The security door closed with a dull thud, shutting out the sensor lights of the hallway.
Zack Vance double-locked the door, placed the grocery bag on the entryway cabinet, and changed into his slippers.
The apartment’s main lights weren’t on.
Only the brilliant neon glow of the Manhattan night refracted through the newly installed one-way bulletproof glass, casting mottled, cold hues across the carpet.
He walked into the kitchen and turned on the warm spotlight above the island.
He dumped the brisket into the sink and turned on the faucet.
The cold tap water washed over the bright red meat.
The sound of rushing water echoed through the quiet apartment, slowly washing away the residual tension in Zack’s mind.
He peeled the potatoes and cut them into even chunks, sliced the ginger, and prepped the star anise and cinnamon.
Hot pan, cold oil.
Rock sugar gradually melted and bubbled at the bottom of the pan.
He tossed in the blanched brisket, which hissed delightfully as he stir-fried it.
The rich aroma of fat and caramelized sugar instantly billowed up.
He covered the stew pot with its glass lid and turned the stove down to a low, blue flame.
Zack dried his hands and walked over to the wine cabinet in the living room.
He had purchased this a few days ago using some leftover funds from his system rewards, filling it with a few bottles of decent vintages.
He pulled out a decanter, poured a small glass, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
The night was deep, and the heavy bulletproof glass completely blocked out the noisy traffic below.
He gently swirled the glass, the dark red liquid leaving thick legs on the glass.
His gaze pierced through this specialized barrier, looking down at the city streets spreading like veins below.
Zack took a sip of the red wine, the slightly astringent tannins dissolving on his tongue.
In this universe filled with villains, an ordinary person’s life was worth less than a sewer rat’s.
Yet at this moment, standing in this apartment that was once full of holes but had been slowly repaired by his own hands, he looked at his reflection in the glass, and his eyes no longer held the helplessness he felt when first facing Black Noir’s blade.
Great Wall Capital’s shell accounts were sweeping up shares in the stock market, with 170 million dollars in ammunition ready to go at any moment.
The instant Vought International was hit with a scandal, he could trigger a tsunami in the financial markets.
And while the entry of The Boys brought unpredictable dangers, it also meant he had a chance to play them against Vought.
*Hum—*
A very low-frequency vibration echoed from the night sky outside.
Zack didn’t turn around.
He simply placed his wine glass down on the nearby coffee table.
A few seconds later, a very soft rush of air settled on the balcony.
The newly replaced bulletproof glass had excellent soundproofing, but Zack could still see the tall silhouette outside.
Joanne stood in her dazzling Star-Spangled suit, her blonde hair slightly messy from the high-altitude winds.
She hovered quietly outside the balcony, her azure eyes staring at Zack through the one-way glass.
There was none of her usual public arrogance in her eyes; only an unmaskable trace of fatigue, and a childlike longing for home.
Zack walked forward and unlocked the sliding balcony door.
The moment the door opened, the chilly autumn night air rushed in, accompanied by the cold breeze clinging to Joanne.
“This new glass can’t block my vision,” Joanne said as she stepped into the living room, her knee-high red boots clicking on the floor.
She glanced at the thick new glass.
“But at least it blocks out the filthy stench of those rats outside.”
“Its main job is keeping the wind out so I don’t get a headache every time I cook,” Zack replied, closing the sliding door to shut out the cold.
He turned to look at Joanne.
At the edge of his vision, the silent, glowing blue panel emerged.
[Perfect Empathy Radar has been activated.]
[Target’s Current Emotion: Deep Fatigue / Social Aversion / Seeking Security]
[Psychological Defenses: Completely Disarmed]
“What boring PR campaign did Madelyn arrange for you today?” Zack walked to the kitchen and lifted the lid of the stew pot.
A rich aroma of meat billowed out with the white steam.
“Go wash your hands.
The beef brisket and potatoes are almost ready.”
Joanne took off her cape with the Vought logo and tossed it onto the sofa.
High-intensity patrols and meetings weren’t enough to drain the super-heroine’s stamina.
What truly exhausted her was Madelyn’s gaze, which seemed gentle but was filled with testing and calculations.
The entire Vought Tower was like a massive plastic stage, where everyone recited fake lines.
Only when she sat in this run-down apartment filled with the smell of home-cooked meat did she feel like a living person rather than a packaged commodity.
