𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 | 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄

WARNING: This chapter will contain discussion of rape and Carrie having a breakdown.

I threw my phone onto the bed, the screen dimming before it bounced off the edge and hit the floor with a soft thud. My hand lingered in the air for a second, my fingers still curled from the force. Trust? What a joke.

I felt the weight of it all pressing down harder than before. Leo's words rang in my head, each one a sharp reminder that no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't get out of this mess alone. He was asking me to trust him, and part of me still wanted to. But after everything—after being turned into a puppet for Vought, paraded around as their next big thing while Homelander hovered like a vulture—it felt impossible.

I sank down on the edge of the bed, my thoughts spiraling, the walls of my hotel room closing in on me. Outside, I could hear the distant sound of traffic and the occasional honk of a horn. Life carried on out there. People went about their business, completely unaware of the hell I was trapped in. And I envied them. I envied every single person who could walk down the street without feeling like a loaded gun pointed at their head.

I stood up and started pacing the room, trying to shake the anxiety crawling up my spine. My powers simmered just beneath the surface, begging for release, but I kept them locked down. Couldn't afford another slip. Not now. Not when every move I made was being watched, scrutinized.

Leo was right about one thing—I wasn't in control. Not anymore. The moment I signed that contract with Vought, I'd signed away my life. My name, my face, my entire existence belonged to them now. Homelander reminded me of that every time he looked at me, his eyes drilling into me like he was already imagining how he'd break me when the time came.

I stopped by the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peer out. The city lights blurred in the distance, and I wondered how many of them were like me—lost in a web they couldn't escape. People who got sucked into Vought's machine, chewed up, and spit out.

The thought made my chest tighten. I wasn't going to be one of them. I couldn't. Not after everything I'd been through to survive.

A knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts, and I tensed immediately. No one was supposed to know I was here. I was just another ghost hiding in the cracks of the city, trying to avoid Vought's watchful eyes for a few hours of peace. But the knock came again, more insistent this time.

I crossed the room in a few quick strides, my heart pounding. Reaching the door, I pressed my ear against it, straining to hear anything. A shuffle of feet. A breath. Someone was definitely there.

"Who is it?" I called out, my voice sharp, ready to defend myself if I had to.

There was a brief pause, then a voice I hadn't expected.

"It's Maeve."

My breath caught. Maeve? What the hell was she doing here?

I hesitated for a second longer before unlocking the door and pulling it open just a crack. Sure enough, there she was—Queen Maeve, her face partially shadowed under a hood, her eyes scanning the hallway behind her like she was being followed.

"Let me in," she said quickly, her voice low and urgent.

Without thinking, I stepped back and opened the door wider, letting her slip inside. She moved with the kind of precision you'd expect from someone who'd spent years surviving in Vought's twisted world, her steps quiet, deliberate.

Once the door was shut and locked again, I turned to face her, my arms crossed defensively. "What are you doing here?"

Maeve pulled down her hood, her hair falling loose around her shoulders as she glanced around the room. "We need to talk. And it's not safe anywhere near Vought."