"…Okay."
"I agree to your conditions. We'll use every resource at our disposal to find the woman who controls the animals—and bring her to you."
"However,"
Her tone shifted. Her gaze snapped back to Muse.
"We must take him now. The Terrigen genes inside him are destabilizing. If human instruments detect them, the fallout will be catastrophic."
Joren didn't answer right away.
He simply studied her, calm and unreadable.
Crystal's pulse hammered in her throat.
Behind her, the fanged dog scraped its claws against the rooftop, letting out a low, anxious whimper.
"Okay."
The word uncoiled the tension in Crystal's shoulders. Without hesitation, she pulled a small stone from her belt. No larger than a thumb, it shimmered with an eerie hue—caught between violet and deep ocean blue.
"This is a sound transmission stone." She held it out. "It's paired with another I carry. Once I locate that woman, I'll contact you through it. You can also use it to track my location anytime."
Joren reached for it—but before his fingers touched the stone, Star of Platinum's hand darted from behind him. Two pale fingertips plucked it from Crystal's palm in a blur. A heartbeat later, it vanished into Joren's pocket.
Crystal blinked. Her hand was empty.
"Take your 'kin'," Joren said, voice flat, "and disappear."
"Yes."
She didn't dare linger.
A hushed command escaped her lips. The Locktooth Dog stepped forward, the tuning fork embedded in its skull humming to life. With surprising gentleness, it clamped its jaws around Muse's tattered collar and lifted the limp, broken form.
Muse groaned—a wet, pained sound—but offered no resistance.
Crystal cast one last look at Joren. Her eyes held layers: fear, resentment… but above all, resignation.
She placed a hand on the Locktooth Dog's broad back.
"We'll keep our promise."
The moment the words left her lips, the tuning fork flared.
Space beneath them warped violently—twisting, folding inward—until it collapsed into a yawning void of absolute black.
Princess, beast, and bloodied artist vanished without a trace.
On the rooftop, only Joren remained.
He withdrew his phone.
The screen showed a recording frozen at 7:23.
He tapped Stop, then saved the file under a single title: "The Inhuman Princess."
Always good to be prepared.
Tonight's haul? A deranged artist—and a looming complication named Inhumans.
Oh dear…
Looks like he'd have to revisit that crumbling law firm after all.
If anyone knew about the Inhumans, it'd be that particular "devil" from Hell's Kitchen.
Just as Joren turned to leave, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out.
The screen lit up with a name he had no interest in answering:
Tony Stark.
Joren's brow furrowed.
He hit Decline without a second thought.
Less than three seconds later, the phone rang again—stubborn as ever.
Same name.
Ugh… This guy's more annoying than a rat in the sewers.
Joren finally swiped to answer—but said nothing.
Tony Stark's flamboyant, booming voice crackled through the speaker.
"Hey! Kid! I knew you weren't asleep!"
Joren held the phone an inch farther from his ear.
Too loud.
"I heard from those suit-wearing S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that your place is getting a 'complete upgrade.' Bet they'll slap in state-of-the-art bulletproof glass, a top-tier air filtration system… and, while they're at it, at least three biosample collectors under your toilet seat."
He paused just long enough for dramatic effect.
"So, as a generous, forgiving, and undeniably charismatic philanthropist—and billionaire—I've decided to offer you a temporary haven."
"A duplex suite in Stark Tower. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Private pool. A Michelin three-star chef on call 24/7. And…" He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "A set of my latest smart pajamas—they monitor your vitals in real time."
"How about it? Tempted? Just nod, and my personal driver—"
"No need."
Two words. Flat. Final.
On the other end, Tony went silent—briefly stunned into uncharacteristic quiet.
"…What do you mean, 'not needed'? You planning to sleep on the streets?"
Joren didn't answer. His thumb hovered over the hang-up button.
"Wait! Don't—don't hang up!" Tony's voice shot up an octave, suddenly urgent.
"Okay, fine! I admit it!" he blurted. "I'm interested in you—in your body! No, no, no—not like that, damn it! Jarvis, find me the right word!"
A rustle of movement, then a calm, electronic voice:
"Sir, 'scientific curiosity' might be a more neutral expression."
"Yes! Exactly!" Tony exhaled in relief. "I want to study it. I have to. Just one night in my lab—one night! I swear, I'll only take one vial of blood. Two, tops. And maybe a few square centimeters of skin tissue—but I'll harvest it the most comfortable way possible. Zero pain. Scout's honor."
"…"
Joren listened, expressionless.
Predictable. From the start, Tony's goal hadn't changed.
The way he looked at Joren wasn't so different from that madman called Muse.
One wanted to turn his bones into art.
The other wanted to slice his cells under a microscope.
Both were equally troublesome.
"I have no interest in being your lab rat."
He ended the call.
Then blacklisted Tony Stark's number.
Silence returned—blessed and complete.
---
Meanwhile, on the top floor of Stark Tower…
Tony Stark stared at his disconnected phone like it had personally betrayed him.
"He… hung up on me?"
He tossed the device onto the bar and raked both hands through his hair.
"He dared to hang up on Tony Stark?! And blocked me?!"
He paced the penthouse like a caged genius.
"That kid's got a worse temper than I do! I'm Tony Stark! I gave him the best living conditions money can buy! Cleaned up his digital messes! Didn't even complain when he wrecked my Ferrari!"
"All I asked for was a blood sample! Is that really too much?!"
He stopped mid-stride. Eyes narrowed. Lips curled into a grin edged with obsession—the kind only true scientists wear when chasing the unknown.
"Jarvis. Activate Project 'Fly.'"
"Sir, Project 'Fly' has not yet passed the ethics committee's review."
"Then approve it. I am the ethics committee."
With a wave of his hand, dozens of holographic blueprints bloomed in the air—miniature drones, sleek and silent.
"I need to know everything about him. What he eats. Where he sleeps. Who he talks to…" His voice dropped, intens
e. "And—most importantly—where that damn, fascinating, powerful energy of his comes from."
"I want to be like a fly," he murmured. "Invisible. Everywhere."
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