Jordan was late. For her, that alone was enough to mean something was wrong.
Magnus noticed it before he consciously registered it. The empty stretch of track. The absence of a very specific kind of pressure in the air — like something sharp and fast was missing from the world.
Tony noticed too.
"The storm is delayed," the raccoon muttered from his perch on the bench. "Suspicious. Storms do not delay. They gather."
"…She's a person, not weather," Magnus said.
Tony tilted his head. "All creatures are weather, kid. Some just come with shoes."
Magnus didn't get to respond. Because that was when Jordan finally arrived.
She didn't jog in. She walked. That was the second troubling thing.
The third was just a hunch. Magnus's observation skill was trash, as Tony and Alex kept pointing out to him, so it wasn't anything he could actually see.
But he could feel it, even without Affective Discernment, that something was… off. There was something quieter and tighter about the air around her. Like everything inside her had been compressed into something sharp and unstable.
She stopped short the moment she actually looked at him. Actually looked.
Her eyes narrowed. "What the hell happened to you?"
Magnus didn't even hesitate. "My girlfriend happened to me."
A beat. Then, because fair was fair, "You?"
Jordan exhaled through her nose, sharp. "Your girlfriend happened to me, too. At least I think it was the result of her meddling."
"Oh, it absolutely was," Magnus said immediately. "And for the record, she didn't tell me before she did it. We can be pissed at her together if you'd like…"
He felt bad for throwing Alex under the bus for about half a second. Then his entire body reminded him of its current existence — aching, strained, borderline mutinous after Alex's terrible "suggestions" four hours ago, and his worse judgment to listen to her — and the guilt evaporated without a trace.
Jordan huffed something that might've been agreement.
They trained anyway.
Or… tried to. For about half an hour. Long enough for Magnus to drag himself through roughly half of his Saitama-lite daily quest: Push-ups that felt like war crimes, sprints that felt like betrayal, plus whatever additional suffering Jordan threw at him out of habit more than intention.
But today was off. His body wasn't cooperating. Her mind wasn't here, either.
Tony watched all of it, chewing thoughtfully on… something Magnus didn't want to identify, because it definitely wasn't the snacks he brought at the raccoon's suggestion against his better judgment.
"Ah," he said after a while, tone contemplative. "Two broken engines attempting motion. Admirable. Inefficient. Like trying to sprint with one leg and a philosophical crisis."
Magnus wiped sweat from his face, breathing heavier than he should've been for something this basic.
"…Thanks."
Tony ignored him.
"Now would be a good time," he said.
Magnus paused, breathing hard. "…For?"
"Prey circles when injured," Tony said, not looking at Magnus. "Doesn't run. Doesn't fight. Just… circles. Waiting for something to break first."
A beat. "Pressure building in that one. Might explode. Good time to either run… or ask questions. Preferably with snacks."
Magnus glanced at her. Then, just to be sure, he focused Affective Discernment.
A charge burned. The feedback came instantly.
Tension. Frustration. Turmoil.
And under it?
A sharp, pressing need to vent. Or punch something. Possibly both.
…Yeah. Seems about right!
Magnus exhaled slowly, then straightened.
"Hey," he called.
Jordan stopped mid-stretch, glancing over. "What?"
He hesitated for just a fraction of a second — then locked eyes with her and focused on another power.
Aura Weave.
He could faintly feel the power humming to life, forming an invisible line between Jordan and himself.
The connection was soft and subtle. Not pushing, just… opening a door.
"Look," he said, tone lighter than he felt, "I know we've not done much today. But with the state your mind is in, and the state my body is in…"
He gestured vaguely between them. "…we're probably not gonna get an effective training session."
A beat. Then, quieter, more grounded…
"So… do you wanna talk about… whatever it is that's bothering you?"
Jordan didn't answer immediately.
Magnus felt it through another charge of Affective Discernment.
Resistance — not rejection, but restraint.
It wasn't aimed at him, either, more at the idea of talking about her feelings.
That was… interesting. Different from the trial on Alex last night.
