Leander sighed, the immense pressure in his chest finally easing as Aunt Jenny's voice crackled through the phone.
"We're in Los Angeles, Leander! Tony Stark moved us here months ago. He said the air in New York was getting too 'industrial' for us," Jenny replied, her voice filled with a mix of relief and lingering frustration. "We haven't heard a peep about anything happening in New York. Why are you so wound up? You sound like you've seen a ghost."
In the background, Leander could hear the muffled sound of waves and the distant clink of ice against glass. Uncle George's voice drifted in, sounding more relaxed than Leander had heard him in years.
"Jenny, honey, have some of this juice. I checked with the staff—the pool is heated to a perfect eighty-five degrees. Let's go for a soak. Who are you talking to anyway? Is that the dry cleaners?"
Jenny gave George a sharp, sidelong glance that Leander could practically feel through the signal. "It's Leander, you big goof."
"It's good that you're in Malibu," Leander said, his voice dropping into a softer, more focused tone. "Aunt Jenny, stay there. Don't let Tony or anyone else talk you into coming back to the East Coast for a few weeks. I'll come pick you up soon. I promise."
Leander let out a long, shaky breath. He had just circled the small Indian town where he knew Bruce Banner had been hiding, but thirty seconds of thermal scanning had confirmed the doctor was gone. Natasha Romanoff was efficient; the Black Widow had already secured the asset. That meant the clock was ticking. Loki was on the move, and the first act of the tragedy was already unfolding.
"What's going on, Leander?" Jenny asked, her maternal instincts finally overriding her anger. "Are you okay? You're scaring me. Don't do anything reckless. Your safety is the only thing that—oh, George, stop it! Don't grab the phone!"
A scuffle ensued on the other end, followed by the sound of the phone being fumbled. Then, George's voice came through, clear and surprisingly steady. "Leander? It's George. Talk to me, kid. Where are you?"
"Uncle George, I'm over the Atlantic, pushing toward New York. Stay at Tony's villa. There's... there's a bit of a situation developing in the city. Some high-level stuff."
"Is that right?" George's tone shifted. Gone was the bumbling, relaxed tourist. He stepped away from Jenny, his voice dropping to a low, serious rumble. "Tell me the truth, Leander. Are you going to do something with Tony Stark? Are you part of whatever he's building?"
Leander went silent for a moment. He looked down at his own hands—hands that could now crush Vibranium like wet clay. He thought about the small house in Queens and the quiet life he had tried to protect.
"Yes, Uncle George," Leander said softly. "Iron Man is involved. And I need to be there to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. I'll be fine, but you and Aunt Jenny need to stay put. This isn't a normal riot or a power outage."
"I see," George said. There was a long pause, the kind of silence that usually preceded a lecture, but it didn't come. "I've always known you were different, Leander. From the moment you started 'fixing' the toaster at age five, I knew you weren't meant for a desk job. I think I've spent the last ten years trying to pretend I didn't see the things you could do."
George's voice cracked slightly. "But listen to me. You're a part of this family. Not an asset, not a soldier—our boy. Jenny and I... we love you. We're waiting at the finish line, okay? Don't make us wait too long."
Leander felt a lump in his throat. Uncle George had always been the silent observer, the man who understood the "how" and "why" while Aunt Jenny focused on the "who." He was the one who had helped Leander hide his early experiments in the garage, the one who shared secret snacks on the roof while Aunt Jenny was asleep. They had a bond of "kind lies"—secrets kept specifically to keep the woman they loved from worrying herself to death.
"I'll bring you home, George," Leander promised. "I swear it."
"Good. Now, I'm only giving you a week. After that, I'm letting your Aunt Jenny loose on you, and not even Tony Stark's armor will protect you from that lecture. We're going to go enjoy this heated pool now. Stay safe, kid. Bye-bye."
The line went dead. Leander stared at the phone for a second, a small smile playing on his lips. George was a smart man; he knew exactly what was coming, but he chose to play the part of the oblivious uncle to keep the peace.
Having cleared his conscience, Leander turned his attention back to the horizon. He needed to find the team. He was about to call Tony, but then his enhanced vision picked up a disturbance in the clouds ahead. A Quinjet—S.H.I.E.L.D. issue—was screaming through the stratosphere at Mach 2.
He didn't need J.A.R.V.I.S. to tell him who was inside. He could feel the resonance of a certain circular shield. Leander tucked his phone away, his golden wings snapping tight against his back as he accelerated, a golden blur chasing a silver bird.
Inside the Quinjet, Steve Rogers was staring at a tablet, his brow furrowed in concentration. The footage on the screen was chaotic—shaky cell phone clips of a green behemoth tossing cars like they were toys.
"So, Dr. Banner... he was trying to recreate what Erskine did to me?" Steve asked, his voice thick with a mix of pity and disbelief.
Agent Phil Coulson, sitting across from him, nodded. "A lot of people were, Captain. You were the gold standard. Erskine's formula died with him, and Banner thought Gamma radiation might be the missing ingredient. He thought he could jump-start the human evolution process."
"Looks like he jump-started a nightmare instead," Steve muttered, looking at the Hulk's roar.
"When he's not... that, the man is a genius," Coulson said. "Think Stephen Hawking, but with a lot more repressed anger."
Steve looked up, confused. "Who?"
Coulson paused, realizing the seventy-year gap was showing. "He's very smart, Captain. Possibly the smartest man on the planet. Well, until recently."
Steve went back to the files, but he could feel Coulson's eyes on him. It was a look he had seen a lot since waking up—part reverence, part disbelief.
"I have to say, Captain," Coulson started, his voice uncharacteristically shy. "It's a genuine honor to meet you. Officially."
Steve looked up and offered a tired, polite smile. "Thanks, Phil."
"I was there, you know. When they pulled you out of the ice," Coulson continued, his excitement starting to bleed through his professional veneer. "I've spent most of my life studying your missions. I even have your vintage trading card set. I'm still looking for a couple of signatures, but... having you here? It's everything we hoped for. I hope you're ready to lead again."
"I just hope I'm the man everyone remembers," Steve said quietly.
"Oh, you are. Trust me," Coulson said with a firm nod.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The sound was sharp and metallic, echoing through the pressurized cabin. Both men froze.
"What was that?" Steve asked, his hand instinctively reaching for the shield strapped to the seat next to him.
"I... I don't know," Coulson said, standing up and looking toward the cockpit. "The sensors didn't pick up any bird strikes. We're at forty thousand feet and moving at supersonic speeds. Nothing should be hitting us."
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The knocking came again, louder this time. It wasn't the sound of debris; it was rhythmic. Deliberate.
"Is someone... at the door?" Steve asked, his eyes wide.
"Captain, we are moving at twice the speed of sound," Coulson said, his hand moving to his sidearm. "Nobody is at the—"
"Hey! Can someone let me in? It's freezing out here and I'm pretty sure I've got a bug in my eye!"