The classroom was already half-empty by the time Rebecca caught up with him.
"Abel, today is Friday. We're having a party. You should come."
Abel shifted his schoolbag to his other shoulder. "Sorry. I'm going to the restaurant where my mother works today. I don't have time."
"You're refusing again?" Rebecca's voice had a sharp edge to it. "This is the third time, Abel. If you reject me next time too, I'm going to realy think that you don't like me. Next week—you have to come next week. I won't accept another excuse."
He nodded, understanding the social stakes even if he didn't feel them the same way she did. "Okay. I'll remember. I'll definitely come next week."
"Good." She smiled, satisfied. "Then I'll see you next week."
"See you next week."
They nodded to each other. Abel picked up his bag and stood to leave, but he'd barely made it out of the classroom when an arm came around his neck from behind.
"Yo!" It was Sean, his mulatto friend, grinning like he'd just caught Abel in some criminal act. "I saw Rebecca talking to you. What did she want?"
"The party. She invited me again."
"Again?" Sean's eyes widened in genuine disbelief. "Brother, this is the third time. You've turned her down three times in a row!"
Abel shrugged helplessly. "Yeah. Well, next time I can't refuse."
"Dude, if I didn't know for a fact that you are straight, I'd think you didn't like girls at all." Sean shook his head, still grinning. "And Rebecca is literally the hottest girl in this school. Best body, best face, best everything. How can you not be interested?"
"Sean." Abel managed a small smile. "Sometimes it's not about how someone looks. It's about a feeling. Even an ordinary girl, if the feeling is right, becomes a treasure. But if the feeling is wrong?" He shrugged. "It's a no go."
Sean blinked, processing. Then he coughed lightly and said in a low voice, "I get what you're saying, man. But honestly? I'd still take the chance. I mean she has been hitting on you for at least 3 months!"
Abel laughed despite himself. "Everyone has their preferences."
They walked toward the parking lot together. "Alright, I'm heading out," Abel said, mounting his bike. "See you Monday."
"See you Monday!"
The restaurant was located downtown, in that sweet spot between noise and quiet that somehow made it feel more exclusive. Fresh, natural décor. Good lighting. His mother had always loved this place, even before becoming head chef here. Now it was her domain.
Abel parked his bike in the designated space and headed toward the entrance, his schoolbag over one shoulder. The doorman—a familiar face he'd nodded to dozens of times—stood by the entrance.
Abel greeted him as he always did.
The man didn't respond. Didn't even acknowledge Abel's existence. Just stared ahead, unblinking, like Abel was invisible.
Strange.
Abel hesitated for a moment, uncertain if the man was in a bad mood or if something else was going on. They weren't friends, just nodding acquaintances. No obligation to force conversation. He decided to let it go and moved toward the door.
Before his hand touched it, the guard's arm shot out and blocked his path.
"The restaurant has been booked," the man said, his voice flat and empty. "No other people are allowed to enter."
Abel's mind went cold.
A three-star Michelin restaurant didn't do private bookings. Not like this. Anyone who came here was rich or powerful or both—none of them needed to rent the entire place. And the way the guard had spoken... that emotionless voice, that mechanical delivery. It wasn't human.
It was controlled.
The realization hit him like ice water. He'd felt this before, in his previous life. The feeling of someone else's will overriding another person's agency. The Imperius Curse had felt similar—that perfect, empty obedience, that absence of self.
Someone is controlling him.
Abel's mind raced through possibilities. In Marvel, how many people could do something like this? How many had the power to override someone's free will with just words? He didn't know. He'd spent six years in this world, but he wasn't exactly integrated into Marvel's nerd community. He knew about SHIELD, about Stark, about the basic threats everyone worried about. But mind control? Telepathy? That was rarer. That was special.
And it could be anyone.
His mother was in there.
Without thinking through the consequences, Abel turned and walked away from the front entrance. He couldn't go in that way—not with the guard positioned to stop him. But the restaurant had a service entrance, didn't it? A back door for deliveries and garbage. His mother had mentioned it once.
The guard didn't follow. He'd been given only one instruction: stop people from entering through the front. Abel's departure fell outside those parameters.
Abel moved quickly around the side of the building, staying close to the wall. The back alley was narrow and smelled like old food and dumpsters. The door he was looking for was metal, industrial, the kind used by commercial kitchens.
It was locked.
Abel took a breath, extending his right index finger. He could feel the magical potential in his core—small, limited, but present. Wandless magic was crude, but door locks were simple work. No finesse required.
He whispered the incantation: "Alohomora."
The power flowed through him, thin and weak compared to what he'd once wielded, but sufficient. The lock mechanism clicked.
The door swung inward.
The kitchen hit him first—heat and noise and the smell of a dozen dishes cooking at once. The sound of sizzling pans, running water, urgent voices calling orders. The controlled chaos of a professional kitchen in service.
In the center of it all stood his mother.
Theresa moved mechanically through her work, but something was wrong. Her motions were precise, professional—decades of training kept her hands moving correctly—but her face was slack. Her eyes were empty, looking at nothing.
Abel pushed through the kitchen staff, who were too focused on their own stations to notice him. He reached his mother just as she turned, holding a plate.
"Mom, how are you?"
Theresa's head turned slowly toward him. Her gaze didn't focus on him so much as around him. "Abel, you... I will cook..."
The words were hollow. Not her. Whatever was controlling her was forcing her to continue working, to continue moving, but there was no one home behind her eyes.
Something very dark and very wrong was happening here.
Abel made a decision.
He reached out and pressed hard against the side of Theresa's neck, at the junction where blood flowed to her brain. He held the pressure steady, controlling his force, maintaining the grip. Within seconds, her eyes rolled back. Her body went limp.
It wasn't kind. It wasn't gentle. But compared to what would happen if she remained under that control—forced to do who knew what, forced to hurt who knew who, forced to betray everything she was—unconsciousness was mercy.
Abel caught her as she fell, supporting her weight. He needed to get her out of here. He needed to figure out who was doing this. And he needed to do it before whoever controlled the guard realized that something had gone wrong.
His peaceful life had just ended.
END CHAPTER 2