After washing her hands, Joanne walked barefoot to the kitchen island, pulled out a high stool, and sat down.
Zack brought over two steaming plates of rice and a large bowl of tender, slow-cooked beef brisket and potatoes, handing her a pair of chopsticks.
“She didn’t bring up last night at all today,” Joanne said, clumsily holding the chopsticks as she poked a potato soaked in gravy and stuffed it into her mouth.
“She acted like nothing happened, even praising my public image maintenance to the media.”
“Basic corporate etiquette.”
Zack ladled a bowl of soup for himself, his voice calm.
“As long as you don’t flip the table, she won’t touch the detonator.
She’s more afraid of breaking the balance than you are right now.”
Joanne paused her chopsticks and looked up at Zack.
The man who had once seemed as fragile as an ant to her was now eating his food slowly.
The scratch left on his neck last night had already scabbed over, but the bone-deep composure he exuded gave her an inexplicable sense of peace.
“What if she sends someone else?” Joanne’s gaze darkened slightly, a faint blue glow flickering deep in her pupils.
“This glass won’t stop Black Noir’s blade.”
“She won’t.”
Zack set down his bowl, pulled a tissue to wipe his mouth, and met her gaze.
“Vought is a company focused on costs and benefits.
Before they can assess my ‘threat level,’ she won’t make another tedious attempt.
And…”
Zack paused, glancing out the window at the deep night.
“…she’s not the only one eyeing this piece of meat anymore.
With multiple factions keeping each other in check, this place has actually become the safest eye of the storm in New York.”
Joanne didn’t quite understand the intricate power play of these factions, or perhaps she simply disdained to.
In her logic, whoever dared to come near this place, she would incinerate them.
It was that simple.
Dinner ended in a strange silence.
Zack cleared the dishes and put them in the dishwasher.
When he dried his hands, picked up his unfinished wine, and walked back to the window, Joanne—who had been sitting on the stool—had stood up behind him at some point.
She wasn’t wearing her cape, and her suit clung tightly to her tall, powerful frame.
Just as Zack was about to tease her for being unusually quiet tonight, a warm touch pressed against his back.
Joanne wrapped her arms around Zack’s waist from behind.
She rested her chin gently on his shoulder, her golden hair falling against his collarbone, carrying the scent of her shampoo and the crisp chill of the high-altitude clouds.
There was no aggression in this embrace, and it didn’t trigger the passive protection of her Body of Steel.
“I don’t want to go back today,” Joanne’s voice whispered in Zack’s ear, as soft as a sigh.
“That bed is too soft, and the faint hum of the surveillance cameras is everywhere.
It gives me a headache.” She tightened her arms, pressing her cheek against the side of his neck, feeling the steady throb of his carotid artery beneath his warm skin.
“It’s much quieter here.”
Zack’s hand holding the wine glass froze in mid-air.
He could feel the incredible curves and warmth of her body behind him, and he knew that this girl, who possessed the power to destroy the world, was currently exposing her softest side to him without reservation.
Zack tilted his head back and drained the remaining red wine.
“The guest bed is very hard, and I haven’t put fresh sheets on it,” Zack said, placing his left hand over Joanne’s hand on his waist and giving it a gentle pat.
“I’ll sleep in the master bedroom,” Joanne said matter-of-factly, with a touch of stubborn authority.
“That’s my bed.”
“It’s ours now.
You provide your heartbeat as a sleeping pill, and I’ll make sure you don’t get your throat slit by some rat crawling out of nowhere in the middle of the night.
It’s fair.”
Joanne let go, stepped past Zack without ceremony, and walked straight toward the master bedroom.
At the door, she stopped, turned her head, her azure eyes flashing with a triumphant smile.
“And your sheets have that…
really nice laundry detergent smell.”
The master bedroom door clicked shut behind her.
Zack stood in the empty living room, looking at the closed door and rubbing his temples in resignation.
After brushing his teeth and washing up, he opened the master bedroom door.
The super-heroine, who could make the entire world tremble, was lying sprawled across most of the bed, tightly hugging Zack’s pillow like a koala holding a tree trunk, her sleeping face peaceful.
Zack slipped under the covers on the other side of the bed.
Before he could pull up the blanket, a warm body followed its instincts and wrapped around him like an octopus.