Inside was a silver restraint bracelet, designed to limit access to electronic systems.
"Should she know the truth?" Coulson asked.
James considered it. "You can't stop her forever. Tell her slowly. Let her prepare."
Coulson nodded. "Fair enough. Now it's your turn. There's another woman waiting in the interrogation room."
James sighed. "Don't phrase it like that. I haven't read her memories. She's sharp—too sharp. Interrogating her risks exposing my ability. Let her wait."
He paused.
"Send Fitz and Simmons to analyze Chan Ho Yin's blood. Extract some samples. We'll need them."
"All right."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James carried a box up to the second floor.
Skye sat on the couch, stiff and quiet. Fitz and Simmons occupied either side of her, both watching her with the same mixture of concern and curiosity. It was awkward—three people who were teammates pretending this was normal when it clearly wasn't.
James stopped a few steps away.
"Alright," he said evenly. "You two have a mission. Head to the lab and prepare for deployment. You're leaving shortly. Melinda will accompany you."
Fitz opened his mouth, then closed it. Simmons gave Skye a quick, concerned glance before standing. Within moments, they were gone.
The silence that followed felt heavier on her.
James sat beside Skye and opened the box in his hands. Inside lay a slim metal ring—unremarkable at first glance.
"This is a containment ring," he said. "Once worn, it blocks all electronic access—no signals in, no signals out. Cameras, transmitters, or trackers. Nothing gets through once you put this on."
Skye's eyes flicked to the ring. "So that's the condition for me to stay here?"
"Yes." James didn't soften it. "You're not trusted right now. We're not ordinary people, Skye. Letting you remain roaming free would put everyone at risk. This isn't a punishment—it's just a precaution to put everyone at ease. For you, and for the team."
She looked at him then. Really looked.
"Do you trust me?" she asked.
"Trust is not something you just get," James replied calmly. "It comes through experiences and choices made together. Right now, you damaged that trust. You'll need to work hard and regain that trust."
"That's not what I asked." Her voice hardened. "Do you—trust me?"
James met her gaze without hesitation.
"Yes," he said. "I trust you."
Skye froze.
James continued, his voice steady. "I know what kind of person you are. I know the kind of agent you'll be. When S.H.I.E.L.D. is at its worst, I trust that you will stand with Phil and hold the line. You will not break and you will not run. You will do your best to protect people."
She swallowed.
"Then why—"
"Because trust from me and everyone else isn't the same thing," James interrupted gently. "And I won't gamble the team's lives, even for someone I believe in."
Skye exhaled, then reached into the box. She slipped the ring onto her finger. It locked in place with a faint metallic click.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
James stood. "You know what you need to do from here. Earn their trust. I'll be supervising you going forward."
She raised an eyebrow. "Supervising, huh?"
"It is what it is."
She smirked faintly. "About that dinner—i'll allow you to take me next time."
Before he could reply, she stood and walked off, laughter trailing behind her.
James watched her go. A smirk and a glint in his eyes.
He checked the time, and indeed it was time.
The interrogation room door slid open.
Raina looked up from the table, lips curling into a faint smile. "You know, barging in without knocking is terribly rude. This is a lady's room now."
James sat across from her without reacting. "This isn't a hotel. It's a cell. A reinforced one. And I'm authorized to enter whenever I want."
Raina studied him with interest. "James Gibson, a Billionaire along with Tony Stark. And now an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., that is surprising."
"There are many things you don't know," James said. "But we're not here to talk about me."
He leaned forward locking in hands clasp.
"You have a choice. Prison—or cooperation. If you choose to cooperate, then you will become our informant."
Raina laughed softly. "An informant? Do you even understand who you're up against?"
"I understand more than you think," James replied. "Including who the Clairvoyant really is."
Her smile faltered.
Just for a moment.
James noticed immediately.
"You admire him," he continued. "You envy his foresight. You want his guidance. And you believe he's untouchable."
Raina's breathing hitched—subtle, but real.
"And you're also an asset placed by Skye's biological father," James added. "You're playing multiple sides, hoping Clairvoyant will keep you safe."
Her eyes snapped up.
