Solomon sat in the passenger seat, taking in the entire scene, and could not help silently applauding.
As expected of a star performer who had spent years navigating Vought, her speed at changing expressions was practically textbook, without the slightest flaw.
Neither spoke along the way. Solomon did not ask where Maeve was going, simply sitting quietly in his seat as he rapidly worked out how to draw information about Black Noir's weakness out of her without giving himself away.
He had already laid the groundwork. All he needed was the right opportunity.
Before long, the car slowly came to a stop.
Solomon looked out the window and saw an ordinary apartment building. He frowned and asked curiously,
"Where are we?"
Without looking back, Maeve pushed open the door and stepped straight out, leaving only a cool reply drifting into the car.
"My place."
Solomon's gaze briefly froze before a somewhat odd expression crossed his face. He hurriedly opened the door and followed her.
He had not expected Maeve to bring him straight home. That saved him quite a bit of trouble. Perhaps he could successfully draw out the information he wanted today.
He followed Maeve into the apartment. Its decor was simple and tasteful, yet carried a cold sense of distance.
Maeve headed straight into the kitchen, took bottle after bottle of hard liquor from the fridge, and set them heavily on the living room coffee table. The bottles clinked sharply against one another.
"Have a drink with me! Also, there's no one else here. You don't need to stay invisible."
Solomon rubbed his chin. Ever since joining the Seven, he had spent almost the entire day optically invisible.
For one thing, Shapeshifting came with numerous restrictions, and invisibility helped him avoid unnecessary trouble.
For another, the previous Translucent had also habitually stayed invisible year-round, so doing this would not arouse anyone's suspicions.
But now there were only the two of them in the room. Maeve clearly wanted someone to drink with and confide in, and facing someone she could not see really was too awkward.
"Sure!"
Solomon answered and, with a thought, took on JS's appearance. Then he deactivated his optical invisibility, slowly appearing on the sofa opposite Maeve.
Maeve glanced up at him without much surprise. After unscrewing a bottle, she did not pour it into a glass, but drank straight from it in great gulps.
The fiery liquor spilled from the corner of her mouth and ran down her smooth neck, but she seemed utterly unaware, her eyes filled with numbness and pain.
Solomon did not spoil the mood either. He picked up a bottle, unscrewed it, and drank leisurely, his gaze remaining on Maeve as he waited for the right moment.
"You don't need to blame yourself. Like I said before, the problem was never you. Even if you'd been more decisive and more insistent, you can't fly. You couldn't have saved a whole plane full of people. So try to let this go."
Maeve slammed down the empty bottle in her hand with a dull clunk, then immediately picked up another and unscrewed it.
"Let it go? How could I possibly let it go! Those were 123 innocent lives, gone just like that, and I could have done something!"
With that, she drained another entire bottle. The sting of alcohol did nothing to ease the pain inside her, instead making her guilt and anger all the more intense.
Watching her lose control, Solomon spoke slowly, his tone deliberately leading.
"All the guilt in the world won't help. As long as Homelander is still around, something like this will happen again sooner or later."
Those words were like a bucket of cold water, instantly snapping Maeve out of her loss of control.
She abruptly froze, set down her bottle, and stared gravely at Solomon, her voice filled with shock and disbelief, and even a hint of warning.
"What do you mean? Are you insane? You actually want to take on Homelander?!"
Solomon drained the remaining liquor in his bottle and casually set the empty bottle on the coffee table, his tone frank and utterly unafraid.
"Homelander isn't a god. He's human too, and humans have weaknesses. Everyone in the Seven has a vulnerable spot. The Deep's weakness is his gills. A-Train's is his overburdened body. Starlight's is her sense of justice. You have one too: you care too much about whether ordinary people live or die. I'm not sure what Black Noir's weakness is, but I don't believe he doesn't have one. Homelander has one too, doesn't he?"
As he spoke, Solomon slowly reached out and gently patted the back of Maeve's hand, taking the opportunity to activate Memory Reading and carefully sense her thoughts.
Her mind was still a jumble of emotions: shock, anger, and a trace of admiration that was hard to conceal.
To her, Solomon was merely a Supe who could turn invisible, yet he actually dared entertain the idea of taking on Homelander. That courage deserved admiration.
Solomon paid no attention to those thoughts. His attention was entirely focused on finding information about Black Noir's weakness.
Unfortunately, after probing her thoughts, he found no useful clues at all. Perhaps their contact had been too brief, and Maeve's thought about Black Noir's weakness had already flashed past.
Just as he was privately feeling somewhat disappointed, a welcome surprise quietly arrived.
Maeve looked at him and fell silent for a moment before finally speaking slowly, her tone carrying mixed feelings and a hint of warning.
"Black Noir does have a weakness. He's allergic to almonds. As for Homelander, his weakness is that he cares too much about what others think of him and craves approval too much. But you're underestimating him. Once he completely throws off those restraints and goes mad, you won't stand a chance against him. My advice is not to get yourself killed."
Solomon raised an eyebrow, a barely perceptible flash of wild delight passing through his eyes.
Almonds!
Finally got it out of her!
All his talking and deliberate prompting had not been wasted. He had finally gotten what he wanted.
Before the excitement inside him had completely faded, a warm arm suddenly settled gently over his shoulders.
"Your idea may be utterly ridiculous, but your courage deserves praise."
Before Solomon could react, he had only just instinctively turned to respond when Maeve suddenly leaned close, pressing her soft lips directly against his.
Maeve's words were harsh, but her lips were exceptionally soft. A faint feminine fragrance mixed with the strong smell of alcohol instantly washed over him.
As a man, Solomon was instantly aroused by this sudden move. His displeasure at Maeve choking him earlier and the calculations in his mind were both replaced by a surge of heat.
He immediately took the initiative, reaching out to wrap an arm around Maeve's slender waist and tightening his grip. He wanted to push her beneath him in the same motion and fulfill the vow he had silently made when she humiliated him earlier.
But he had forgotten that Maeve was far stronger than he was.
The instant he exerted himself, Maeve merely raised a hand and effortlessly neutralized his strength. She then pressed his shoulder down, applying just a little force, and Solomon was firmly pinned to the sofa.
Maeve bent over him, continuing to kiss him as her warm palm slowly explored his body, her movements carrying a touch of drunken languor and abandon.
(The top one hundred monthly contributors can earn titles. Top three title: Homelander! Top 20 title: Soldier Boy! Top 100 title: Butcher!)
Before you continue