"Black Noir," Jane said, her voice betraying a flicker of surprise as she found him looming before her.
She hadn't expected him to approach, let alone stand so close, as silent and unreadable as a shadow.
She glanced down at his outstretched gloved hand and saw the glint of silver. Her necklace dangled from his fingers, its delicate chain coiled like a snake ready to strike.
Instinctively, her hand flew to her neck, where the necklace should have been.
"Shit," she muttered, her fingers brushing bare skin. "Didn't even notice it had fallen off. This thing is ancient. I keep meaning to fix the clasp." Jane forced a chuckle, though it sounded hollow in her ears like a tin can rattling down an empty alley.
She hated that she was rambling, her nerves making her words spill out in a messy stream.
She tucked the necklace hastily into the useless pocket of her suit.
Well, now it wasn't completely useless.
She glanced at Black Noir, cursing him under her breath for always hiding behind that damn mask.
How was she supposed to know his thoughts when his face was locked away behind that cold, expressionless façade?
Did he recognise her?
It was possible—she'd grown a lot since she was six, but Jane had managed to break a few of his bones back then, and she doubted he'd forgotten the time a little girl handed him his own ass.
But if he remembered, he wasn't showing it. Not that she could tell, anyway.
She cleared her throat, trying to cut through the tension.
"Thanks. Uh, I'm Karma." She extended her hand, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.
He just stared at her hand, then slowly lifted his gaze back to her face, saying nothing, doing nothing. Just... staring.
His silence was a wall she couldn't scale.
Jane let her hand drop, heat prickling at her cheeks.
Fine.
She didn't want to shake his dumb hand anyway.
Without a word, Black Noir turned away and glided back to the piano, his movements fluid, almost ghostly.
Jane watched him go, her mind spinning. What a strange man. But at least it didn't seem like he recognised her, which was a small victory in this twisted game she was playing.
Perhaps a little naively, she hadn't planned what to do if he remembered her, but she was lucky.
As she turned back, the prickling sensation of being watched made her skin crawl.
She scanned the room and caught Stan Edgar's eyes, his gaze fixed on her, a pleased expression settling on his features.
She forced a tight smile.
Good.
He thought she had no qualms about standing in the same room as Black Noir.
Because Black Noir didn't kill her parents.
She did.
She shuddered, something she had done every time Jane thought about having to pretend that she didn't want to put black noir in a blender.
Pretend that she didn't want to use his blood to paint a few paintings so she could hang up in her apartment.
Jane allowed herself a moment of quiet triumph.
YOU ARE READING
HOT MILK - HOMELANDER
FanfictionIn a city where supes reign as idols, Jane, fueled by vengeance for her murdered parents, embarks on a daring mission: Infiltrate The Seven, Vought's elite team of Supes, to uncover the truth behind her parent's demise. But her path is perilous, esp...