"How—"
"We know," James said flatly. "Far more than you think."
He slid a small injector across the table. The sedative was already working—her pupils dilating, her movements slowing.
Raina clenched her jaw, but it was too late.
James stood up, looking down on her.
"I suggest you decide quickly," he said. "Because Clairvoyant's foresight can't help when the future is already changing."
"That's impossible," Raina said sharply. "If you already knew all that… Why bother interrogating me at all?"
James didn't answer immediately. He studied her—from her posture, breathing, and the way her fingers curled slightly against the table.
"Knowing something and proving it are not the same thing," he said at last. "What I need now is evidence. And for that, I need you."
Raina's eyes narrowed.
"What I want you to do now is to lure him out." James continued. "A simple mission, with minimal risk."
Silence stretched.
Then—
"Fine," Raina said. "I accept."
James's mouth curved into a faint smile.
"Good," he replied. "Once we formalize the agreement, you'll be released. Naturally, there will be conditions."
Her head snapped up. "An agreement? Why do we need to sign an agreement?"
"As an informant, you will receive protection," James said evenly. "As well as restrictions. This document outlines both. Fulfill the mission as instructed, and your prosecution is off the table."
Raina studied him, suspicion sharpening. "You trust me that much? I didn't even negotiate. I agreed immediately. And you just… accepted it?"
Smart people were always wary of easy victories.
James leaned back, crossing one leg over the other.
"Oh?" he said mildly. "So you were lying just now?"
The color drained from her face.
She didn't know why the fear came—but it did. It wasn't a sudden panic, nor hysteria. But it felt cold and instinctive. James was just smiling, but it felt scary and life threatening.
Raina had spent her life reading people.
She couldn't read him at all.
James wasn't worried about her lying. He never had been.
More than half his confidence came from his own capabilities. The rest came from pattern recognition—an understanding of how this world behaved. It might be a different universe, but still hold the same rules. Pressure revealed the truth. Predictable actors repeated themselves.
Raina opened her mouth, searching for the right response.
James didn't give her the chance.
"Are you stalling?" he asked calmly. "I think you'd better not waste your time. We know you. You're very good at using your charms to make things go your way."
He leaned forward slightly.
But this is S.H.I.E.L.D., we are highly trained agents. Such charms won't work on me." His eyes never left hers.
Her breathing quickened.
"Answer the question," James said, his voice steady but chilling. "Were you lying to me?"
Raina hesitated.
That hesitation was the answer.
James watched her closely, still faintly smiling, giving her an uneasy pressure.
"I agree," Raina said at last, with tension in her voice.
James didn't move.
"I asked whether you were lying to me," he said calmly. "So tell me—what exactly did you just agree to? Because right now, I'm not convinced you understand your own answer."
Raina stiffened. A few seconds too long.
She inhaled and forced a smile. "I didn't lie. I fully agreed"
"Very well." James nodded once. "Our people will extract Chan Ho Yin's blood."
Her eyes flickered, but she said nothing.
"You already know why," James continued. "Your task remains the same—draw the Clairvoyant out. And stop glorifying him in your head. He doesn't see the future. He's an ordinary man with a useful position, nothing more. Your awe for him will get you killed."
Raina exhaled slowly. "And after that?"
"You proceed as normal," James said. "No deviations, no improvisation, and you don't kill anyone. If you do, the deal is voided."
He slid a slip of paper across the table.
"You'll memorize this number. You get one call—one. When the Clairvoyant appears, you call it. From that point on, we track everything. Both sides continue as usual so you're not exposed."
Raina nodded. "Understood."
For the first time, her tone was genuine. This was clean, relaxed and fully accepted.
Things moved quickly after that.
Fitz and Simmons returned with Chan Ho Yin's blood sample. The extraction hadn't crippled him—but it did weaken him. He would survive, but prison was inevitable. Disabling a S.H.I.E.L.D agent never ended easily.
Raina received the serum and was escorted out without ceremony.
The aircraft lifted off shortly after, turning back toward the United States.
James remained behind.
He sealed the interrogation room, disabled all external monitoring, and locked the chamber into a training room. With reinforced walls and an isolated power grid, there would be no observers.
