Elaine leaned back in her chair, her fingers clutching the edge of her coffee mug as she stared at the headline glowing across her screen: "A-Train Prevents Disaster on 5th Avenue." The article praised his speed, his precise intervention that "saved countless lives." With each word, her pulse quickened, memories of her own encounter with A-Train flooding her mind.

She could still feel the impact of the collision, the burn from her scraped palms, and the way her heart had thudded as she struggled to breathe. His face had been void of any remorse, his eyes cold as he muttered, "Talk to Vought," and disappeared, leaving her there like debris.

Elaine swallowed hard, her stomach twisting as she skimmed further down the article, past lines dripping with adoration. "Known for his heroic feats, A-Train has once again proven to be one of Vought's finest," it said.

Heroic. The word stung. She tried to shake the memory, but the sensation of her ribs bruised from that crash still haunted her. They called him a hero, but they hadn't seen him look down at her like she was nothing, hadn't felt the humiliation of being tossed aside without even a hint of acknowledgment.

Her hand moved instinctively to her side, where the ache still flared up on cold nights. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. There was no way she could keep reading these glorified lies.

She another sip of her coffee. Elaine's apartment was silent, the soft hum of the city below her windows the only sound. When she heard a faint sound—a quiet shift, like the weight of someone settling on her living room floor.

Heart pounding, she stepped slowly out of the kitchen, her gaze falling on the last person she'd expect in her home.

Homelander stood in the middle of her living room, hands clasped casually behind his back. His gaze roamed over the room, taking in every detail with a disconcerting calmness. He finally turned to face her, his unsettlingly bright blue eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her spine stiffen.

"Elaine," he greeted her, his smile wide, too familiar. "You seem surprised to see me."

She forced herself to stay calm, reminding herself that he had been here once before, unannounced, with that same quiet menace. Yet the unease washed over her just as strongly as it had the first time. She steadied her voice. "Homelander. I didn't expect you... here. Again."

His gaze was intense, sweeping over the room as though he hadn't already committed every inch of it to memory. "Oh, I know you didn't." He stepped further in, his tone light, almost conversational. "But I thought we needed to talk. This recent article of yours—well, it's been making a bit of noise. Vought thinks it's... disruptive."

Elaine felt a shiver despite herself. She crossed her arms, keeping her voice even. "It's been well-received by the public. People want the truth, Homelander."

"Oh, sure, sure," he said, nodding with a mock sincerity that made her skin prickle. "But your truth?" His eyes locked onto hers, his smile thinning. "It's starting to sound like a problem."

She met his stare, defiant. "That's because it is a problem. People are beginning to realize what's really going on."

Homelander's smile faded, replaced by a hardness that left no room for pretense. "Let's be clear, Elaine. You're brave, I'll give you that. But push too hard, and I won't be quite so friendly next time. I'd hate for you to learn that lesson the hard way."

His words lingered, a threat cloaked in civility, before he finally turned, leaving her in silence, the only sound the rapid beat of her own heart.

Elaine held her ground, though a sense of unease gnawed at her. "I reported what I uncovered. You're the one who answers my question."

"You've put us in a difficult position," Homelander continued, his voice tinged with thinly veiled threat. "But you should be careful about what you uncover. Some things are better left hidden."

Elaine's skepticism grew. She had suspected Homelander had his own agenda, but now his veiled threats confirmed it. Yet, she couldn't deny the thrill of unraveling the truth, even if it meant facing the consequences.

Elaine's jaw clenched as she watched Homelander saunter toward her with that practiced air of control, like he owned her space, her thoughts, and her fear. She had let him get away with too much already. The intimidation, the veiled threats—all the times she'd bitten her tongue to keep from crossing a line that could get her into real trouble. But she was done letting herself feel small.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened, stepping forward so that only a few feet separated them.

"Homelander," she began, her voice steadier than she felt, "you're used to people backing down. I get that. But I'm not just some PR pawn Vought can play with. I'm a journalist." She crossed her arms, her gaze unflinching. "I report the truth, and you don't get to dictate what that is. Not here, and certainly not in my home."

The corners of his mouth twitched, but his eyes turned icy. "Elaine, you don't want to push me. You might not like what happens next."

Elaine met his gaze, refusing to let her fear show. "Maybe not," she replied, her voice as firm as she could manage. "But that doesn't change what I'm going to do. People deserve to know what they're really supporting when they cheer for you and the rest of Vought's puppets. You want to be a hero? Then start acting like one."

