The next afternoon, in a secluded cafe.
Starlight sat in the furthest corner, wearing a hoodie and a cap.
A cold latte sat in front of her.
When she saw Miles Vance walk in, she gave a slight wave.
The movement was tiny, as if she were afraid of drawing attention.
Miles walked over and slid into the seat opposite her.
The cafe was quiet, with only two or three other customers sitting near the windows.
Low, slow jazz saxophone music drifted in the background.
“You look like you didn’t sleep well,” he said.
“Neither did you.”
Miles nodded.
He ordered a black coffee, taking a sip once it was served.
Bitter.
Perfect.
The sharp bite of caffeine cleared his head a little.
Starlight looked at him.
“You went to Red River yesterday.”
It wasn’t a question.
Miles didn’t deny it.
“Yeah.”
“Did Butcher tell you?”
“No. Vought had an internal meeting this morning. The Red River Institute was breached. They said an unidentified supe broke in and stole the lab records.” Starlight kept her voice very low, keeping it strictly between them.
“I knew it was you.”
Miles set his cup down.
“Are you scared?”
“Of what?”
“Of me dragging you down with me.”
Starlight looked at him.
There was exhaustion and worry in her eyes, but most of all, there was resolve.
A resolve that wasn’t forced, but ran deep in her bones.
“I’m not scared,” she said.
“I told you before—I’ve chosen to stand by you.”
Miles didn’t speak.
He looked down at the dark liquid in his cup.
Its surface was as still as a mirror, reflecting the ceiling lights.
“I need to tell you something,” Starlight said.
Miles looked up.
“About how I joined The Seven.”
Starlight picked up her cold latte and took a sip.
She frowned—it was cold and bitter.
But she didn’t put the cup down; she gripped it as if she needed something to hold onto.
Her fingers tightened, her knuckles turning white.
“When I was eighteen, a Vought talent scout found me in Indiana,” she said.
“I was performing in a county talent show, making my hands glow. It wasn’t some amazing power, but in a small town like that, it was mind-blowing.”
She offered a faint, self-deprecating smile.
“They signed me to a ten-year contract. Told me I’d join The Seven. Told me I’d be a hero, that I’d change the world.” She set her cup down.
“And back then, I believed them.”
Starlight’s eyes were calm, as if she were telling someone else’s story.
“On my first day with The Seven, Homelander called me into his office. He said, ‘Welcome aboard. But there’s a rule to joining The Seven.'” Starlight’s breath hitched slightly, as if the mere memory of those words tightened her chest.
“He said, ‘You have to kill someone.'”
Miles’s fingers tightened against the table.
His nails made a soft scraping sound against the wooden surface.
“I thought he was joking,” Starlight said.
“But he wasn’t. He took me down to Sub-level 4—”
Miles’s pupils contracted.
“—where there was a man tied to a chair. A normal guy. Not a criminal, not a villain. Just… a regular person who saw something he shouldn’t have. He was blindfolded, gagged, and shaking.”
“Homelander handed me a gun. He said, ‘Kill him.'”
Starlight’s voice was flat, as if recounting a stranger’s tale.
But her eyes betrayed her—there was a hollow look in them, as if her soul had temporarily departed her body while she relived the memory.
“I refused. He said, ‘If you don’t kill him, I’ll kill your entire family.'”
She lowered her head, looking at her hands.
The hands that used to glow, the hands people used to call “the hands of a hero.”
“So I killed him.”
Silence fell between them.
The background music hummed.
The saxophone’s slow, low drone sounded like a dirge.
Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a rectangular patch of light across the table.
“After that, I was no longer a hero,” Starlight said.
“I was a murderer.”
Miles reached across the table and took her hand.
Starlight’s fingers were freezing.
Like ice.
“You’re not,” he said.
Starlight looked up at him.
Her eyes welled with tears, but she didn’t let them fall.
She bit her lower lip, holding it in.
“How do you know I’m not?”
“Because real murderers don’t lose sleep over it three years later.”
Starlight froze.
She stared at Miles for a long time.
Finally, she couldn’t hold them back any longer—tears silently spilled over and rolled down her cheeks.
She didn’t wipe them away.
She just let them fall, dripping from her chin onto the table.
One drop, then another, leaving dark circles on the wood.
Miles stood up, walked around the table, and pulled her into his arms.
Starlight buried her face in his chest.
Her shoulders trembled.
But she made no sound—as if she had long grown used to crying in silence.
Her fingers gripped his shirt, holding on so tightly her knuckles turned white.
After a long while, Starlight looked up.
Her eyes were red, but her expression had regained its composure.
She spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Tonight… don’t leave me alone.”
Miles looked down at her.
“Okay.”
Starlight stood up and wiped her face.
Though her eyes were still rimmed with red, she had composed herself.
She grabbed her purse, pulled out her wallet, and left a few bills on the table to cover the coffee.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Miles stood up and followed her out.
It was dark outside.
The streetlights had flickered on, casting a dim amber glow over the damp pavement.
The savory scent of roasting meat, garlic, and tomato sauce wafted from a restaurant across the street.
Two men in suits stood by the entrance smoking, the cherry tips of their cigarettes glowing in the dark.
They walked side by side down the street.
Starlight kept her hands buried in her hoodie pockets, staring down at her toes.
Miles walked beside her in silence.
After a block, Starlight stopped.
“You know,” she said, “I’ve never told anyone this. You’re the first.”
“I know.”
“I was planning on keeping it to myself forever. Taking it to the grave.”
Miles looked at her.
Her profile was soft under the streetlamp, her eyelashes still damp with unshed tears that caught the light.
“Then why tell me?”
Starlight fell silent for a moment.
She looked up at the sky.
The night sky over New York wasn’t black; it was a dark, muddy red, stained by the city’s light pollution.
A few bright stars struggled to pierce the hazy glow, shining faintly against the dark red backdrop.
“Because you’re the first person who makes me feel…” She paused, searching for the right words.
“…safe.”
Miles didn’t say anything.
“In this city,” Starlight continued, “everyone is putting on an act. Vought plays hero. Politicians play saint. Criminals play victim. No one is real. But you—” She turned to look at him.
“You’re real.”
Miles looked at her.
Starlight’s eyes shone brightly under the lamplight.
It wasn’t the glisten of tears anymore—it was a spark that had been ignited.
“Come on,” he said.
“Let me walk you back.”
They kept walking, their footsteps echoing in the quiet street.
A siren wailed in the distance, drawing near before fading away.
A black cat dashed out from behind a dumpster, darted across the street, and vanished into the shadows of an alley.
Miles walked beside her with his hands in his pockets.
He could feel Wolverine’s claws sleeping beneath his skin—a power he could summon at any time.
But he didn’t need it right now.
Right now, he just needed to walk.
To walk with her.