The silence in the hotpot restaurant was no longer just awkward; it was heavy enough to crush the floorboards. Uncle Zhong, who had been ready to complain about the price of cabbage, stood frozen with a plate in his hand. Zhong Qiang's mouth was open so wide you could have parked a mini-cooper in it.
Everyone was staring at Logan.
The old wolf himself looked like he'd been hit by a freight train. His brain, usually sharp and battle-ready, was currently stuck on a loop of Mystique's words. Even Yuriko, whose face usually had the emotional depth of a stone gargoyle, flickered with a strange light.
In the cold, calculating logic of her mind, if Logan was the "father" of her genetic line, then this mystery child wasn't just a target—he was a blood relative.
Mystique didn't back down. She leaned against the doorframe, a predatory smirk playing on her lips. "I told you once, Logan. Your genetic blueprint is the most alluring thing on this planet. I've spent decades watching you, and I decided I wanted a piece of that legacy for myself. I just didn't think it would actually take."
She let out a low, musical laugh that made the hair on the back of Logan's neck stand up. "If you ever want to see the boy, you'll stop playing tough and start being a father. Otherwise, he stays in the shadows, and you stay alone."
Logan's mind flashed back to the X-Mansion. He remembered Cyclops—Scott Summers—smirking at him over a game of cards, saying something about how Logan's "wild seeds" would eventually sprout into a forest of trouble.
Does that one-eyed punk have a side hustle as a fortune teller? Logan wondered bitterly.
Yuriko was one thing; she was a lab-grown weapon, a mirror image of his own pain. But a natural-born son? A kid who didn't come from a vat or a surgical table, but from the messy, complicated reality of a night he barely remembered? It felt like the universe was finally handing him the bill for a century of bad decisions.
"Where is he?"
The voice didn't come from Logan. It was Yuriko. Her "SpongeBob" trance was completely broken. With a sharp clink, her ten Adamantium-bonded claws slid from her fingertips, gleaming under the restaurant's fluorescent lights. She didn't look like a bodyguard anymore; she looked like a sister claiming her kin.
Mystique's eyes widened slightly as she took in Yuriko's claws. She paced around the girl like a buyer inspecting high-end jewelry. "So, the rumors were true. Stryker really did manage to strip your soul and put it into a girl. But she's... different. Those claws aren't bone, and they aren't part of her skeleton in the same way yours are. She's a copy. A high-quality one, but still a copy."
"I said, where is the boy?!" Yuriko snarled, her body tensing for a lethal lunge.
"Easy, Yuriko. Put the hardware away," Logan growled, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. He turned back to Mystique, his eyes narrowing into slits. "How do I know this isn't just another one of your shapeshifter games, Raven? You could be pulling a story out of your blue ass just to get what you want. I've lived too long to be moved by a Hallmark card and a lie."
Mystique's smirk didn't fade. "I figured you'd be a skeptic. You always were a stubborn bastard." She reached into her leather jacket and pulled out a slim, high-end smartphone, tossing it through the air.
Logan caught it with a reflex that was pure instinct. The screen was already playing a video.
The footage was grainy but clear. It showed Mystique in a safehouse somewhere, standing next to a teenager with skin the color of a pale twilight sky—a lighter, softer blue than hers. The boy looked like a younger, leaner version of Logan, right down to the brooding scowl and the messy hair.
Then, the boy moved. His skin rippled, shifting from blue to a standard Caucasian tan, then into the likeness of a young Logan. But the real proof came a second later. With a wet, tearing sound, three jagged bone claws erupted from the back of the boy's knuckles. They weren't the smooth, surgical steel Logan had now; they were raw, ivory-colored, and curved—exactly like Logan's original bone claws.
"His name is Laz," Mystique said, her voice dripping with maternal pride. "He got my gift for camouflage and your thirst for blood. He's faster than you were at his age, Logan. And unlike you, he actually listens to his mother. He's the perfect evolution."
She glanced at Yuriko, her eyes mocking. "A natural heir beats a laboratory accident every day of the week, wouldn't you agree?"
Yuriko didn't understand the insult, or maybe she just didn't care. Her mind was occupied by the image of the boy. A brother. A real one.
Logan handed the phone back, his hands shaking slightly. He took a long, deep breath to steady his racing heart. "What's the price, Raven? Don't give me the 'save the world' speech. Just tell me what you want."