Homelander's lips tightened into a thin smile, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of anger. "A hero," he repeated softly, as if testing the word, his voice barely above a whisper. "Funny how people like you—people who wouldn't know the first thing about power—love to judge those of us who have it."

Elaine felt her pulse quicken. She had him on edge, and that meant she was onto something. But one wrong word could set him off.

"Power isn't the same as control, Homelander. And it's not the same as respect," she said, carefully measuring her tone. "Respect is earned. Vought might have bought you followers, but one of these days, people are going to realize what they're really following."

Homelander's eyes turned cold, his smile vanishing completely. "Careful, Elaine. Respect works both ways." He leaned in, his voice a quiet, dangerous murmur. "Just remember, I'm the only one standing between you and... unfortunate consequences."

The silence stretched between them, thick with tension, before he finally straightened, casting one last, lingering look at her. "You're on thin ice," he said. "Tread carefully."

Without another word, he turned, the echo of his words hanging in the air as he left her apartment. Elaine waited until she was certain he was gone, her knees weak from the adrenaline. But as she stood alone in the empty room, she knew one thing for sure: she was just getting started.

Elaine waited until the door clicked shut before releasing a shaky breath, the weight of his threat settling over her. Her heart was still racing, but it wasn't fear alone that filled her; a fierce, stubborn resolve simmered beneath it. If anything, Homelander's visit had only made her more certain she was on the right track.

She walked to the window, watching the dim city lights flicker outside. The air felt heavy, charged, and she knew that this story would be her most dangerous yet. She could feel the risks, see them coiled and waiting in the shadowed corners of her life. But retreating was no longer an option.

As she sank into her chair, her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced down to see an unfamiliar number and a message: Butcher here. Time we had a little chat, don't you think? I might have the answers you're looking for.

Elaine's pulse quickened. She'd heard of Butcher—his ruthless vendetta against Vought, his ability to dig up dirt no one else could. But she also knew his reputation. Butcher's idea of "truth" often came with a price. If she was going to meet him, she'd need to tread carefully.

Deciding to think it over, Elaine turned her attention back to her laptop, staring at the half-finished article in front of her. She hadn't even scratched the surface of the real story. If she wanted to make a dent in the iron-clad shield Vought had built around its heroes, she'd need to go beyond just the testimonies she'd gathered so far. And, possibly, beyond what Homelander was willing to reveal to her.

She leaned back, chewing over her options before pulling out her phone to call her editor Georgia. After a couple of rings, his familiar gruff voice answered.

"Elaine," she greeted her with a cautious tone. "You've been stirring up quite the hornet's nest lately. First that article on the victims, then the Homelander interview. Vought isn't exactly thrilled with you right now, you know that, right?"

Elaine smirked. "Believe me, they made that pretty clear. Homelander himself just paid me a personal visit."

A pause hung in the air. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," she replied, glancing at her door as if expecting Georgia to barge in again. "And it's got me thinking. I think there's something much bigger going on here, something Vought is covering up. And I might have a lead."

Her editor sighed, the sound of a woman torn between good news and concern. "A lead? Elaine, I don't know what else you need to see how dangerous this is. Vought isn't the kind of company you take down with a single story. They're... everywhere."

"I get that, but you know I can't just sit on this," Elaine said, her voice firm. "I want to go deeper with this piece. I might have to reach out to some... unconventional sources."

Another pause, this one heavy with understanding. "If you think this lead's worth it, then go ahead. Just be careful, alright? Vought's already unhappy with you, and that's before you've even broken any real stories."

"I know," she murmured, her mind already racing with possibilities. "But if there's even a chance I can expose what they're hiding... it's worth it."

As she hung up, Butcher's message flashed on her screen again, a reminder of the dangerous path she was considering. Elaine took a steadying breath and typed a single response: When and where?

Elaine stood up, pacing her small apartment. She pulled out her notebook and began jotting down everything she knew about Vought and its heroes. A web of connections formed on the pages—financial ties, questionable endorsements, and, most importantly, the human stories of those hurt by the heroes' negligence.

As she wrote, she recalled her interview with Homelander. His smile, his charm—they had all felt so real. Yet, underneath it, she could sense the darkness that lay just beneath the surface.

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed again. Tomorrow, 6 PM. The old diner on Elm. Bring your questions.

She stared at the screen, her heart pounding at the prospect. She needed to be prepared.