On Tuesday morning, Maeve stopped Miles Vance in the hallway.
She was leaning against the wall holding a protein shake, looking as though she had been waiting for him.
The corridor was deserted.
It was lunch hour, and most people were out eating.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a cold white glare across the tiled floor.
“You’re getting pretty close to Starlight,” she said.
Miles stopped in his tracks.
The hallway was quiet, save for the low rumble of the ventilation system.
Maeve hadn’t spoken loudly, but her voice echoed clearly down the empty corridor.
“She’s a good person,” Miles said.
Maeve looked at him.
Her expression wasn’t threatening—it was complex, difficult to read.
It looked as though she was weighing her options, hesitating over something.
“‘A good person’?” Maeve repeated, letting out a dry chuckle.
It wasn’t friendly; it was the kind of laugh reserved for someone hopelessly naive.
“In this company, ‘being a good person’ and ‘staying alive’ usually don’t go together.”
Miles stayed silent, studying her.
Her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and she wore a workout tank top and leggings that highlighted the defined muscle on her arms.
She looked like she had just come from the gym.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying—if you actually care about her, don’t drag her into this.”
“Drag her into what?”
Maeve didn’t answer.
She took a sip of her protein shake, turned on her heel, and walked away, her footsteps steady and deliberate.
After a few paces, she paused and spoke without turning around:
“Stay away from Sub-Level 4. It’s not something you can handle.”
Then she left, rounding the corner at the end of the hall and disappearing from sight.
Miles stood rooted to the spot.
A sudden chill ran through him—not metaphorically, but a physical sensation of cold rising from the soles of his feet and crawling up his spine.
Maeve knew about Sub-Level 4.
She knew he was investigating it.
She was warning him—yet it sounded more like a heads-up, as if to say, *I know what you’re doing.
I won’t stop you, but you need to be careful.*
Whose side was she actually on?
Miles returned to his cubicle and sat there for a long time, staring at his computer screen.
The display showed Vought’s standard blue desktop wallpaper, centered around the company logo—a white V inside a circle.
He remembered the look Maeve had given Homelander at the gala.
It hadn’t been admiration or affection; it was helpless resignation, a look that said, *I know what you really are, but there’s nothing I can do.* He had seen that look far too many times—in the experimental logs from Red River Institute, on the faces of children ruined by Compound V, and in Starlight’s eyes when she confessed, “I killed that man.”
He woke his computer and pretended to read work emails.
A new notification popped up—an internal Vought security advisory warning all staff to watch out for “suspicious individuals.” He didn’t open it.
His mind was racing.
Maeve knew about Sub-Level 4.
She knew about S-017. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
She was warning him.
But she hadn’t told Homelander.
If she were truly on Homelander’s side, she wouldn’t have warned him—she would have snitched.
One email, one phone call, and Homelander would know everything.
Then Miles would be liquidated, erased in an “accidental death” just like The Deep.
Instead, she had chosen to warn him.
What did that mean?
Miles picked up his phone, intending to text Butcher, but paused and set it back down.
He couldn’t tell Butcher everything.
Butcher had his own agenda and his own motives.
Butcher wasn’t necessarily a friend.
Butcher wanted to tear Homelander down, which aligned with Miles’s goal, but Butcher’s methods—leave no survivors—clashed with Miles’s principles.
Miles leaned back in his chair and stared at the white ceiling, where a hum echoed from the fluorescent light above.
The only person he could truly trust right now was himself.
And Starlight.
He opened his chat history with Starlight.
Last night, she had sent a message: *Goodnight.
See you tomorrow.*
He had replied with a single word: *Okay.*
He locked his phone and returned to his fake work.
His fingers clicked away, knocking out lines of meaningless text that looked like a report, though none of it registered in his head.
Eventually, his hands came to a stop, hovering over the keys without striking another one.
He was thinking about what Maeve had said—
*”Stay away from Sub-Level 4.”*
Too late.
He was already involved.
Miles leaned back against his chair, gazing up at the ceiling.
The fluorescent light hummed, casting a pale glare over his face and leaving his eyes feeling dry.
The power of The Flash surged through his veins—he could feel that speed ready to detonate at any second.
But right now, he didn’t need speed.
He needed to think.
He recalled the first time he had seen Maeve, back at a meeting of The Seven.
She had been sitting at the far end of the long conference table with an untouched glass of water before her, staying silent the entire time.
Only when Homelander spoke did she occasionally nod—a dismissive, perfunctory nod that conveyed, *I hear what you’re saying, but I can’t be bothered to argue.*
He remembered the way she had looked at Homelander at the gala—not with admiration or affection, but with helpless resignation.
*I know what you are, but I’m powerless.*
Maeve knew everything.
She knew what Homelander was.
She knew what Vought was doing.
She knew who was locked away on Sub-Level 4.
She knew what had happened at Red River Institute. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
She knew it all—and yet she had done nothing.
Not because she didn’t want to.
Because she couldn’t.
Miles sat up straight and picked up his phone.
He opened his chat with Butcher.
The last message from Butcher read: *Word from Red River is that Vought’s launched an internal investigation.
Watch your back.*
He stared at the text for a long time.
Butcher knew what he was doing and supported him, but Butcher had his own plan.
Butcher wanted to take down Homelander, and he didn’t care how many bodies piled up or who got sacrificed along the way.
Miles locked his phone and set it on the desk.
He began reevaluating the entire situation.
Butcher had given him the address of Red River Institute.
Butcher had helped him uncover the existence of S-017.
Butcher checked in after every operation.
But Butcher had never once asked about his plan—never asked, “How do you intend to save S-017?” or “How do you plan to take down Homelander?”
Butcher was simply waiting.
Waiting for him to make a scene.
Waiting for him to draw Vought’s attention.
Waiting for him to become the target.
And then, at the critical moment, Butcher would make his move.
Miles tapped his fingers lightly against the desk twice.
He couldn’t fully trust Butcher.
He needed a plan of his own.
He opened a new blank document on his computer.
The cursor blinked on the screen, as if waiting for his input.
After a moment’s thought, he typed a single line:
*”Plan B: If everything spiraled out of control—”*
Then he stopped and stared at the words.
If everything spiraled out of control… what should he do?
He didn’t know.
But he knew one thing: he couldn’t let Starlight get dragged into this.
He couldn’t let Mrs. Park get dragged into this.
He couldn’t let anyone he cared about get dragged into this.
He deleted the line and closed the document.
Then he stood up and headed for the elevator.
He needed to see someone—Zero.
The black-eyed woman locked away on Sub-Level 4.
The test subject modified by Stan Edgar.