Erik Lehnsherr stared at Noah Vale, disbelief flickering across his face.
This was a mistake.
Letting George Stacy and his family walk back into the human world?
That wasn't mercy.
That was a liability waiting to explode.
Erik had learned that lesson the hard way.
Once, he had tried to step away from conflict—tried to live quietly. He'd saved someone with his powers, thinking it was the right thing to do.
That same man had turned him in.
His wife had paid the price.
He wasn't about to watch Noah repeat that mistake.
His expression hardened.
The steel spheres orbiting his hand snapped into motion—two streaks of metal cutting through the air, aimed straight at George and his wife.
They never made it.
Noah caught them.
Effortlessly.
The metal warped in his grip, frozen inches from their targets.
For a split second, Gwen and her family didn't even understand what had just happened.
Then it hit them.
They had almost died.
Noah stepped forward, eyes locked on Erik.
"I think you should respect my decisions."
His voice wasn't raised.
It didn't need to be.
Erik didn't back down.
"That's because your decision—"
"—doesn't give you the right to override it," Noah cut in, sharper now.
Silence fell between them.
Noah opened his hand, placing the crushed steel back into Erik's palm.
"They're just civilians. If I need leverage, I have options. And Charles is right upstairs."
His gaze didn't waver.
"You didn't solve a problem just now. You created one."
Erik's jaw tightened.
"You're too reckless."
"And you're too impulsive," Noah shot back.
A beat passed.
Then Noah exhaled slowly.
"Everyone else—give us a minute."
The others didn't argue. They filed out, tension trailing behind them.
When the room cleared, Noah turned back to Erik.
"If you want to work with me," he said, more controlled now, "then start thinking like it."
He tapped Erik's hand lightly.
"Every decision I make is calculated. You don't get to second-guess it in front of everyone and act on your own."
Erik didn't respond.
"Next time," Noah continued, "you bring it to me first. We talk. Then we decide."
A pause.
"Not like this."
Erik's expression shifted—subtle, but there.
He understood.
Even if he didn't like it.
Noah studied him for another moment, then turned and headed for the exit.
"Don't make me choose sides," he added quietly. "You won't like the outcome."
—
When Noah stepped back into the main room, his expression had already softened.
"Alright," he said lightly. "Everything's sorted."
George looked at him carefully.
"We're… free to go?"
"You are," Noah confirmed. "I'll send you back. Just keep what happened here to yourselves."
George gave a short, dry laugh.
"You trust us that much?"
Noah smiled.
"I do."
Gwen glanced at him, something complicated in her expression.
"George," Noah added, "you might want to come up with a good excuse for disappearing half the day."
That earned a reluctant nod.
Noah turned to Gwen.
"We'll talk later," he said quietly.
Then, without further delay, he pulled the entire family into his pocket space.
A moment later, they were gone.
Noah looked toward Xavier.
"I need a favor."
Xavier met his eyes—and understood immediately.
—
Half an hour later—
New York City.
Noah released Gwen's family, Rogue, and Camila back into the city, leaving them with no memory of anything that mattered.
Clean.
Contained.
Then he headed straight for Fisk Tower.
Wilson Fisk was already waiting.
"Mr. Vale," Fisk said, rising from his seat. "Your identity is everywhere right now. Every network, every platform."
"No problem," Noah replied. "It doesn't change anything."
He gestured.
Five massive chunks of metallic material dropped onto the floor with a heavy clang.
Fisk's eyes widened.
"What is that?"
"Adamantium," Noah said simply. "You mentioned you needed better materials for the press. Now you've got them."
Fisk stepped closer, inspecting the pieces with growing disbelief.
"This is… processed," he said slowly. "Refined. Do you have any idea how valuable this is?"
Noah didn't answer.
Fisk exhaled.
"It'll take time," he admitted. "Reworking this—melting it down, reshaping it—we're looking at at least twenty days."
Noah frowned slightly.
Too slow.
But not impossible.
"Do it," he said. "As fast as you can."
Fisk nodded.
"Understood."
Noah shifted the conversation.
"The book distribution?"
"Running smoothly," Fisk replied. "Though the energy market is tying up a lot of our capital. That should stabilize soon."
He hesitated.
"There's something else. In three days, the United Nations is holding a summit. They're discussing taxation on your book."
Noah waved it off.
"As long as the money comes through, I don't care how they label it."
To him, money had already lost most of its meaning.
Power was what mattered.
And that—
He was still building.
Noah leaned back slightly, tapping the arm of the chair.
"There is one thing I need from you."
Fisk straightened.
"Name it."
Noah's gaze sharpened.
"Victor von Doom."
Fisk blinked.
"…Doom?"
"Latverian industrialist," he said slowly. "Rising fast. Big ambitions. I've heard he's planning something involving space."
Noah nodded.
"I want a meeting."
Fisk didn't hesitate.
"I'll arrange it."
He paused, then added with a faint smile—
"I suspect he'll be just as interested in meeting you."
Noah didn't respond.
But the look in his eyes said enough.
Things were about to get a lot more complicated.