Inside the Seven's conference room at Vought Tower, Homelander sat at the head of the table with his hands clasped together.
The room was silent.
Three days had passed since Flight 37. To the public, Homelander was the hero who had saved everyone aboard.
Vought's PR department had buried the truth beneath interviews, press releases, and carefully edited footage.
Homelander knew better.
He hadn't saved that plane. Someone else had. And then that someone had looked him in the eyes, smiled, and walked away like Homelander was a minor inconvenience.
Nobody did that.
Nobody.
He'd been replaying it for three days and it still made his jaw tighten. The casual dismissal of it. The smile. Like Homelander was something that simply didn't register as a threat.
Around the table, A-Train and the Deep kept quiet. Neither was stupid enough to speak first.
Eventually Homelander smiled. The warm one. The one he used for cameras and children's hospitals.
"You know what I love about this team?" he said pleasantly. "The trust. That's what makes us special. That's what makes us the Seven."
Homelander's smile remained. "A-Train."
A-Train straightened. "Yeah?"
"I need you to find someone for me." His voice stayed light, almost friendly. "White hair. Red eyes. Walks around with that smile like nothing in the world can touch him." He paused.
"The moment you find him, you call me. You call me. Understood?"
A-Train nodded. "Understood."
But something crossed his face. Just for a fraction of a second.
Homelander caught it.
The warm smile stayed exactly where it was. "You know him."
"No."
Homelander tilted his head slightly, the way he did when he found something genuinely interesting.
Then he stood up and walked slowly around the table. Nobody spoke. The Deep became very focused on the grain of the polished wood in front of him. Homelander stopped behind A-Train and placed a hand on his shoulder, gentle as anything.
"A-Train," he said softly. "Buddy. Are you hiding something from me?"
"No."
The word barely left his mouth before Homelander grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into the table.
The impact cracked through the room like a gunshot.
Blood immediately ran from A-Train's nose across the polished surface. Homelander kept his hand pressed firmly on the back of his neck.
"You're a terrible liar," he said, voice perfectly calm. "I saw your face the moment I described him."
"I don't know who he is."
Homelander pressed harder. "Then why did you react?"
Silence.
"I'm going to ask you one more time," Homelander said quietly, almost gently.
"And I really, genuinely hope you make the right choice here. Because I hate having these conversations." A brief pause.
"Say it. Or I'll peel your skin off myself and we'll both have a very unpleasant afternoon."
A-Train's breathing became uneven. He knew Homelander wasn't bluffing. He never bluffed.
"I met him once."
Homelander slowly released him and stepped back. His expression remained completely pleasant. "Say that again?"
"During the Triad cleanup." A-Train sat up, blood dripping from his nose. "The woman got away because he showed up. I didn't think it was important enough to report."
For a moment Homelander just looked at him. Then he laughed. A short, genuine laugh.
"Not important enough." He repeated it slowly, like he was tasting the words.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
"I hate liars," Homelander said simply. "You know that about me. That's the one thing I genuinely cannot stand." He straightened his tie.
"Did you find him afterward?"
"No."
"Chase him?"
"I tried. He disappeared."
"No." Homelander's pleasantness finally cracked, just slightly. "You lost him."
A-Train said nothing.
Homelander stepped closer until they were face to face. Up close, his expression was almost parental. Disappointed.
"You're going back to where you met him. Every street, every building, every apartment, every corner. I don't care how long it takes."
He patted A-Train's cheek twice, almost affectionately. "Until you find him, that is your only job. You don't eat, you don't sleep, you don't run a single race. You find him. Clear?"
"Clear."
Homelander turned toward the Deep. "If he tells you anything. If you see anything even remotely connected to this. You tell me immediately."
"Yeah," the Deep said immediately. "Absolutely. Of course."
Homelander looked between them for a long moment, that warm smile returning like nothing had happened. "I love this team," he said again.
Then he walked out. The door clicked shut behind him.
The silence that followed lasted several seconds.
A-Train slowly sat back, pressing his sleeve against his nose. The Deep finally looked up from the table.
"Man," the Deep said quietly. "You are seriously messed up."
"Don't." A-Train's voice was flat. "I saw your face too. The second Homelander described him. You reacted."
The smile disappeared from the Deep's face. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Cut it." A-Train leaned forward. "We both know who he is. So here's what's going to happen — you keep your mouth shut about whatever your little run-in was, and I won't tell Homelander you've been sitting on the same information as me."
The Deep's expression shifted into something uncomfortable. "And what do you want?"
"Help finding him. Because if Homelander figures out you crossed paths with this guy and said nothing..." A-Train gestured toward the blood still on the table. "You'll be sitting exactly where I just was."
The Deep stared at the table for a moment. Then gave a slow, reluctant nod. "Fine."
Neither of them said anything after that.
They both understood what was at stake. Homelander in a bad mood was dangerous. Homelander feeling disrespected was something else entirely.
And whatever this white-haired man had done to him, it had clearly gotten under his skin in a way that very few things ever did.
***
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