Felicia's apartment smelled faintly of wine and ozone from the static-burst security locks she always forgot to reset. When Ethan stepped inside, she looked exhausted. Not the kind of tired that came from lack of sleep—the kind that came from thinking too long about the same person.
When Ethan stepped in, she didn't even pretend to smile.
"Nice place," he said, letting his eyes trace the half-finished glass of wine on the table, the black suit jacket draped over a chair.
Felicia leaned against the counter, rubbing her temples. "Don't flatter yourself. You shouldn't be here. You're not exactly on the guest list."
"I noticed," he said lightly, taking in the chaos. "I'm here to check in. You're off your game. Since the Goblin incident, yes?"
She shrugged, deflecting. "That's rich coming from you. I've been tired, that's all."
He gave a half-shrug, walking past her. Ethan smiled—the kind of smile that wasn't warm, just precise. "Tired… or distracted? That's fixation on a certain relationship. Let me guess— the name starts with a 'P'?"
Her head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed. "We don't have a relationship, if that's what you're implying."
"I never said romantic relationship." His tone was steady, disarming. "I just said relationship. The word covers all degrees of entanglements."
She narrowed her eyes even more, but he continued before she could argue. "Peter and Mary Jane appear to have broken up. So what's stopping you? If you want to be with the man, then make your move."
Felicia's brow furrowed. "Do you even know how relationships work?"
"Of course I do."
"The problem," she said, setting the glass down a bit too hard, "is that he's probably heartbroken. You don't move on someone when they're bleeding inside. It's messy. He just had a breakup. Making a move now, it'll backfire on me."
Ethan's chuckle was low and unhurried. "Depends on the move."
He paced slowly across the room, hands in pockets. "He hasn't been back to Insight since the Goblin mess. You both technically work there. Drag him back in. Get him focused on something other than loss. Let time and proximity do the rest. Think about it. You can waste energy waiting for him to heal on his own, or you can help him do it. Either that or someone else will take that role. So why let it be you?"
'He makes it sound simple. It never is,' Felicia arched an eyebrow. "You're giving relationship advice now? You, of all people. Also, that's the worst plan I've ever heard."
"I prefer to think of it as problem-solving. You get him out of his own head, and you might find your own clarity in the process."
He stood, smoothing his sleeve. "Try it. See what happens. It can't be worse than spending days pining after a man. After all, you know him better than most. Once he's busy, he remembers what he's good at. You'll be there—steady, reliable. People tend to fall in love with a stable person faster than they fall for a chaotic person."
As he reached the door, she called softly, "You really are a strange kid, you know that?"
Ethan glanced back with a ghost of a grin. "And you're being far too predictable for someone who steals for a living. Although I guess we all are, when love of any kind is involved. Good luck stealing Peter's heart, Felicia. I wish you the best."
When the door shut behind him, Felicia stared at the empty space he'd left, the idea still turning in her mind. For a moment, she looked away. He wasn't wrong, and that irritated her more than she cared to admit.
Later that evening, Peter walked the dim streets towards the safehouse, a take-out cup of coffee cooling in his hand. He'd spent the afternoon buying Amy and Paige food as thanks for their help during the bank chaos. Watching them talk had felt strange—hopeful, even. The kind of warmth he hadn't felt in days.
He told himself the silence was peace. It wasn't. His mind just kept replaying the scene of the argument over and over.
His phone vibrated. No new calls from MJ. A single text blinked at the top of the screen: Felicia: Can we talk?
Peter's thumb hovered over the screen. He typed Maybe later… deleted it. Typed Sure. When?… stopped again. Finally, he just sent a simple: Yeah. What's up?
Felicia: Let's meet up tomorrow at Insight. I hear the guys over there have also been trying to reach you. That way, we can talk after handling the work issues.
He shoved the phone into his pocket and kept walking, unaware that in another part of the city, Ethan Kane was smiling at a very different message.
The soft hum of computers was almost comforting. Lines of code rolled across the monitors like silent rainfall. He leaned back, eyes half-closed.
'Mary Jane will leave him anyway, he thought. Maybe this time, I can steer it before it breaks him.'
He didn't hate MJ. He just knew the story. In the future of this timeline, she would fall for someone named Paul and vanish, leaving Peter hollowed out. If Ethan could tilt events—guide Felicia toward Peter—it might rewrite that heartbreak entirely.
Felicia working at Insight, had already started that trajectory. She'd fallen for the man beneath the mask. This was progress as he understood the psychological problems she had and why she was so fixated on the mask rather than the man. The thrill of the heist at Oscorp successfully managed to capitalize of the emotional buildup and Felicia started to develop feelings for Peter Parker. This was one aspect of why Ethan included Felicia as a partner to work with.
The computer emitted a soft ping. A red notification blinked on the corner of the main screen.
ALERT: Unauthorized trace attempt detected — French registry node.
Ethan straightened, interest sharpening. The virus he'd buried in France weeks ago, when creating the Luc Moreau alias, had just come alive. Someone was searching for him. Not that they would ever find him.
He opened the trace feed, watching as digital coordinates unfolded. The signal came from an encrypted line with a familiar signature. He smiled faintly.
"Whitney Frost," he murmured. "So the hunt begins."
He typed rapidly, isolating the IP, cross-referencing with global surveillance grids. Within seconds, the result appeared: an industrial compound on the outskirts of Newark—one of The Hood's known smuggling routes.
Perfect.
He leaned forward, eyes glittering with calculation. The "game" he'd offered Masque—to find Luc's identity—hadn't been a challenge at all. It was bait.
Every attempt she made to locate him would expose another layer of her network. And now, with this address, he could begin dismantling The Hood's operation piece by piece.
He sat back, satisfied. 'Masque will come to me soon enough,' he thought. 'She just doesn't know she has already taken the first step.'
The monitors reflected in his eyes like cold fire. The city outside was dark, quiet, recovering.
Ethan whispered to the empty room, "Now, with this discovery, how should I use it? A police raid should work."
He smiled faintly. The first domino always fell quietly.