The pre-dawn air in Rose Hill was still biting, but inside the silver sedan, the atmosphere was shifting from "abducted scientist" to "reluctant travel buddy."
Leander Hayes walked toward the driver's side with a steady, grounded pace. He looked refreshed, as if the cold air was fueling him rather than freezing him. Maya Hansen, on the other hand, was a vibrating mess of nerves. She watched him approach the car with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for a ticking bomb.
"So, are we actually going to track Tony down now?" she asked, her voice hitching. "Or is there another detour to a hardware store in our future?"
"We'll find him," Leander said, sliding behind the wheel. "But I have priorities, Maya. Once the world stops ending, I've got a Christmas dinner waiting for me with my aunt and uncle. Missing that is a bigger death sentence than anything Killian can throw at me."
Maya's legs were still doing a rhythmic jitter against the floorboards. "Look, if we're going... can we just stay on the pavement? What's the physics here? How is this car even staying in the sky? Is it a prototype? Some kind of Stark-tech anti-grav?"
Leander glanced at her, a flicker of genuine amusement—and maybe a little bit of teenage snark—crossing his face. "Physics? I'm the physics, Maya. I'm in control. This isn't Phil Coulson's flying 'Lola.' That thing is a classic; this is just a delivery system. Besides, Howard Stark was showing off flying car concepts back in 1943. It's the twenty-first century—get with the program."
He gave her a look of mild contempt as he shifted into gear. "If the military can park a literal aircraft carrier in the clouds, why are you worried about a four-door sedan? Come on, get in. I'm on a schedule, and if you're thinking about running, don't. You won't get far."
Maya let out a defeated sigh and buckled her seatbelt so tight it looked like it was part of her outfit. "Fine. Whatever. Who's Lola, anyway?"
"Coulson's red Corvette. His one true love," Leander chuckled softly.
He didn't floor the gas; he didn't have to. The car surged forward, but as the tires left the snowy asphalt, the sensation of speed changed. They weren't fighting friction anymore. Guided by the navigation system, they banked toward Miami.
Maya went dead silent, her eyes squeezed shut as she gripped the seatbelt like a lifeline. She didn't want to see the clouds; she didn't want to see the ground becoming a distant map.
Leander, meanwhile, was scanning. His eyes weren't just looking at the road; they were filtering the electromagnetic signatures of every vehicle moving south. He looked down at the dark, lonely highway where only a few scattered headlights cut through the gloom.
Tony was down there somewhere, driving a car he'd probably hot-wired, surrounded by a pile of homemade bombs and "party favors." But even with Leander's enhanced sight, the billionaire was proving hard to spot. Tony knew how to stay off the grid when he wanted to.
Leander's finger twitched against the steering wheel. A pulse of blue energy hummed through the chassis. "Let's pick up the pace."
The car didn't just accelerate; it leaped. The whistling of the wind turned into a low-frequency roar as they broke the sound barrier. Below them, drivers on the interstate suddenly felt their cars shake. They looked up, squinting at the sky as a silver blur tore across the stars, leaving a faint, shimmering trail like a low-flying shooting star.
By the time the humid, salt-heavy air of Florida began to hit the car's sensors, the sky was beginning to bleed into a pale, dusty grey. Morning was coming. Leander hummed to himself, his eyes scanning the Miami skyline. Still no sign of the Mark 42 or Tony's specific bio-signature on the main roads.
"It's morning," Leander announced, the car's altitude dropping as he guided it toward a highway off-ramp. "Time for a tactical break. I'm starving."
The tires touched the Florida asphalt with a soft chirp, transitioning from a flight craft back to a mundane sedan. Leander pulled over into a parking lot and looked at Maya.
"Switch with me. I'm technically underaged and I don't have a Florida license. Plus, I don't feel like drawing attention by driving through a city with no hands on the wheel."
Maya blinked, the sudden return to gravity making her head swim. She scrambled into the driver's seat, letting out a massive breath of relief. "Thank God. Solid ground. Okay. Food. I haven't eaten since... I don't even know when. My blood sugar is basically zero."
She licked her dry lips, her eyes scanning the storefronts as she pulled back onto the street. Within minutes, they were idling in front of a modest Chinese restaurant with a bright red sign.
"Chinese food?" Maya asked, looking at the clock. "For Christmas morning?"
"Why not?" Leander asked, already unbuckling. "It's a tradition, isn't it?"
Maya pulled the keys from the ignition. "Actually, yeah. In America, if you aren't at home with a turkey, you're at a Chinese place. They're the only ones brave enough to stay open today. It's a whole sub-culture."
"Don't you people ever cook at home?" Leander gave her a strange, localized look of confusion, then hopped out and headed toward a Cantonese dim sum teahouse next door.
It wasn't even 5:00 a.m. yet. The city of Miami was still rubbing the sleep from its eyes, but the teahouse was already a hive of activity. Steam was billowing from the kitchen vents, smelling of toasted sesame and sweet dough.
As they stepped inside, a waiter who had been mopping the floor spun around. Out of pure muscle memory, he chirped, "Welcome to the Chinese Teahouse!"
Then he paused, looking at the dark windows and then at the Asian teenager standing in the doorway. He blinked, a bit surprised. "Whoa, you're early. First customers of the day. The steamers aren't quite up to temp yet. Do you mind waiting a few minutes?"
"Not at all," Leander said, sliding into a circular booth. "We're in no rush."