So, either Jordan's willpower was stronger than Alex's. Or maybe his power was weaker right now. It could be either, or both.
"…I promise," he added, voice steady, "no one will hear a word of what you say to me. Not even Alex."
That landed. He felt the shift.
Jordan stared at him for a few seconds. Then…
"…Okay," she said. Flat. Controlled. "Fine. Let's do that. But just for today. Don't expect this to become a recurring thing."
Magnus raised both hands. "Wouldn't dream of it!"
"And if Reyes hears a word of this," she continued, pointing at him, "I'll kill you—"
She paused. Then, with visible recalibration:
"—actually, no. More effective threat: if you tell her any of this, you'll 'damage my relationship' with her."
Air quotes. Disgusted expression. There was less bite than usual, though.
Magnus chose — very deliberately — to take that as progress.
"…Noted," he said.
They moved to a bench nearby and sat down. Tony climbed up between them like he owned the place and immediately demanded snacks.
Magnus sighed, opened his bag, and distributed rations. Neither he nor Jordan touched their shares while Tony dug in.
For a while, no one spoke.
Jordan leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the ground like it had personally offended her.
The track was quiet except for the noises of Tony eating.
Magnus didn't push, didn't fill the silence. He just… let it exist.
It stretched. Almost — almost — into awkward territory.
Then:
"I had this image of my father," Jordan began.
Her voice wasn't steady. It wasn't unstable either. It was… tight. "Cold. Distant. Dutiful military man. Always putting his job above his family."
A small, humorless huff. "You know all that Superman media where General Sam Lane shows up?"
Magnus nodded.
"I used to scoff at it every time," she continued. "Because my dad was so textbook Sam Lane."
Her fingers curled slightly. "My parents almost divorced when I was seven because my mom couldn't take it anymore."
A beat. "But then they reconciled." Another beat. "He never changed. She just… adapted."
Her jaw tightened. "For years, I resented her for that. I kept asking myself why she couldn't have followed through? Just take me and leave!"
Magnus stayed quiet. Just listening.
"Growing up, Uncle Nate — Alex's dad — was more like a father to me than my own," she said. "And back then, I told myself that was just… how things were." Her voice dipped slightly. "But then he died."
A pause. Magnus grimaced at Alex's dad's name for half a second, like he recognized it from somewhere, before the memory slipped.
Jordan continued. "And I learned my father could actually act like a dad."
Her hands clenched. "He just didn't do it for me."
That one landed heavier. Magnus didn't interrupt.
"That was my life," she said. "That understanding. That truth."
Her head tilted back slightly, staring at the sky. "And yesterday?"
A sharp exhale. "My mom took a sledgehammer and shattered all of it."
Silence. Then:
"It was all a misunderstanding," she said, voice turning sharp with disbelief. "That's what she said."
She laughed once. Short. Harsh.
"I didn't believe her." A beat. "Why would I? The man literally showed up to last night dinner in full uniform for crying out loud!"
Her hands came up, pressing briefly against her face before dropping again. "But then she started asking him questions."
Magnus glanced at her. Jordan didn't look back.
"About me," she continued. "Things I never told him. Things I never told anyone. Things I didn't even know about myself."
Her voice lowered. "My schedule. My competitions. My habits. My… measurements."
A flicker of discomfort crossed her face. "He answered all of them."
She punched the bench, as if checking if this was reality, then continued. "There was no hesitation. He didn't even need to think about it. Just answered in the same flat and cold tone he always uses. It was like…" A beat. "…like he was reading off a report."
Her lips pressed thin. "And when I asked him how he could possibly know or remember all that?"
She let out a breath. "He looked at me like I'd asked why the sky was blue."
A pause. "'Why wouldn't I know?' he said. 'These are all important details about you,' he said."
Silence stretched. Then…
"And that wasn't even the worst of it. When my mom sent him away to handle the bills, she used his phone…" Jordan continued, voice tightening again. "…to send a text."
Her eyes flicked, unfocused, as if recalling the memory. "Ten seconds later, there was a knock at the door and a guy walked into the room."
***
The night before…
The door opened quietly.
