Her fingertips hovered over the virtual keyboard for a moment, then she typed her reply:
[Arrangement confirmed, Mr. Hawk. 12 AM, Muse's Tear penthouse terrace.]
[As for your question…]
[Satisfied? Hawk, you underestimate yourself.]
[Your 'focus' was consistent throughout, a suffocating control, so precise there was nowhere to escape.]
[The sense of power is undeniable, but even more impressive is that damn sophistication and patience.]
[The rhythm was firmly in your grasp; every probe was anticipated and dismantled by you, then turned into deeper suppression.]
[The worst part is, Hawk, in moments like that, your eyes remained as clear as ice picks, as if merely evaluating the extreme reactions of a precision instrument.]
[Frankly… outstanding.]
Sent.
It wasn't the cold "physical assessment report" she gave to Fury, but one imbued with a lazy, almost post-coital sense of authenticity, every word tinged with a hint of color.
Hawk's reply followed swiftly, carrying the pleasure of a hunter indulging his prey's struggles:
[Received your 'first-hand user experience report.' Such honest and vivid feedback is very much appreciated.]
[It seems the desired effect was achieved, both on a data level and an experiential level.]
[By the way, if Ms. Natalia Romanoff ever wishes to relive this extreme training… my private gym is always open.]
This was no longer mere flirtation, but an almost provocative and brazen invitation.
Natasha's fingertips curled slightly, then steadied. With an expressionless face, she forwarded all chat records with Hawk, along with the meeting confirmation, to Fury.
This was also part of intelligence gathering, showing Fury Hawk's attempt to dismantle her defenses, and her own response to this offensive.
No personal comments were added, just a pure, objective transmission of information.
A few seconds later, Fury's cold reply popped up:
[Received. Arrive on time.]
[Agent Romanoff, focus on the mission.]
He offered no opinion on Hawk's ambiguous remarks, but the last four words carried significant weight.
Natasha closed all communication interfaces and re-merged into the shadows of her combat suit.
She began methodically checking her equipment, preparing logistics for the evening meeting.
Her movements were precise, efficient, as always.
But in her brain, as precise as an instrument, Hawk's low voice seemed to echo: "…always open."
This wasn't a sweet nothing; it was more like another test of her willpower's boundaries.
Her own replies were like adding fuel to the fire.
Tonight's meeting, with Fury confronting Hawk and her acting as a bridge, or rather, a "tool" being used, would place her in an even more delicate position.
Hawk Lane must not be seen merely as a twenty-year-old boy.
He was like an unfathomable, cold abyss; beneath the calm surface lay ruthless calculations capable of devouring everything, and… an irresistible, dangerous charm.
On the terrace of Muse's Tear penthouse, beneath the aroma of expensive coffee, the scent of gunpowder would only grow stronger.
Natasha needed to ensure that no personal, physiological memories would interfere with her judgment.
She could add a hundred more pounds to her Smith squats, but absolute mental clarity was the training she needed most right now.
The hands of the clock had just met at midnight. The lit terrace of Muse's Tear penthouse seemed like a floating island against the Manhattan skyline.
The night wind carried the slightly salty scent of the Hudson River, stirring the aroma of expensive coffee and cigar ashes, but it couldn't disperse the invisible gunpowder smoke permeating the air.
The dazzling city lights spread out in the distance, outlining the sharply trimmed potted plants at the terrace's edge, and illuminating the three figures gathered around a lonely glass round table in the center.
Nick Fury, in his signature black leather trench coat, stood like a reef condensed from the night, his single eye sharp as a hawk's, scrutinizing the young man opposite him.
Natalia Romanoff stood like a perfect shadow, silently positioned half a step behind Fury, her combat suit blending into the dim corner.
Hawk himself was the only discordant note in this tense atmosphere.
He leaned back comfortably in a sleek, modern armchair, his dark suit shimmering with a silky luster under the carefully designed lighting, casually twirling an unlit cigar between his fingers.
Before him sat a nearly untouched espresso, its wisps of steam quickly dissipating in the cool night air.
"Director," Hawk's voice was low and pleasant, breaking the silence with a hint of languor, as if greeting a late friend, "The midnight Manhattan view, coupled with your unique presence, always has a special charm."
His gaze swept over Fury's tense face, finally resting on Natasha, a slight curve forming at the corner of his lips. "Ms. Romanoff, tonight's night suits you well."
Natasha's eyelashes didn't even twitch. She mustered all her willpower, compressing and archiving those physiological memories, locking them firmly in a read-only section of her mind.
"Mr. Lane, 'King'?" Fury's voice was low and oppressive. "Busan was blown sky-high, and Bates Capital was crushed by you like a fly. You detonated a financial nuclear bomb right under my nose, turning half of Wall Street upside down. Now, tell me, whose pawn are you? Or are you the one playing the game?"
His single eye locked onto Hawk, trying to pierce through the elegant and composed facade.
Hawk chuckled lightly:
"Director, if I didn't know your identity, I'd think you were the chairman of the Federal Reserve or the SEC… managing even the financial markets, isn't that a bit overreaching? And the word 'game' isn't quite accurate; I prefer to call it 'risk elimination.' The danger posed by Bates Capital threatened social stability; I merely accelerated its metabolism."
His tone was calm, as if discussing the weather.
"Don't give me official jargon!" Fury's voice was heavy. "And those two girls, Goo Ja-yoon and Shin Shi-ah, they are weapons! Dangerous weapons! You're playing with fire! Bioweapons, the bloodbath on Wall Street… you've become the center of all trouble here!"
Hawk's smile deepened, but his eyes remained devoid of warmth.
"Director, your intelligence network is as efficient as ever. As for the center of trouble…"
He elegantly stood up and strolled to the edge of the terrace.
He looked up at the rooftop of the Bates Tower opposite, faintly discerning a few well-dressed but distraught figures on the Bates Tower's helipad.
They were core members of the Bates family and several executives, escorted by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, hurrying towards a waiting helicopter, carrying several briefcases, clearly preparing to flee this sorrowful place.
"Sometimes, trouble needs to be completely eradicated for the waters to calm."
Fury followed his gaze upwards, his pupils suddenly contracting.
He realized something, and a chill instantly crept up his spine.