Daniel froze at first.
Then he looked at him in disbelief.
“What did you say?” “I’m not signing.” Lynn repeated himself.
This time, even clearer.
The man in the baseball cap slowly sat up straight.
The tall, thin man reached a hand beneath the table.
Daniel’s face finally darkened.
“Lynn, don’t be stupid.” Lynn looked at him.
“The old me was the stupid one.” Daniel lowered his voice.
“You think you can just walk out of here?” Lynn didn’t answer.
He merely pushed his chair back a fraction.
The legs scraped against the floor, making a harsh, grating sound.
Outside the booth, the burly man in the black T-shirt looked over.
Daniel raised a hand, signaling him to hold off for now.
He still wanted to control the situation.
Or rather, he didn’t want to make a scene here just yet.
That was important.
It meant this place wasn’t completely lawless.
They could threaten, coerce, and intimidate.
But they were still cautious about making noise.
Lynn noted that detail.
Daniel squeezed a sentence out from between his teeth: “You’re going to regret this.” “Maybe.” Lynn stood up.
“But not because I didn’t sign this thing.” He turned to leave.
The man in the baseball cap suddenly reached out and slammed a hand on his shoulder.
The grip was heavy.
An ordinary person’s bones and muscles felt fragile under a hand like that.
Lynn stopped.
He didn’t struggle.
He just glanced down at the hand.
Then he looked up at Daniel.
“Are you sure?” Daniel’s expression flickered uncertainly.
In this moment, he was clearly weighing options.
If he let Lynn walk, tonight’s play failed.
If he didn’t, things would escalate.
Lynn didn’t rush him.
He just stood there.
Heavy bass from the music filtered through from next door.
A few seconds later, Daniel slowly exhaled.
“Let him go.” The man in the baseball cap frowned.
“Daniel—” “I said let him go.” The hand lifted from Lynn’s shoulder.
Lynn adjusted his coat.
The movement was deliberate and slow, like an ordinary man preserving the last shred of dignity after being insulted.
Daniel glared at him, his voice cold.
“You think this is over?” Lynn said: “No.” He paused.
“I think this is just the beginning.” With that, he turned and walked out of the booth.
Several pairs of eyes pinned themselves to his back.
The burly man in the black T-shirt didn’t stop him, though he gave him a subtle shoulder bump as he passed.
Lynn stumbled half a step and steadied himself against the wall.
The wall was damp.
His fingertips picked up a smidgen of grime.
He didn’t look back.
Pushing open the heavy iron door, the cold night air rushed over him.
The wind in the Brooklyn back alley carried the stench of dumpsters, rainwater puddle runoff, and a distant pizza joint.
It smelled better than inside.
At least it felt real.
Lynn walked to the corner and turned into a street with slightly more foot traffic.
Only after confirming no one was immediately tailing him did he stop.
His shoulder ached.
The spot where the baseball cap guy had grabbed him throbbed with a dull numbness.
His breathing was heavier than usual.
Not from physical exertion.
From adrenaline.
The fear was real.
If Daniel had made a different call back there, Lynn might not have walked out whole tonight.
But Daniel didn’t.
Because Daniel wasn’t a lunatic—yet.
Because they still wanted a contract to solve their problem.
Because violence was too costly.
Because this was still New York, not a lawless wasteland.
Lynn looked up at a street surveillance camera.
Then he glanced at a nearby convenience store.
He walked in, bought a bottle of water and a pack of chewing gum.
The cashier barely glanced at him.
He paid, stepped outside, and walked two blocks down before pulling out his phone.
No audio recordings.
No photos.
Nothing that directly proved what happened tonight.
That wasn’t negligence.
It was a deliberate choice.
He couldn’t leave behind too much dangerous material right now.
Evidence was a weapon.
But if you couldn’t hold a weapon steady, it would cut you just as easily.
All he needed to do was remember.
The type of contract Daniel had brought.
The physical descriptions of his two companions.
The location of the venue.
Their methods of pressure.
And most importantly— Daniel no longer intended to rely solely on friendship and smooth talk.
Lynn took a sip of water.
The ice-cold liquid slid down his throat, slowly restoring his composure.
His phone suddenly vibrated.
A text from Daniel: “You’ll come crawling back to me.” Lynn looked at the message.
He didn’t reply.
A few seconds later, another message came in.
“If you don’t sign by Monday, the debt collectors will find out a lot more.” A third message: “So will Vought.” Lynn slipped the phone back into his pocket.
In the dark street, his expression remained perfectly calm.
This meeting wasn’t a failure.
On the contrary.
It had confirmed a great deal.
Daniel was still driven by greed.
He still had reservations.
He had accomplices.
He had a plan to keep squeezing him.
And above all, he was getting anxious.
When people got anxious, they made mistakes.
Lynn walked into the subway station.
There weren’t many people on the platform.
A homeless man wrapped in a blanket sat by a pillar, humming an unintelligible tune under his breath.
The ad screens were playing a Vought news snippet.
Starlight’s bright smile filled the screen.
“I hope to become a hero who gives people faith that hope still exists.” The shot cut.
Homelander stood beside her, smiling and clapping.
The lights on the platform flickered once.
Lynn stared at the screen, suddenly recalling Annie in the elevator from a few hours ago.
