𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 | 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄

I was sitting in my bed, dawn breaking outside. The events of the night played over and over in my mind, each moment replaying with a sickening clarity. The initiation—the leering smugness of The Deep, Homelander's predatory smile—left a stain I couldn't scrub away, no matter how hard I tried to shove it into the background.

The world outside my window was slowly waking up, unaware of the darkness that seemed to have settled over me, clinging to my skin like a film I couldn't peel off. Yet, amid the disgust, fear, and simmering rage that clouded my thoughts, one image kept resurfacing: Black Noir standing silently in the corner of my room, holding that small, cryptic notepad.

The memory of it felt strangely... different. Not like the nightmare of the initiation, or even the weight of Vought's suffocating expectations. It was quieter, almost surreal. The way Black Noir had appeared, motionless, but somehow communicating more than words ever could. I couldn't shake it—the silent message in that moment.

What had he wanted? He hadn't threatened me. He hadn't tried to harm me. He'd simply shown up, watched, and left as quickly as he'd come, leaving me with more questions than answers.

I threw the covers off and sat up, rubbing my temples as I tried to clear my head. The night had left me restless, and my body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion that wasn't just physical. I needed to find out more. About him. About everything. I couldn't keep stumbling blind through this maze Vought had constructed for me, playing their game, following their script.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and stared at the screen for a moment before pulling up the message from Homelander again:

HOMELANDER: Come to the meeting room right now. We've forgotten to complete your initiation.

The words felt even more chilling now, with the daylight streaming through the windows, as if the sun should have been able to chase away the lingering darkness. But it couldn't. No light could reach the depths of what they were capable of.

I deleted the message. I didn't want to see it anymore.

A knock on the door jolted me from my thoughts. My heart jumped into my throat. I wasn't expecting anyone this early. I tensed, my fingers curling slightly, feeling the familiar thrum of power flickering to life under my skin, ready to defend myself if need be.

"Supernova?" a familiar voice called softly from the other side. Ashley.

I let out a breath and sagged back against the pillows, the tension easing only slightly. "Come in."

Ashley poked her head through the door, a clipboard in hand, her signature look of frantic energy barely concealed behind a professional smile. She stepped into the room cautiously, as if she knew the fragility of the moment and didn't want to break whatever thin thread was holding me together.

"How are you doing?" she asked, her tone lighter than usual, like she was walking on eggshells.

"Fine," I lied, sitting up straighter and forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes.

Ashley didn't seem convinced, but she wasn't here to dig into my emotional state. "Great. So, I just wanted to go over your schedule for today. We've got a few interviews lined up, a photoshoot later, and Vought has requested your presence at a charity gala tonight."

I barely heard her. My mind was still tangled in the events of last night, the unease gnawing at me like a persistent itch I couldn't scratch.

"Ashley," I interrupted, my voice firmer than I intended. "Can we talk about something else? Something important?"

She blinked, surprised by the shift in my tone. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

I hesitated. How could I ask about Black Noir without sounding paranoid or, worse, putting myself on Vought's radar even more? I couldn't let them know I was suspicious—not yet.