"It's simple," Mystique said, her tone turning sharp and businesslike. "Erik is rotting from the inside out. Whatever energy Huang Wen left in his system is eating his magnetism. He's weak, he's in pain, and Charles can't do a thing about it. Bring Huang Wen to the mansion. Have him fix what he broke. The moment Erik stands up, I'll bring Laz to this very restaurant to meet his old man."
A flicker of genuine amusement crossed Logan's face. He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You're out of luck, then. The Boss is gone. He packed his bags and vanished into the wind for a 'world tour.' He told us not to call, not to text, and definitely not to send blue-skinned assassins after him. He'll be back when he's back."
Mystique's face contorted with rage. "Don't lie to me! You're his top dog. You have a way to reach him. Erik doesn't have weeks!"
"Then I guess Erik better start making peace with his gods," Logan shrugged, his voice dropping into a casual, dismissive drawl. "I'm not the Boss's keeper. If he says he's traveling, he's traveling. You can sit on the curb outside and wait for him if you like, but you'll be there a long time."
"You'd let your son remain a stranger just to keep a secret for that man?" Mystique hissed, stepping closer.
Logan didn't flinch. He'd spent a lifetime being manipulated by people who claimed to know what was best for him. "My son has lived this long without me. I think he can handle a few more weeks of your 'excellent' parenting. Now, get out of Chinatown. If I catch your scent within ten blocks of here after sundown, I'm going to stop being polite. And believe me, Silly Girl has eyes everywhere. You can't hide."
Mystique stared at him, searching for a crack in his armor. Finding none, she spat on the floor, turned on her heel, and vanished down the stairs.
Logan watched her go, his expression crumbling the moment the door clicked shut. He turned to Zhong Qiang. "Kid, wake up. Tell Silly Girl to track her. Use every camera in the city. Don't let her know she's being watched, but I want to know every bathroom she visits and every contact she meets. If there's even a one-percent chance that boy is mine, I want to find him before she uses him for something worse."
"On it, Uncle Wolf!" Zhong Qiang scrambled for his laptop, his fingers flying across the keys. The Silly Girl interface glowed to life, weaving a digital web across New York City.
As Mystique sped away in a stolen sedan, she didn't head for a secret hideout. She headed back to Xavier's. She knew when a wall was too thick to climb. If Huang Wen was truly gone, she needed to consolidate her power at the school and keep Erik alive by any means necessary. She could always have Charles reach out mentally, though the "Master of Wing Chun" had a mind that felt like an iron fortress.
But Chinatown wasn't done with visitors.
Down on the street, the renovation crew was back at it. The foreman was yelling at a guy for dropping a bucket of paint when a woman walked past that made the entire crew stop and stare.
She was wearing a simple, form-fitting trench coat, her red hair tied back in a practical but elegant bun. She had a curvaceous figure that seemed to turn the very air around her into a runway. She stopped in front of the Wing Chun Academy, her brow furrowing as she looked at the scaffolding.
"God, is it 'International Model Day' in Chinatown?" the foreman muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
The woman was Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow.
She tapped her earpiece, her voice a low, melodic murmur. "Director, I'm on site. But the target is missing. The building is a shell. Looks like I'm a day late."
In the SHIELD Helicarrier, Nick Fury leaned back in his chair, his one good eye tracking a satellite feed. "I know, Romanoff. My birds saw him leave Alkali Lake an hour ago. He's moving fast—faster than a commercial jet. He's off the grid for now."
"Then why am I here?" Natasha asked, her eyes scanning the hotpot restaurant across the street. She could see a hairy man in a wife-beater looking out the window.
"Because Huang Wen isn't the only one with secrets," Fury replied. "He left his 'disciples' and his 'bodyguards' behind. Logan is there. The Fisk kid is there. And there's a server system running that city that's outperforming our best tech. Use the 'soft approach,' Natasha. Blend in. If you can't get to the Master, get to the students. Learn their moves. If there's a way to replicate what they're doing, SHIELD needs it."
Natasha smiled—a dangerous, beautiful tilt of the lips. "Understood. I've always wanted to learn martial arts. Maybe I'll sign up for a class."
She adjusted her coat and walked toward the hotpot restaurant, her every step calculated to look like a lost, beautiful tourist in need of a warm meal.