Frenchie and Butcher were both staring.
"Your sense of smell," Butcher said, shifting his weight. He looked like he had been waiting for the right moment and decided it was now. "I've been wanting to bring this up. It's ridiculous. I've done enough break-ins to know what a studio apartment smells like, and all I got out of that woman's place was cheap perfume. How are you doing this?"
The unasked question hung in the air: Are you a supe?
"Does the answer change anything?" Jude looked at them both. "If I am, does that mean you drop the Compound V? Or does Frenchie not want my gold pumpkin anymore?"
He extended his hand toward the workbench, palm up. "If not, I'll take it back."
Frenchie's face instantly shifted into the polite, accommodating expression of a man who was no longer making that argument.
"The money is here, the business is straightforward." He spread his hands. "Of course we proceed."
"Excellent. Further questions?"
Both men shook their heads.
"Then." Jude leaned back. "In Popclaw's apartment—alongside the Compound V—there was a second scent. Diffuse, spread throughout the entire space. The kind of smell that comes from something introduced regularly over a period of time, rather than stored in one place."
"Blood?" Butcher offered.
"Sesame noodles."
A pause.
"Japanese-style sesame noodles, specifically. And the nearest restaurant in this city that makes that dish is roughly seven kilometers away."
Frenchie and Butcher looked at each other.
"Meaning?"
"Her kitchen has no sesame paste. I checked."
"So she bought it," Butcher said.
"She has no money. A-Train apparently stopped supporting her. Seven kilometers isn't a short walk, and there are plenty of cheap food options within a few blocks of her building. The math doesn't support her buying it."
Frenchie opened his mouth. "What if she went to the restaurant herself and brought it home—"
He stopped. Seven kilometers. By the time you walked back, or even drove in city traffic, sesame noodles turned into a solid block of room-temperature paste. No one traveled forty minutes round-trip for takeout noodles.
"So the noodles were brought to her," Jude continued. "By someone else. A-Train is the obvious candidate. The most likely scenario is that he picked them up during or after a Compound V delivery run. The noodle shop and the supply drop are in the same general area. The smell was all over the apartment, which means this happens regularly. The latest drop was within the past week, based on how much the scent had faded."
"It's still an assumption," Butcher said. The deep-seated caution that kept him alive against Vought naturally pushed back. "The restaurant and the drop point might have nothing to do with each other. I'd want to see it before I believe it."
"We will see it. Just not yet. A-Train hasn't made a delivery since we found the stash. We wait for his next run." Jude pulled out his phone. "I confirmed there are three restaurants within a seven-kilometer radius that sell those noodles. When Popclaw's Compound V runs low, we take positions. Whoever spots A-Train calls the others. We converge and scout."
Frenchie straightened up. "I go too?"
"You can delegate if you prefer."
"No, no. Delegation is fine, I just—" His eyes were already moving, calculating angles. "I'll be there."
Jude offered a small smile. Butcher had mentioned Frenchie's past history with supes. His involvement in this operation clearly went beyond money.
A soft noise came from the corner of the workroom. Sherry—the dark-haired woman who had let them in—was sitting on a crate with Yomogi in her arms. The Palico chose that moment to interrupt.
"Mrr—why not just use the nanobots for tracking?"
Jude looked at the Palico. "Because Homelander's x-ray vision would spot them. Clark's Kryptonian suit blocks that spectrum. If it didn't, I never would have risked putting nanobots on him."
Sherry looked back and forth between them, trying to parse the exchange. She stroked Yomogi's back, which the cat tolerated with the weary grace of someone accepting uninvited affection.
"Are you two actually talking?" Sherry asked.
"I was just making noises at her." Jude waved a hand dismissively. "It's an instinct. I can't understand what she's saying."
"Hmm." Sherry didn't look convinced.
"If we lose A-Train's trail the next time he moves," Butcher said, steering the conversation back on track. He didn't like leaving loose ends. "What then?"
"We go back to Popclaw's place and pull a single dose of Compound V as a backup," Jude said, glancing around the room. "We agree that is viable?"
Both men nodded.
"Good. Since you two have your assignments for the next two days, I'll use the time for something else." Jude stood up. "We have three leads and we've only followed one. I found the Pennsylvania mental hospital tied to the financial anomaly. I will scout it while you watch the supply chain."
Butcher was on his feet before Jude finished speaking. "I'm coming with you."
"Who watches Popclaw's apartment?"
A brief silence followed.
"I hacked the cameras in her place. All of them, including the electronics she doesn't realize are recording." Jude walked over to the workbench and set down a laptop. "You two watch the feed. Look for when the Compound V supply drops, or if A-Train shows up off schedule. Anything unexpected, you call me."
He didn't wait for them to argue.
He reached over and pulled Yomogi out of Sherry's arms. The cat went airborne, landing squarely on top of Jude's head with the heavy resignation of a palico who had done this many times before.
"It's settled."
Before leaving the city, Jude called Clark.
"I'm heading out for a day or two. Not too far." He listened to the street noise in the background. "Grab a drink before I go?"
Clark agreed. That meant he had new intelligence—things he couldn't pass through the mistyped password system.
They met at the same bar. The bartender was already anticipating their order.
"Are you thinking about leaving Vought?" Jude asked after their drinks arrived.
"I'm thinking about the consequences."
"Don't calculate the consequences for me." Jude put his glass down. "You are Clark. My friend. Whatever you choose, I have your back. If you want to leave, just say so."
"It might not come to that." Clark kept his voice low, measured. "You know Annie's situation. She stepped in last week, helped a girl, and the victim came forward to verify it. Starlight's public approval ratings jumped significantly."
"And then Vought told her to change her uniform."
Clark looked at him. "Not exactly, but close enough. How did you know?"
"Because it's a proven commercial pattern." Jude stirred his drink. "In the comics there is a direct link between how much skin a female character shows and how much the sales numbers go up. The publishers figured it out and leaned into it." He paused. "The difference is those characters are on paper. They can't resign. They can't leak the story to the press. They can't argue back."
"Who is the character?"
"I can't tell you the name. What I can tell you is that she is the most recognizable female hero in her universe. She is historically known as the symbol of female strength, and has been for decades, regardless of what anyone did to her costume."
Clark stayed quiet.
Jude watched him. "You already threatened them with your resignation."
"Yes." Clark didn't blink. "They haven't answered yet. But I thought you should know before they do."
Jude gave a single nod. "Then you did the right thing."
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