The holographic schematic in front of me shows EDEN's core data architecture — a lattice of interconnected nodes that YGD's simulations confirmed could handle simultaneous user loads of up to ten million. It's elegant. It's revolutionary. It's the kind of thing that should make me feel like I'm building the future.
I stare at it and think about Jessica picking at her nail polish in an alley.
"Ethan."
I blink. The hologram blurs, then resolves. I'm sitting in Tony Stark's private lab at Stark Industries, and I've been staring at the same data cluster for — I check the clock — twenty-three minutes.
Tony is standing in the doorway with two coffees. He's wearing a tank top and jeans, his hair sticking up at angles that suggest he either rolled out of bed or rolled out of a fight. Knowing Tony, both are equally likely.
"You look like someone killed your dog," he says, crossing the room and setting one of the coffees in front of me.
"I don't have a dog."
"That's how glum you look. Dog-killing glum." He drops into the chair across from me and spins it once before settling. "What's going on?"
I pick up the coffee. It's from the good place down the street, the one Tony has on speed dial. I take a sip. It tastes like something.
"Just stuff," I say. "Recent events."
Tony raises an eyebrow. He's got this way of looking at you that makes you feel like he's already three steps ahead and is just waiting for you to catch up.
"Stuff," he repeats.
"Yeah."
"Recent events."
"That's what I said."
Tony leans back, balancing the chair on two legs. He does this when he's about to say something he thinks is profound. It's his tell.
"Is it a girl?" he asks.
I nearly choke on the coffee. "What? No. I mean — it's not — that's not —"
"Because I've been there." He holds up a hand, cutting me off. "I know that look. That's the look of a man who's tangled up in something he can't logic his way out of. Trust me, I invented that look. I had a whole wardrobe for that look."
"You're reading too much into this."
"Ethan. I spent the better part of a decade as one of the most eligible bachelors on the planet. I've dated supermodels, actresses, a princess — well, almost a princess. Point is, I know girl problems when I see them."
"This isn't girl problems."
"It's always girl problems." He grins. "Even when it's not girl problems, it's girl problems. That's the first rule of girl problems."
I set the coffee down. "Tony."
"Second rule: you can't fix them by pretending they don't exist."
"I'm not —"
"Third rule: the girl always knows you're pretending. They always know. It's like a sixth sense. Pepper can detect me avoiding a conversation from three rooms away. I think it's a superpower she developed specifically to torment me."
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
Tony is watching me with the satisfied expression of a man who thinks he's cracked the code.
"It's not — look." I rub the back of my neck. "Someone I care about went through something bad. Something that wasn't her fault, but she's carrying it like it was. And I don't know how to help her because every time I try, it feels like I'm making it worse. Or not doing enough. Or — I don't know. Both."
The grin fades from Tony's face. He lets the chair drop back to all fours.
"Okay," he says. "That's not girl problems. That's just problems."
"Yeah."
He's quiet for a moment. Then: "Pepper went through something. When Stane — when everything went down. She was in the middle of it, and after, she had this look. Like she was replaying every decision, every moment she couldn't control." He pauses. "You can't fix it for her. You know that, right?"
"I know."
"But you can be there. That's the part that sucks — being there doesn't feel like enough. It feels like you should be doing more. But sometimes just being the person who shows up is the whole thing."
I look at him. Tony Stark, resident genius, professional narcissist, is giving me earnest relationship advice. The world is stranger than any light novel I ever wrote.
"When did you get wise?" I ask.
"I've always been wise. People just got distracted by the charm and the good looks." He picks up his coffee. "Also, Pepper would kill me if she knew I was giving you advice instead of working on the reactor specs."
"She's not wrong."
"Fair point." He takes a drink, then nods at the holographic display. "Speaking of work. We should probably talk about that before Peter gets here and starts asking questions about power coupling ratios. Again."
I pull the schematic back up, grateful for the pivot. The data lattice blooms between us, lines of light tracing pathways that don't exist yet but will.
"EDEN's architecture is nearly complete," Tony says, all business now. He stands and walks around the table, gesturing at the projection. "YGD's simulations are clean. Peter and I solved the power delivery issue last week — the new arc reactor design can sustain the processing load without breaking a sweat. We're looking at a launch window within a year. Maybe sooner if Gwen finishes the interface layer on schedule."
"A year," I repeat.
"Give or take. Why, you got somewhere to be?"
I think about it. About Midtown High, about graduation, about the fact that I'm seventeen and running a company that's building a virtual reality network that shouldn't exist for another decade.
"I was thinking after graduation," I say. "Launch it as DataStream Dynamics' flagship product. Give it the full rollout — press, partnerships, the whole thing. Let it be what the company is known for from day one."
Tony studies me. Then he nods slowly.
"That's not a bad play," he says. "Build the team, finish the prototype, then go big when you've got the runway. Smart."
"I have my moments."
"Don't let it go to your head." He claps me on the shoulder. "Now. Are you going to tell me which girl, or do I have to guess? Because I'm going to guess, and my guesses are going to be spectacularly wrong, and Pepper is going to hear about it, and I'm never going to hear the end of it."
"It's not —"
"Ethan."
I sigh.
"Her name's Jessica," I say. "And she's my friend. And she's dealing with something I can't fix."
Tony nods. Doesn't push. Just picks up his coffee.
"Well," he says. "When you figure out how to be there without fixing it, let me know. I'll take notes."
I almost smile.
Almost.
***
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