The man who stepped in didn't look dramatic.
No tension. No urgency. Just… present, composed, alert, and professional.
"Before we begin," Katherine Hale said, "I want you to know that what we'll be discussing in this room shall stay in this room. You will not report it to my husband." A beat. "And neither I nor my daughter will inform him of it, either. Once you leave, you may continue your duty as usual. Are we clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, standing straight.
She didn't waste time after that. "How long have you been assigned to Vanessa?"
A brief pause. "Fourteen years as of next month, ma'am."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"What are your standing orders?"
"Continuous observation during high-risk events," he replied calmly. "Intervention authorized under threat conditions. Minimal visibility. Subject must not notice my presence, ever."
Jordan's breath hitched slightly.
Katherine didn't look at her. "How often do you intervene?"
"When necessary," the agent said. "Primary objective was prevention through environmental control and early de-escalation."
"What does that mean in practice?"
Another small pause.
"I redirected a potential tail during a late-night return," he said. "Removed an intoxicated individual at a social gathering. Intervened in a developing altercation subject was not fully aware of."
Jordan's brows pulled together. Fragments. Moments she barely remembered. They started… aligning.
"There was one escalation event," the agent added.
Katherine's gaze sharpened. "Explain."
A fraction of professional, measured hesitation.
"General Hale authorized a remote strike on the target location," he said. "Non-lethal payload."
Silence.
"Outcome: neutralization without casualties. Collateral: disciplinary action. One month's pay forfeited."
A beat.
"His comment on record," the agent continued evenly, "'Worth it.' Verbatim."
The room didn't breathe.
Katherine leaned back slightly. "And your usual assignment?"
A pause.
"Executive protection, ma'am."
"For?"
Another pause. Slightly longer.
"High-level federal officials. Occasionally… the President."
Katherine's fingers tapped once against the table. "So my daughter's safety ranks somewhere near presidential priority."
"…Yes, ma'am."
"And no one objected to that decision?"
"They did, ma'am."
"And?"
"He made it clear he would not continue in his position if the request was denied."
Katherine's eyes sharpened. "And in all your years serving under him, has my husband ever made empty threats?"
"No, ma'am."
"So he would have followed through."
"Yes, ma'am."
Heavy silence. Then…
"You may go. And remember, if my husband asks, this conversation never happened."
"Yes, ma'am," the agent nodded once and exited without question.
The door clicked shut.
Katherine turned to Jordan. "You mentioned earlier that I almost divorced your father."
Her hands folded neatly. "Do you know why I didn't?"
Jordan didn't answer.
"I went to his office with the papers already signed," Katherine said. "I didn't knock. I was… done."
A breath. "And then I heard him talking."
A slight tilt of her head in the direction of the Special Ops Agent who had just left. "To him."
Silence as that sank in.
"He wasn't discussing deployments," she continued. "Or strategy."
Her voice softened. "He was arguing."
A shift. "About whether you were safe enough."
Jordan stilled.
"He'd already chosen him," Katherine said. "Personally."
A beat. "There were over a hundred candidates. He reviewed every single one."
Her gaze didn't waver. "Over the course of two years."
The words landed slowly. "He spent two years handpicking who was good enough to stand between you and the rest of the world."
A quiet exhale. "Every time he left dinner… every time he said he was busy…"
Her voice softened further. "…he was doing that."
Silence.
"I realized, standing outside that door…" she exhaled, "…that I wasn't married to a man who put duty above family."
A pause.
"I was married to a man who didn't know how to separate the two."
Then, quieter:
"I didn't tell you any of this before because I thought it was better if you didn't know about this side of your father. It can be very overwhelming," she sighed. "I see now that had been a mistake. You grew up thinking he never cared about you, when that couldn't have been any further from the truth…"
She glanced around the room, then added, almost like it was an afterthought:
"And since we're being honest… do you know how many times I've had to step in and stop your father from escalating situations with boys you were dating?" A small pause. "I stopped counting after twenty. And that was long before you were even in college."
Jordan blinked.
