Homelander

Evening. Shadows slowly descended upon the city, creating an indescribable atmosphere of relaxation and the enchanting beauty of the approaching night. The chaotic traffic continued, and life continued to bustle, noisily and brightly. Homelander stood silently by the panoramic window, his back to the luxury of the penthouse, which was soulless and tasteless, like a showpiece—cold and long since no longer captivating. His cloak, embroidered with stars and red and white stripes—the American flag—hung motionless. The golden eagles on his shoulders gleamed faintly, catching the light of distant lights and shimmering gracefully. The city below swirled with lights, a pitiful anthill he was forced to protect. Or, at least, pretend to protect. He turned. Slowly, with the caution of a predator. A perfect smile, carefully crafted to the millimeter, flashed across his face in a blinding flash. But it didn't reach his eyes. They remained cold, bottomless, scanning. But upon seeing his son's figure before him, something in his face—microscopically—albeit still changed. His gaze acquired a loyalty uncharacteristic of his usual appearance, the corners of his lips twitched in a hint of something more... reassuring. "Ryan," his voice was low, velvety, almost enveloping, but there was steel hidden behind it. His tone carried a heavy undertone. "Son. I'm quite perplexed by the question... where have you been?" his tone didn't waver, but his eyes gleamed with something expectant, dangerous. He took a step forward, hovering silently a centimeter above the floor, proudly displaying his powers. His gaze swept across the space, as if he could see through walls, through armor, through skin. And he saw. Always. He stopped beside his son, towering over him with his characteristic authority, which at that moment mingled with a keen possessiveness and protectiveness. "I am all ears. And I insist..." his voice became dangerously quiet "I advise you to tell the truth."