Hawk listened to the dead line on the phone, silent again.
His mind spun fast.
It wasn't that he feared Gwen entering his apartment. He was just running through everything she might see—anything indecent, anything dangerous.
Indecent? None. No posters, no magazines. He was too poor for that. When restless, he just trained on the rooftop until exhaustion forced him to sleep.
Dangerous? Maybe.
The five Chitauri weapons hidden under his bed, wrapped tight in bedsheets. But unless she crawled under herself, there was no way she'd find them.
So… let her. He had bigger things to handle.
Hawk pocketed the phone, his warmth fading into cold indifference. His eyes hardened.
The young black man with the pistol in his face froze at the look. Hawk's lips curved.
"Now… it's my turn to rob you."
…
Meanwhile, Gwen had already climbed the fire escape, pushed aside the shorts hanging on the window, and slipped into Hawk's apartment.
It was small, crowded by a secondhand sofa and a folding table with a laptop on top—but clean. Organized.
Her first impression: comfortable.
Setting Connors' envelope on the table, Gwen's eyes caught on the laptop lid.
Stickers. Cute, girly stickers.
"…Too cute," she murmured, smiling. "So the last owner was a girl?"
She never even considered Hawk had put them there. Impossible.
Because no one knew Hawk better than she did.
She turned to leave.
But a draft from her jacket lifted the envelope off the table, sending it drifting into the bedroom.
She bent to pick it up—and froze.
A faint green glow, pulsing beneath the sheet-wrapped bundle under the bed.
Breathing.
Even in daylight, faint but steady. If not for catching it with the corner of her eye, she never would have seen it.
Her brows furrowed. What was that?
She rose, still holding the envelope, and her eyes landed on the nightstand.
A cracked photo frame.
Inside, a photo.
She picked it up. Times Square in the background. Two teenagers, about fourteen. Their clothes faded, but their smiles bright.
The boy—Hawk.
Smiling in a way she had never seen from him.
And the girl?
Pale, clinging to his arm, smiling just as brightly.
A sister? Gwen wondered.
He'd never mentioned one.
Dead, maybe? The thought crept into her mind. That would explain his silence.
She set the frame back gently, turned to leave… then stopped.
"The envelope."
She returned—only to see it was gone.
Her eyes narrowed. Dropping to her knees, she peered under the bed again.
There it was. Pushed deeper.
She reached in. Fingers brushed the envelope.
And the sheet.
Cold.
Metal cold.
The sensation jolted up her nerves, into her mind.
…
(End of Chapter)
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