Mid-Atlantic, high above open water, a passenger jet cruised through calm air. Fourteen hours had passed since Jude left for the Philippines.
A sharp whistle cut across the sky as two small black shapes in the clouds closed in on the plane's tail. They grew larger, swinging wide in a deliberate arc to stay out of sight of the windows. They settled into a hover a hundred meters up and behind the fuselage, holding a position where neither the passengers nor the cockpit would catch a glimpse of them.
Up close, the two shapes resolved into three people.
Homelander hovered in place. His face was blank, the Stars and Stripes cape snapping hard behind him. Beside him was Clark, red and blue with the familiar S blazoned across his chest.
Clark's cape wasn't snapping in the wind. It was pinned flat, held taut in one fist.
That fist belonged to Maeve.
"Remind me again why I'm the one hanging off your cape," Maeve said. "Not that I can't hold on. I'm plenty strong, this isn't tiring, whatever. It just looks ridiculous. And I'm the one who has to worry about getting thrown off if you so much as sneeze at this speed."
"If you fall, I'll catch you before you get anywhere close to the water," Clark said. "I'm good at this. You're not falling."
"That's not the point—"
Maeve rolled her eyes. As the plane's tail closed to within three meters, she rocked her weight forward, let go with one hand, and used the cape's momentum to swing herself the rest of the way. She landed in a controlled roll across the fuselage with barely a sound.
Clark and Homelander touched down right after her.
"This how you usually run these things?" Clark asked her.
"Run what? Since when do these things even happen anymore?" Maeve shook her head. "Try and remember the last time you actually saw a hijacking on the news."
"Right. No supes anywhere near 9/11." Homelander didn't blink. "Which makes us the first generation of heroes to actually handle one of these. Feel free to think of it as history in the making."
Clark's brow furrowed slightly. "...Guess it really is a first." He checked his phone, unlocking it twice to confirm the coordinates. "Still in international waters."
His attention wasn't on the screen. He shifted his weight. The small patch fixed to his shoulder blade served as a reminder that his body was still recovering, and that they had flown far enough out over the Atlantic that the range on his hearing had run out. He couldn't pick up sound from Jude's apartment back in New York anymore.
It didn't matter. Jude hadn't answered either of his last two messages. Based on the plan he laid out before leaving, he was probably still on the ground in the Philippines, or somewhere on a return flight, too busy to check his phone.
"Fine. Nothing to do about it now," Clark muttered. "We'll sort it out once we're both back."
On the other side of the ocean, Jude, Kimiko, and Frenchie boarded a return flight to New York via the Wallpaper Room, identical to the trip out.
Aquino sat retied and dumped in a corner of the space. He was motionless. No begging, no screaming, no wailing. He lay there, staring at the white wall.
Since Aquino had agreed to cooperate as a witness against Vought, Jude didn't pay him much attention. The hollowed-out state wouldn't last. Hatred had a way of bringing a man back to his senses eventually.
Jude pulled out his phone. Satsuki had logged two missed contact attempts from Clark, both ignored while Jude was busy tending to Aquino's mental wellness. He had her record them instead.
"Let's see what Clark wanted."
He hit play. The first recording opened on a woman's voice. Capable, controlled, carrying just enough age to sound earned. Madelyn. Timestamped ten minutes ago.
"Seven minutes ago, Transocean Flight 37, Paris to Chicago, was hijacked mid-flight." Madelyn's voice clipped along, fast and slightly breathless, edged with bright excitement.
Heels clicked against tile in the background as she moved. Talking to Clark, evidently.
No. Not just Clark.
Jude caught it immediately. More than one set of footsteps layered under Madelyn's voice. Clark wasn't the only one in the room with her.
"Seven minutes ago?" Homelander's voice.
How the hell did Vought get eyes on this that fast? And is it even confirmed?
Madelyn answered on the recording before anyone had to ask. "Someone at NORAD flagged it to us directly."
That settled the doubt. Maeve's voice came in right after.
"How many hijackers?"
"Three, last we heard."
"Has the Pentagon scrambled anything?"
"F-16s went up a few minutes ago. At your speed, you'll beat them there easily."
"We've got no legal authority on foreign soil," Madelyn added, already ahead of the objection. "But once that plane crosses into international waters, your involvement is clean. No jurisdiction problem at all."
A heavy silence stretched over the recording. Madelyn was presenting a business opportunity dressed up as a crisis. Maeve didn't respond. Clark remained quiet, parsing exactly what this meant for Vought.
"Once our heroes pull off a rescue this clean, there won't be a single obstacle left standing in the way of the hero-integration bill," Madelyn said. "Any member of Congress who still votes against it after this airs can kiss re-election goodbye."
A short, delighted laugh slipped out of her.
"This is a gift. Don't waste it."
The recording cut off.
Jude swore under his breath. Beside him, Frenchie's jaw tightened. Kimiko stared at the phone, her expression hard and flat. None of them wanted to hand Vought a single win.
But if the rescue didn't happen, everyone on that plane died along with it.