He stepped into the Umbra Sentinel armor.
Today wasn't about combat.
It was about control.
The Space Stone's energy signature pulsed faintly beneath his perception—powerful, chaotic, and infinite. He routed its output through the armor's internal systems, letting the suit act as a buffer and measuring instrument.
"Cortana," James said. "Begin monitoring."
[ Understood. ]
The upgrade cycle was still incomplete. The Space Stone wasn't something Cortana could command—only regulate the energy flow indirectly. Her role was extraction and stabilization, drawing off excess energy before it damaged James's body.
The process was slow by necessity.
James focused, guiding a controlled trickle of energy into the armor.
[ Energy output stabilized at one percent of total armor capacity per minute, ] Cortana reported.
One percent wasn't a measurement of raw power—it was a reference unit. A baseline James could feel, quantify, and reproduce. If the armor's maximum storage was one hundred percent, then one percent represented a repeatable operational standard.
The Space Stone isn't like a machine that could easily be controlled and used however someone wants to.
It required intent and synergy, like negotiating to borrow power instead of just controlling it.
James repeated the process. Again. And again.
One percent per minute wasn't enough. He needed to compress that output—in seconds, eventually in an instant. Only then would it be viable for high intensity combat.
The connection between his mind, the Stone, and armor was fragile. Any forceful attempt risked feedback—and that feedback could mean catastrophic failure.
James exhaled, steadying himself.
Adaptation always came first.
This was what James felt now.
He understood the sensation—but it was very difficult for him to describe it in words. Control wasn't like a command. It was closer to muscle memory, a pattern etched into instinct. The only way to make it part of himself was constant repetition—turning sensation into reflex.
That kind of mastery took time.
And James had only just begun.
He was still far from success.
After an entire morning of training, James stepped out of the secured room. The aircraft was already preparing to return to the United States.
Skye sat alone in the living area, a cup of coffee beside her. A thick manual rested in her hands—introductory S.H.I.E.L.D. coursework. With electronics restricted, it was the safest thing he could give her.
James sat across from her.
"What do you think?" he asked. "Can you manage?"
She nodded. "Yeah. It's actually interesting. This Agent training is… kind of fun."
She hesitated, then glanced toward the lower deck.
"They don't talk to me anymore," she said quietly. "What should I do?"
James looked at her for a moment. "Did you apologize?"
"Not yet. I don't know how to start."
"Then don't overthink it," James said. "Just apologize. Don't expect forgiveness right away. Fitz and Simmons are agents. They don't trust easily—they shouldn't. That kind of trust needs to take time."
Skye exhaled, then nodded.
"I get it." She set the book down and stood up. "I'll go now."
She headed for the lab on the first floor without looking back, determined to set things right.
James watched her go.
The stun guns crossed his mind. Two prototypes, still in testing. Not cleared for mass production yet.
He walked toward the stairs—then stopped.
Instead, he activated the conference room display and pulled up the lab feed.
Fitz and Simmons were busy—almost aggressively so. Skye stood nearby, speaking in stutters, trying to bring out what she wanted to say, clearly unsure of what to say. They avoided eye contact, trying their best to stay busy as if they were trying to avoid Skye.
James shut the feed off and went downstairs.
"Fitz," he said calmly, stepping into the lab. "The stun gun performed well. But it's slightly too heavy. Reduce the weight."
Fitz blinked. "Heavy? By how much?"
"Under an ounce," James replied. "About twenty-five grams."
Fitz picked up the weapon, turning it over skeptically. "Really?"
"That difference doesn't matter to me," James said. "But this will be mass-produced. For regular agents, weight affects draw speed and long-term fatigue. That adds up in prolonged engagements."
Fitz nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll revise it. Anything else?"
"Yes." James glanced briefly toward Skye. "Her apology doesn't erase anything. But it does show her willingness to reconnect. I'm not asking you to trust her. Keep an eye on her and just don't let it interfere with your work."
Fitz and Simmons exchanged a look, then nodded. Both returned to their stations, heads down—busy again, hiding their heads like ostriches.