"Over half of them," Katherine added quietly, "you dated just to get a reaction out of him."
A beat.
"Well… you got plenty." Her gaze softened just slightly. "Just… none you could see."
***
Present…
Jordan didn't retell every moment of that conversation to Magnus. Just bits and fragments. But enough to paint a picture.
The drone strike. The times her dad apparently risked his job for her without a second thought. The shock she felt when the Special Ops Agent had unironically confirmed her safety ranked somewhere near presidential priority to her dad.
"…and that's—"
Jordan stopped. Shook her head, like she didn't even know how to finish that sentence.
Magnus didn't interrupt. Didn't fill the silence.
Then…
"Do you know what the worst part is?" she spoke again.
Magnus shook his head slightly.
"I believed I understood him," she said.
A breath. "I built my whole life around that."
Another. "And now…"
Her voice dropped. "…I don't even know if I was right about anything!"
He thought about what to say for a long time, and somehow ended up with:
"That sounds… really confusing," he said.
Simple. Honest. But also, in his opinions, kind of lame.
Jordan let out a short, sharp breath.
"You thought one thing your whole life," Magnus continued. "And now you're being told something completely different." A small shrug. "Of course that messes with you."
Jordan stared at the ground. But her shoulders eased. Just a little.
Tony, who had been very intently sniffing the bench for reasons unknown, suddenly spoke.
"Subject displays conflict between observed absence and inferred protection," he said, licking salt off his paws like a tiny professor.
Magnus blinked. "…What?"
"Caregiver present in effect, absent in perception." Tony waved a paw vaguely. "Inefficient! Like hiding food and forgetting where you buried it. Very tragic!"
Magnus translated slowly, pointing to Tony. "…He says your dad might have been doing things for you…" A beat. "…but he was really bad at making sure you felt that."
Jordan let out a short, sharp breath. Then scoffed.
"So what?" she snapped. "I'm just supposed to be grateful?"
Magnus shook his head immediately. "No."
That made her pause.
"You don't have to be grateful," he said. "You can be angry about how it felt. That's valid."
That landed.
"And yet at the same time… now that you know what you know," he said slowly, clearly still thinking as he went. "You can maybe… also accept that what he felt for you wasn't nothing, like you previously thought?"
Jordan didn't answer.
Tony chimed in again.
"Inefficient communication leads to misinterpretation of intent," he said wisely. "More common for your kind than you'd think." A beat. "Humans should be more like raccoons. We communicate. Mostly about food, and trash. Which sometimes are the same thing, but still."
Then paused. Sniffed the air. "…Also, I smell fries."
Magnus sighed. "…He says your dad basically failed at the 'showing it' part."
Jordan let out a laugh. Small, sharp, bitter, and tired. But real.
"…Yeah," she muttered. "That's one way to put it."
A pause. Then quieter:
"…He picked someone to watch me for years." Her voice dipped. "And I didn't even know!"
That wasn't anger anymore. But Magnus still didn't really know what to say.
"…Yeah," he said awkwardly.
"You don't have to figure this out right now, though," he added after a moment. "You don't even have to decide what you think about him today, or even this week."
A small shrug. "You just… learned something big."
A beat. "It's okay if it takes time to catch up to it."
She exhaled. Slow. "…I still don't know if I hate him," she said.
A pause. "…or just don't understand him anymore."
Magnus shrugged again. "Those aren't mutually exclusive."
That earned him a glance. Not sharp, though. Just… tired.
He hesitated. Then added, a little awkwardly:
"I've never even met my dad," he said. "So I'm not exactly an expert on them."
A beat. "But my mom always says… as long as you're alive, there's always a chance to do better."
He scratched his neck. "…You just have to put in the effort. And try to understand each other." Another beat. "Then something about the step you take doesn't have to be big, it just has to take you in the right direction."
A pause.
"So… I don't know," he finished. "I hope things work out between you and your dad."
A beat. "…Since he's still around. And, you know, he's also trying, in his own ways, I suppose?"
Silence settled again. Not as heavy this time. Just… unfinished.
Like it was supposed to be.