“At least when I’m not in front of the cameras.” When she said that, there was a subtle, almost imperceptible trace of self-mockery in her smile.
He pulled his gaze back.
The train pulled into the station.
A rush of wind surged out of the tunnel, whipping the hem of his coat.
Tonight wasn’t over.
He still had one thing left to do.
Not out of revenge.
Not out of impulse.
Simply to secure his fallback option.
When he returned to his Queens apartment, it was nearly ten o’clock at night.
Lynn unlocked the door, stepped inside, and threw the deadbolt.
The lights flickered on.
The living room was quiet.
This kind of quiet was entirely different from the low bass pounding through the Brooklyn back alley.
There, every inch of air felt soaked in booze and threat, while here, at least, it smelled of cheap laundry detergent, cold coffee, and frozen food.
Ordinary.
Poor.
But safe.
Temporarily safe.
Lynn took off his coat, but he didn’t sit down right away.
He went straight to the bathroom to wash his hands.
Water ran over his fingers, washing away the dirt picked up from the alley wall bit by bit.
In the mirror, his face was paler than usual.
There was a red thumb mark on his shoulder.
Left by the man in the baseball cap.
Lynn stared at it for a few seconds, reaching out to touch it lightly.
It hurt.
Good.
Pain proved that what just happened wasn’t a heat-of-the-moment hallucination.
He really had stepped into a trap.
And he really had walked out alive.
He returned to the living room and didn’t open his laptop.
Working in Vought’s archives department had taught him one thing better than most people: > Anything saved and preserved can eventually become evidence.
> And evidence never belongs exclusively to the person who stored it.
He couldn’t touch his work computer.
Nor could he leave a complete digital trail on his personal computer.
Especially starting tonight, the Daniel lead was no longer just a debt dispute—it involved black-market operators, forced signing, and potential secondary fraud.
If he wanted to deal with Vought in the future, yet left a messy trail handling a petty scammer, he’d be better off resigning now to sell hot dogs.
At least hot dogs wouldn’t audit his browsing history.
Lynn pulled a black hardcover notebook from the bookshelf.
The cover was plain.
The first few pages inside were equally mundane.
Rent.
Utilities.
Groceries.
Laundry schedule.
Workout routine.
And a crossed-out note: *Drink less coffee.* Clearly, that plan had failed spectacularly.
He flipped to the middle section.
A few sticky notes were tucked inside.
Lynn picked up a pen.
He didn’t write Daniel’s full name.
He only wrote a single line: [D: Friday night, back door, three people, paper rope, still fears light.] Then a second line: [Not revenge.
Prioritization.] After writing this line, he paused.
The tip of his pen hovered over the paper.
If Daniel had been a bit dumber or more ruthless tonight, things might have gotten very ugly.
But Daniel didn’t lay a hand on him.
Not out of kindness.
Because he still needed the contract.
He needed the veneer of legality.
He needed Lynn’s voluntary signature to become the rope around his neck.
That proved Daniel still relied on the shell of order.
And anything that relied on a shell was afraid of light.
What he needed to do now was not drag Daniel into an alley to settle things himself.
That was too crude.
Too risky.
And entirely unlike an archivist.
Lynn was far better at another way.
Arranging scattered pieces of information in order.
Letting the creditors see what they ought to see.
Letting the accomplices see what they were afraid to see.
Letting Daniel realize for himself that the shadows he hid in were thinning out.
He wouldn’t lie.
At least, he wouldn’t need to lie much.
Most of the time, the truth itself was sharp enough.
It just required someone to decide which piece to hand over to whom first.
Lynn wrote down one more sentence: [Make him walk into the light himself.] He closed the notebook and placed it back on the shelf.
Then he opened the fridge and took out a box of cheap frozen pizza.
The packaging was crumpled.
It looked like it had just been through a life far more crushing than its price tag suggested.
Lynn slid the pizza into the oven.
A little over ten minutes later, the crust came out slightly over-browned and hard, the cheese was pitifully sparse, and the tomato sauce looked like a red coat of paint struggling to maintain its dignity.
He sat at the dining table and ate it bite by bite.
Tonight, he didn’t drink.
He didn’t text Daniel back.
Nor did he write down any complete plan.
He just ate.
Ordinary people needed calories.
Especially before deciding to do something dangerous.
11:27 PM.
His phone screen lit up.
A news push notification popped up.
“Starlight Officially Debuts at Vought HQ; The Seven Welcomes New Hope.” Lynn swiped the notification away.
A few seconds later, another local news item appeared.
“Brief Traffic Control in Manhattan; Suspected High-Speed Supe Activity in Transit.” His finger paused.
A blue blur.
High-speed action.
Manhattan.
The news report was brief, with no reported casualties or specific hero named.
Lynn didn’t jump to conclusions immediately.
He just stared at the screen, silent for a few seconds.
Then he bookmarked the link, titling it: “Traffic.” A title as ordinary as ordinary could get.
Having done that, he locked his phone.
Daniel’s line was tightening.
A-Train’s line was closing in too.
And all he could do right now was ensure neither line strangled him prematurely.
Outside the window, the city roared.
Lynn turned off the lights.
Before the darkness fell, he took one last glance at the bookshelf.
The black notebook stood quietly in its place.
Like an unlabeled file box.