He looked around the hall. It was huge—maybe two hundred seats—all empty and waiting. "Nice place. You guys must do a killing during the lunch rush."
Maya slid into the seat opposite him, her eyes darting to the window. "Leander, we're only a few miles from the docks—the AIM base. When are we actually going in?"
"When the food is done," Leander said simply. "Tony isn't there yet. I can feel the 'static' on the lines. He's taking the scenic route. We wait, we eat, we stay sharp."
The waiter, a fair-skinned, slightly chubby young man, leaned his mop against the wall and walked over. He had a bright, infectious smile that seemed at odds with the early hour.
"Is this your first time here, man? You look like you've been traveling." He looked at Leander with a spark of recognition. "Wait, are you Chinese?"
"First time," Leander nodded. "And yeah, born and raised."
The waiter's face lit up. "I knew it! I know every regular in this neighborhood, and I've never seen a face like yours this early. My name's Yu Lei. I'm from Guangdong. Did you just move to Miami? It's a crazy city, especially at Christmas."
Yu Lei pulled out a chair at the next table and sat down, clearly eager for some conversation in his native tongue. Maya watched them, looking back and forth, completely lost as the two started chatting in rapid-fire Chinese.
"Nah, just passing through," Leander replied in Chinese, his tone relaxing. "Stopped for some breakfast before things get loud. Name's Leander Hayes."
"Haha, Leander! Man, it's a grind running around all night on Christmas Eve. But you picked the right spot. This isn't that 'General Tso' fake stuff. This is authentic. My head chef used to run a kitchen in Guangzhou. He only came to the States two years ago. He doesn't know how to cook anything that isn't perfect."
Yu Lei seemed genuinely thrilled to be talking to someone who understood the nuances of the menu. He pushed a laminated sheet toward Leander.
"Look, since you're a pro, skip the basics. I'd recommend the signature stuff. The phoenix claws—the Americans usually get weird about the feet, but Master Niu does them with this black bean sauce that'll change your life. And the beef rice rolls? Tender, juicy, fragrant. It's like eating a cloud."
He leaned in closer, whispering like he was sharing a state secret. "The swamp bread is a special recipe. And the beef wontons? The fish porridge? Incredible. Honestly, Leander, look at me. I used to weigh forty kilos when I moved here. Now I'm pushing seventy-two. I work here because the food is free and I can't stop eating it." He pinched a bit of his stomach through his apron to prove the point.
Leander laughed. "Alright, Yu Lei. You sold me. I'll take two portions of everything you just named."
Yu Lei's eyes went wide. "Whoa, wait. Two portions? Our plates aren't small, man, and the prices... well, it's Miami. It adds up. Tell you what, I'll talk to Master Niu in the back. Since you're a 'homegrown' customer, I'll see if he can give you the 'compatriot' discount."
"Money isn't an issue," Leander said, waving a hand dismissively. "I've got a high metabolism. I could probably win a competitive eating contest right now. Also, can we get some of that to go? I've got a friend who's going to be arriving late and he's definitely going to be grumpy and hungry."
"That's the spirit!" Yu Lei beamed. "I love it when people actually appreciate the food. It's so boring watching these foreigners stare at a chicken foot like it's a dragon's tail. Uh... she doesn't understand Chinese, right?" He flicked a thumb toward Maya, who was looking increasingly annoyed.
"Not a word," Leander smiled.
"Perfect. I'll check the kitchen. The first batch of buns should be coming out of the steam now. You know, it's funny—every Christmas is our busiest time. The locals love Chinese food for the holidays. Back home, everyone is trying to find a steakhouse for Christmas, but here? It's all about the dim sum."
As Yu Lei disappeared into the kitchen, Maya leaned forward. "What was that? Were you ordering? Because I really just want General Tso's chicken. It's safe. I know what's in it."
"I'm bringing you something better," Leander said, his eyes drifting back to the window, watching the distant headlights on the bridge. "By the way, did you bring your wallet?"
Maya blinked. "Yes. Why?"
"Good. Because I don't have a cent on me. You're paying for the 'Jesus can't save him' speech from earlier. Consider it a consulting fee."
Maya opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She realized she was currently being protected by a kid who could fly a car. Paying for breakfast seemed like a fair trade.
A few minutes later, Yu Lei returned, balancing several steaming bamboo baskets. "Here we go! Fresh out of the fire. Swamp buns and the beef rice rolls."
He leaned over to Leander, whispering, "Master Niu says you're the 'Golden Customer' for being the first one in. He's giving you a fifty percent discount. Phoenix claws and porridge are five minutes out!"
The rice rolls were translucent and shimmering, drizzled with a sweet, savory soy sauce that smelled of ginger and green onions. Leander picked up a warm, golden swamp bun. It was soft and crumbly, and as he took a bite, the rich, buttery flavor of salted egg yolk exploded across his palate.
"Man," Leander muttered, his eyes closing in genuine appreciation. "That's the taste of home."
Maya watched him for a second, then tentatively reached out and snatched a bun for herself. She took a bite, her eyes widening as the warm, savory-sweet filling hit her tongue. "Okay," she admitted, swallowing a mouthful. "That's... actually incredible."
Leander didn't reply. He was busy eating, but his mind was already miles away, feeling the heavy, metallic presence of the Iron Patriot moving toward the docks. The tea was warm, the food was perfect, but the storm was officially here.