There was no need to go digging through S.H.I.E.L.D. intel—Daisy already knew who this was. Nicholas Joseph "Nick" Fury. The infamous Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. himself. The man, the myth, the legendary one-eyed tactician who somehow always looked like he had ten backup plans for every possible scenario, including this very awkward one.
How did he even find her? Was she too flashy lately? Too many power flexes? Daisy doubted it—she hadn't even blown up anything this week.
Instinct kicked in and she subtly shifted into a defensive stance. Her vibration powers were already humming under the surface, ready to rattle some bones.
But Fury, ever the ice-cold operator, didn't seem fazed by her stance. He casually nodded toward the building she'd just exited. "That guy's got eleven bodies on his ledger. You really think someone like that can be trusted?"
Daisy blinked. Okay, that came out of nowhere. Had Fury eavesdropped on her convo with Wesley? Did he know she was a super? Or was he just fishing?
She glanced at his face to find a tell, only to realize—right, this man's face was about as readable as a concrete wall. Trying to read Fury was like trying to find facial expressions in a shadow.
Not biting, Daisy sidestepped the trap. "Who are you and what do you want?"
"I'm Nick Fury. From S.H.I.E.L.D.," he said with the practiced patience of someone who'd introduced himself about a thousand times. "I came because someone like you shouldn't be wasting away out here."
Daisy raised a brow and pointed back at Wesley's house. "Funny, that's almost word-for-word what I said to him. Can't you agents come up with your own material?"
Fury didn't react. Not a smirk. Not a flicker. Nothing. Man was more stoic than a wax statue. Instead, he dropped a bomb. "We have information on your parents."
Daisy blinked again, then rolled her eyes. "Pass."
Fury wasn't surprised. He'd seen that exact reaction a dozen times—hell, Tony Stark practically spat every time someone brought up Howard. Kids these days, right? Rejecting parents was the hot new personality trait.
Still, he pressed on. "You're talented. Bright. You shouldn't be burning out in shady deals and alleyway showdowns. You should be learning, pushing your mind, maximizing your potential."
Daisy cocked her head. "Are you trying to enroll me in college?"
Fury gave a rare nod. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has its own academy. You can learn anything there—science, combat, intelligence work. World-class facilities, world-class instructors. Only catch? No diploma. You won't be applying to Google with our graduation papers."
She considered it. She had tried learning quantum mechanics solo and nearly fried her brain doing it. A proper teacher would be nice. Also, her current financial situation was best described as "pathetic."
"I get it," Fury continued smoothly. "You think you're too cool for school. But trust me, the more you know, the more dangerous you become. In a good way."
"You pitching education or a secret agent makeover?" she asked, half-joking.
Fury pulled out a sleek magnetic card and handed it to her. "This has your identity access. You've got one month to decide. Academy address is encrypted—you'll have to find it yourself."
Ah, the old challenge-your-ego trick. Daisy smirked. She flipped the card over and back. No text. No chip. Probably blew up if you swiped it wrong. Classic Fury.
"So it's just classes? No spy missions in the middle of algebra?"
"We train spies, yes," Fury admitted. "But we also train analysts, engineers, doctors. You won't be forced into anything. No midnight assassinations unless you really sign up for that elective."
Daisy narrowed her eyes at him. He was unreadable, unshakable, probably unmoved even by tax season. But still, something about the offer tickled her curiosity.
"And tuition...?" she asked hesitantly.
Fury stared. One eye. Unblinking. It took him a second to realize she was serious. "Waived. Completely. Full scholarship."
Her eyes lit up. Tuition alone was worth considering. And S.H.I.E.L.D. probably wasn't slinging ramen for student meals, either.
She was about to ask about room and board when Fury beat her to it. "Housing, meals, equipment, even a car. All covered."
Daisy glanced at her clunky Ford, which wheezed every time it hit second gear. Getting a S.H.I.E.L.D.-grade ride? Tempting.
But she kept her cool. "Sounds generous. What's the catch?"
"When the time comes, you help S.H.I.E.L.D.," he said. "Nothing forced. You serve until you feel your debt's paid."
That was... shockingly reasonable. No handcuffs. No blackmail. Just a mutually beneficial deal.
"Oh, wait," Daisy suddenly realized. "This is because of Frank, right? I saved him and he vouched for me?"
Fury nodded. "He's a comrade. One of the few I trust with my life."
"Nice. Speaking of Frank…" Daisy tapped her chin, thinking of something awkward. "I did cover some of his medical expenses. And left him a little something for recovery. Would it be too forward to… invoice you for that?"
Fury froze. Not because he was offended—he just had no idea what "a little something" meant. Coming from a girl who drove a secondhand Ford and crashed gang meetings solo, it could mean twenty bucks… or twenty grand.