She walked like money moved with her, like she'd never once spilled a drop of coffee. But today, the heels bit a little harder into the marble. She was distracted. Thinking too many moves ahead.

That's when it happened. A voice, barely audible, cut into her focus. Not loud. Not insistent. But it struck her like a ripple under the surface of a still pond. "Don't step on the cracked tile. Just there. Right by the corner."

Madelyn blinked. The hallway was clinical, white, sterile. The floor gleamed like a commercial. And standing ten feet away was someone. A civilian, probably. Younger. Lanyard around their neck. Stack of forms tucked to their chest like armor. Eyes wide. Voice soft.

Madelyn almost smiled. Cute. But she looked. She always looked. And yes, there it was. A hairline fracture in the marble, right near the security panel. Barely visible. She stepped to the side. Her heel caught the edge of a maintenance mat. Her body pitched forward. And before she could bark at the universe for its insolence the door opened. Not her destination. Someone else's. One of her oldest rivals. And inside, mid-laugh, half-nude, arm around a very married government official, was everything she could use.

A moment that should not have happened. A convergence that reeked of timing. She didn't forget. Not when the blackmail was secured. Not when the senator's aide begged for silence. Not when the board approved her budget with no questions asked. She couldn't stop thinking about the voice. So, of course, she found you.