The night air of Manhattan was cool and restless.
Daniel walked with unhurried steps, the neon lights reflecting in his calm eyes as his mind replayed his conversation with Stark. Every word, every subtle shift in tone from Beast — Hank McCoy — now fit together like pieces of a puzzle.
'So that's why,' Daniel realized, 'when the Chitauri invaded Earth in the original timeline, the powerful mutants stayed in the shadows. They had their own war to fight.'
He wasn't tied to the mutant world directly. Everything he knew was pieced together through observation, intuition, and guesswork.
Jean Grey — Phoenix — was arguably the most dangerous mutant alive, second only to Professor Charles Xavier himself. With Charles gone or incapacitated, Jean could wield Cerebro in his stead, scanning the entire planet for mutants, exerting an invisible force of deterrence — on mutants and humans alike.
But something had happened.
Charles was gone. Jean Grey, too, was silent. Whether the cause was Magneto, Stryker, or something darker, Daniel couldn't tell. But the pattern was clear, the X-Men were unraveling.
Beast and Wolverine were still operational, which meant Storm likely stayed behind to guard the Academy. Cyclops would be out searching for Jean and Charles, the people he cared for most.
The headache tightened in Daniel's temples. All threads led to one terrifying possibility: Phoenix Force.
If the Phoenix had truly awakened, Charles might already be dead. Even Magneto — with all his power — would fall before that fire.
Daniel had no intention of getting too close. He understood all too well the kind of power that could burn entire worlds to ash.
Still, ignorance wasn't an option. He needed information, even if he had no desire to interfere. Mutants were their own world, dangerous, unpredictable, and ultimately alien to the fragile human order. He would keep his distance, but he would watch.
For now, his eyes were on Colonel Stryker. As long as he tracked Stryker's moves, he'd know when things were about to spiral out of control. The mutant civil war wasn't his concern. But Stryker's schemes? Those were worth watching.
And that was Stark's problem to handle.
By the time Daniel returned to his clinic, half an hour had slipped by.
The waiting area was already filled with patients. Dr. Horst, though not as skilled as Donald Blake, was more than capable of handling everyday cases. Blake's legacy had built the clinic's reputation, and Daniel had carefully maintained it.
He'd never announced Blake's permanent departure — instead, he'd let Horst take over temporarily, ensuring patients didn't feel abandoned. Those who truly understood the situation knew Blake would never return.
The clinic fees had been raised slightly, just enough to filter out freeloaders while still offering free treatment to those who were critically ill and unable to pay. The balance was delicate, but Daniel preferred it that way. The clinic thrived quietly, avoiding both greed and ruin.
Horst, the stoic German, merely nodded in greeting before returning to his patient. The nurses were just as absorbed in their duties. Daniel slipped into his small office without disturbing anyone.
The office was barely ten square meters. A simple desk, a sofa, a filing cabinet, a coffee table. Nothing fancy. But today, someone else was there — busy, meticulous, and unbothered by his presence.
Darcy Lewis.
She barely glanced up when Daniel entered, her pen moving swiftly over the financial statements.
Tax season was still months away, but Darcy liked her numbers neat and airtight. The clinic's transition — ownership, equipment purchases, staff salaries — all needed perfect bookkeeping.
Who would've guessed that the sharp-tongued Darcy, who dabbled in astronomy and astrology, also had a certification in accounting? Her primary field had been economics, and she'd only drifted into astrophysics because the bar for entry was lower. But here, with numbers and ledgers, Darcy was in her true element.
Finally, she set the last document aside and looked up with a faintly proud smile.
"This weekend, we're hosting a free clinic for the community. Full diagnostics, free medication — all in the name of charity. Any objections?"
Daniel chuckled. "It's all up to you."
He glanced outside; the night sky had turned deep and starless. Picking up his coat, he added, "Come on. Dinner's on me. Something decent for once — then I'll drive you back to campus."
"What about you? Staying here tonight?" Darcy tilted her head, brows furrowed. "If that's the case, maybe we should just eat at the school cafeteria."
She knew the clinic's finances better than anyone. Though it appeared profitable, expenses were just as high — especially with staff wages. Weekly profits were slim.
Daniel only smiled, his tone light but teasing. "Don't worry about it. This is just the beginning. I'm not here to make money off ordinary people. The real clients — the rich ones — haven't even arrived yet."
Something in his confident tone made Darcy pause. Her mind flashed back to the image of Daniel wielding Thor's Hammer, standing defiant against the Destroyer armor. She swallowed, suddenly aware of just how different he was.
Dinner wasn't extravagant, just a good steak and a bottle of red wine, but it felt unhurried, warm.
When they returned, the clinic was closed. Daniel unlocked the back door, but as they stepped inside, his hand suddenly shot out — pulling Daisy into his arms.
"D-Daniel?!" Darcy's voice hitched, her cheeks flushing. For a second, she thought this was something else — something she'd secretly hoped for.
Thor might have been loud and brash, but Daniel was different... quiet, sharp wit, a calm confidence that made her heart race.
But before she could say another word, a sudden jolt ran through Daniel's body.
In the blink of an eye, Darcy was swept off her feet — not romantically, but literally, as Daniel dragged her out of the entryway and into the attending doctor's office.
That's when she heard it.
Crackle.
Four faint arcs of electricity sizzled in the dark.
Her eyes widened as brief flashes illuminated the room — revealing four figures dressed in black, swords strapped to their backs.
Ninjas.
Before they could react, Daniel's lightning struck like vipers, silent and precise. The four assassins convulsed, collapsing to the ground in seconds.
A snap, and the lights flickered on.
Daniel stepped forward, his gaze hard, his voice cold.
"The Hand. Is this really all you've got?"
Among Marvel's shadowy clans, the Hand stood apart — ruthless, fanatical, and always lurking. Of all the factions, they were the only ones with a motive to strike at a magician like him.
Daniel's eyes shifted to Darcy. She wasn't trembling. If anything, she looked… thrilled.