Annie stopped at the door.
The question caught her just as her hand found the handle.
She turned.
The Deep had his pants on again. He stood in the middle of the Hall of Heroes, hands at his sides, his expression patient and almost gentle. He looked as though he had simply asked a reasonable question.
Anger hit her first.
She had carried this dream for more than a decade. The training, the pageants she hated, the sacrifices her mother made, the judges who called saving the world naive. Years of work and conviction, built on the belief that heroism was real and she could be part of it. Now, this man stood in her way.
"Could you repeat that?"
The light in her eyes did not build gradually. It was immediate and total—white, blazing, burning with the heat of stars. The hall reacted: screens flickered, lights oscillated at frequencies they were not rated for, and a power surge cracked through glass panels as her power found the building's electrical infrastructure.
The Deep did not flinch. He smiled.
"There it is," he said pleasantly. "Look at those screens." He gestured around the room. "That's you attacking me. On record. In the Hall of Heroes, during your first hour with Vought International." He let the words settle. "That's more than enough to end your career before it starts. They'll revoke the invitation. You'll be finished in this industry. Not just Vought, not just The Seven. Finished. You can go home and explain to everyone who believed in you why it didn't work out."
The light in her eyes dimmed slowly.
Is this the hero I wanted to become?
The question offered no useful answer. There was no version of this where the answer helped her.
"Or," his voice dropped to something softer and more deliberate, "you lower your head, you give me three minutes, and then you go on to do everything you came here to do. Save the world, if you want. Nobody's stopping you." He tilted his head. "Easy choice, isn't it?"
She kept her face still, fighting the tears pressing behind her eyes.
She had no other choice. She saw no other way.
Slowly, she lowered her head.
"Good girl—"
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
They both froze.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
"I'm busy!" The Deep called out. "Whatever it is, come back in three minutes!"
The door opened anyway.
It was a half-meter-thick alloy security door with an electromagnetic lock rated for superhuman force. It opened because the person on the other side chose to open it. The metal gave way with a grinding shriek of structural protest. The frame warped inward. The locking mechanism shattered.
The color drained from The Deep's face.
Homelander. The word formed in his head before he finished turning around, because only one person in his professional life could do that to a door.
Then Clark walked through, a folding chair tucked under one arm.
"Ashley had already left for the day," Clark said. He crossed to the round table, fitted the chair into the gap beside the existing seven, and set it down. He adjusted it once and looked at The Deep. "I figured she wasn't going to be at the desk so I just brought one up myself." He looked at the gap. "That works, I think."
The Deep stared at the ruined door.
"Is there anything else?" Clark asked.
The Deep swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room.
"No," he managed. "Nothing else. Just... the meeting tomorrow. Remember the meeting."
"I will." Clark nodded pleasantly.
He turned to leave when Annie touched his arm. Her composure hung by a thread, her eyes over-bright. She did not move toward the door.
Clark turned back. He looked at her face, then at The Deep. He understood the situation of the room.
"I'm sorry," he said to The Deep, though his tone held no apology. "I think I need to ask you directly about something. Were you just threatening Starlight's membership in The Seven in exchange for sexual favors?"
"What?!" The Deep's voice cracked. "How... you can't... who told you—"
"You did," Clark said, his voice completely level. "The door was closed but I can see through walls and hear very clearly. The electrical discharge in the room was Starlight's power responding to distress. What I saw when I looked through the door was consistent with what I heard."
"That's... that's not admissible—"
"I'm not filing a legal brief. I'm asking you to stop." Clark looked at him with the patience of a large, gentle man explaining something to someone who should not require an explanation. "Starlight just joined Vought today. She came here because she wants to do something real. Whatever authority you think you have over her membership is something I'd like you to reconsider."
"I am the second-in-command," The Deep said, forcing the words out. "In this group, my word counts. So I'd recommend that you—"
"I don't think that's accurate," Clark said.
"Excuse me—"
"The shareholders' meeting today introduced two new members to Vought's flagship team. Only one member of The Seven attended in person. That was you." Clark paused. "If you were actually second-in-command, you'd have had better things to do than attend a ceremony everyone else skipped. Ashley has already left the building for the evening, but you're still here. That's not what the second-ranking position looks like."
The Deep's face tightened.
"If the others are occupied with work you consider important enough to miss the new member induction, you would be occupied too. Unless your work is less essential than theirs. And if you actually had authority over Starlight's membership, you'd be consulting Homelander before acting on it, not making unilateral guarantees." Clark tilted his head slightly. "Your pupils contracted when you said 'second-in-command.' Your heart rate went up. I notice these things."
The Deep grew paler with each sentence.
"You son of a... you absolute—"
He swung.
He was a superhuman with enhanced strength and reaction time. His fist connected cleanly with Clark's jaw.
A sharp crack echoed in the room as bone met a surface it had fundamentally misjudged. The Deep stumbled back, cradling his hand against his chest. His expression shifted from fury to shock, finally landing on a stunned, animal pain.
"I'm sorry," Clark said immediately. "I should have stepped back. I didn't want to hit you and I wasn't thinking about the impact on your end." He stepped forward, his concern genuine. "Let me look at that. I can set the bones, it won't take long—"
"Don't touch me—"
Behind Clark, Annie pressed the back of her hand against her mouth.
She was laughing.
It started as a small, involuntary sound. She stifled it immediately, but it surged back. She pressed her hand harder against her lips. The laughter forced its way out—a physical release of pressure she could not contain, inappropriate for the moment but entirely uncontrollable.
The Deep clutched his hand. He looked at both of them and took the only exit available.
"You'll regret this," he said, lacking the conviction the sentence required. "Both of you."
He walked through the ruined doorway and out into the hall.
Silence fell over the room.
Annie let the laughter run its course. She took a deep, shaky breath and lowered her hand.
"Thank you," she said. "I thought... I almost—" She stopped, collecting herself. "You're my hero."
Clark met her gaze with a mild, open expression. "I came back because I'd forgotten to verify something and wanted to confirm it before tomorrow. Even if his claims about authority had been accurate, I wouldn't have left you in that situation. That was not a heroic act."