He landed on the rooftop of his apartment building.
The portal snapped shut behind him, leaving nothing but the June night. New York spread out below in a sprawl of light and noise, ten million lives layered on top of each other in a space too small for half that many. Car horns drifted up from street level, tinny and distant. The air smelled of warm concrete and someone grilling on a fire escape three floors down.
Abel stood there for a moment, letting the breeze pull at his clothes.
Ally of Kamar-Taj. Access to one of the greatest magical libraries on Earth. A potion that's weeks away from being ready. And I'm still standing on a rooftop in Queens, seventeen years old, with homework I haven't done.
He almost laughed. Almost.
Then he went downstairs.
Theresa was already home.
He could tell before he opened the door. The smell hit him first: garlic butter and fresh bread, something savory and rich simmering on the stove. Theresa's cooking operated on a level that most professional chefs would quietly resent. She worked at a Michelin three-star restaurant, which meant her "casual dinner" was better than most people's anniversary meals.
Sharon was there too, sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine and the particular expression of someone who'd already eaten too much and was making peace with eating more.
Since the bedroom incident months ago, Sharon had been flawless. No more covert searches, no lingering glances at his bookshelf, no "accidental" intrusions into his space. The moment she crossed the apartment threshold, she became exactly what her cover said she was: Theresa's distant cousin, visiting from out of state. A normal relative doing normal things.
Abel wasn't fooled. He knew she was still SHIELD. He knew she reported back. But she'd drawn a line, and she was respecting it, and that counted for something.
"There he is." Theresa looked up from the stove with the warm, automatic smile that always made something in his chest loosen. "Sit down. You're too thin."
"You say that every day."
"Because it's true every day."
Sharon raised her wine glass in greeting. "She's been cooking for two hours. I tried to help. She banished me to the table."
"You burned the garlic," Theresa said, without turning around.
"It was slightly browned."
"It was black. Sit."
Abel sat. The table was already set, three places, the good plates Theresa brought out when she was in a particularly generous mood. He watched her move through the kitchen with the efficiency of someone who could do this blindfolded, plating dishes with the kind of casual precision that only came from doing something ten thousand times.
Dinner was, as always, unreasonably good. Braised short ribs with a red wine reduction. Roasted vegetables glazed in something Abel couldn't identify but wanted more of. Fresh bread still warm from the oven.
Sharon ate with the focused determination of someone who'd already decided to worry about consequences later. After the last bite of dessert, she stood on the bathroom scale, stared at the number, and sighed.
"Worth it," she muttered, reaching for another slice of Theresa's apple tart.
"I'll double my training tomorrow," she added, to no one in particular.
Abel pushed back from the table. "Mom, Sharon, I'm done. Heading to my room."
"Wait." Theresa turned from the sink, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "I almost forgot. A package came for you before you got home. I left it on your desk."
Abel paused. He hadn't ordered anything.
"Thanks mom."
He nodded goodnight to both of them and headed to his room, closing the door behind him.
The package was thin. Document-sized, sealed in a standard mailing envelope. No return address, just a delivery service sticker.
Abel sat at his desk and opened it.
Inside: a stack of promotional materials. Glossy flyers with bold lettering. A few entry passes printed on heavy cardstock. And a folded slip of paper with a phone number written in sharp, confident handwriting.
He spread the materials out. Stark Industries Expo. The largest technology exhibition in the country, running for a full year. The flyers promised cutting-edge innovation, live demonstrations, celebrity appearances. The tickets were VIP. All-access.
Abel picked up the folded slip and turned it over.
On the back, in the same handwriting:
You didn't give me your number, so I figured I'd give you mine. — Tony Stark.
Abel stared at the note for a long moment.
He found me.
The thought landed with a bit of surprise. More like the confirmation of something he'd expected for months. Sharon's appearance at their doorstep had been the first signal. If SHIELD could connect the dots between the mysterious sorcerer and Abel Shaw, Tony Stark certainly could. The man was arguably smarter than the entire intelligence agency combined, and significantly less patient.
New York City had thousands of cameras. Tens of thousands. Traffic cameras, security feeds, ATMs, storefronts. Every pedestrian carrying a phone was a potential surveillance node. If someone with Tony's resources and JARVIS's processing power wanted to trace a face through that network, it wasn't a question of if. It was a question of when.
And apparently "when" is now.
Abel turned the note over again, reading the words a second time. The tone was pure Tony. Casual, slightly cocky, structured as a joke but carrying an implicit message: I know who you are. I know where you live. I chose to send a letter instead of showing up. You're welcome.
For a few seconds, Abel weighed his options. Then he picked up his phone and dialed.
One ring. The line connected.
"Finally!" Tony's voice came through bright and fast, like a man who'd been waiting by the phone and would never in a million years admit it. "The delivery speed on these things is criminal, by the way. I'm seriously considering having Stark Industries disrupt the courier industry. We'd do it better. Also, glad you called, Mr. Mysterious Mage."
Abel leaned back in his chair. "How did you know it was me?"
The words left his mouth and he immediately closed his eyes.
Idiot. He sent the number to your address. Who else would be calling from this phone?
"Right," Abel said, before Tony could answer. "You found my address, so obviously you have my phone number too."
"Gold star." He could hear the grin in Tony's voice. "But look, I could've just called you. I had your number. I chose not to. Do you know why?"
"Politeness?"
"Shocking, I know. But yes. If you were just some random guy, I'd have called, texted, maybe sent a drone. But you're not some random guy, are you? You're the kind of person who can do things I can't explain with physics. And I didn't want to start our relationship by being presumptuous." A beat. "Also, I wasn't sure if you could, like... curse me through the phone or something. Can you do that?"
"Curse-type magic isn't really my specialty," Abel said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "But if you're interested..."
"Okay, okay, enough." Tony cleared his throat. The playfulness didn't vanish entirely, but something shifted underneath it. A gear turning. A mask adjusting. "Let's cut the banter. I want to talk business."
Abel leaned forward in his chair.
"I'm listening."
END CHAPTER 35