The silence of the Kane household was absolute, a heavy blanket of suburban peace that Ethan moved through like a ghost passing through a veil. He didn't use the front door; the lock's mechanism, however well-oiled, possessed a distinct sound that risked waking his mother and father. Instead, he slipped through the second-story window of his bedroom, his fingers finding a place to grab.
Unlike his previous "grounding," where he had intentionally left a trail of breadcrumbs for his parents to find—a controlled burn to humanize his brilliance—this exit was flawless. Marcus and Linda were exhausted; the toll of the drive and the Massachusetts Academy tour had kicked in. They slept a deep, heavy sleep, believing their son had learned his lesson and wouldn't sneak out again.
Ethan dropped to the manicured lawn, his feet making no more sound than falling leaves. He didn't look back. Soon, he wouldn't be able to come to the house as he pleased, so what he needed to do was clear. Before leaving, he had to secure his only weakness, his family.
The house next door was a stark contrast to the Kanes' warm, lived-in colonial. The house recently purchased by Irene Adler was a study in Victorian precision, its exterior painted in shades of charcoal and slate that seemed to absorb the moonlight rather than reflect it. Ethan had barely reached the top step of the porch when the heavy oak door creaked open.
Knowing her well enough now, Ethan wasn't too surprised.
Irene stood in the entryway, draped in a silk dressing gown of shimmering silver. Her sightless eyes were fixed somewhere just over Ethan's shoulder, yet the terrifying accuracy of her posture suggested she was seeing into the very marrow of his bones.
"You're three seconds late, Ethan," she said, her voice a dry rasp that carried the weight of centuries. "Though I suppose the extra care you took with the window was a necessary vanity. It's truly fascinating being around you; it's the first time I've ever experienced the concept of being late."
"I'm on time, and also, privacy is a courtesy, Irene. One that you should extend toward others," Ethan replied, stepping into the foyer.
The interior was immaculately decorated in a white and gray Victorian style that felt less like a home and more like a museum of a time that hadn't quite ended. High-backed chairs with silver filigree, marble-topped tables, and heavy velvet drapes created an atmosphere of frozen elegance. The air smelled of bergamot and something older—the metallic tang of ozone that often preceded a storm.
She led him to a small sitting area where a low table held a tea service. A single porcelain cup was already steaming, the pale amber tea exactly the temperature Ethan preferred. Destiny took her seat with a grace that defied her apparent age, sipping from her own cup as if they were old friends meeting for a scheduled debrief.
"Sit," she commanded. "The Earl Grey is fresh. You'll need the caffeine for the night you have ahead."
Ethan sat, but he didn't touch the tea. He leaned forward, his mind already running simulations of the conversation. He needed to be surgical when dealing with this woman. "You know why I'm here. I'm sure you've already seen what we're going to discuss."
Irene set her cup down with a delicate clink. "Yes, I have seen the future of our conversation, but I would still like the courtesy of discussing it normally. The Exemplars are merely the first of the oncoming threats, Ethan, and you would like me to protect your family as best as I can, correct? Would you also like me to see into their future?"
"I'm not here for a prophecy, Destiny. I'm here for a contract," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "My parents... so long as you safeguard them, then I will do something else for you."
Irene's head tilted slightly. "Another favor from the infamous Ethan Kane. I'm honored, but sadly, I don't believe I need anything from you. You could simply owe me one, as they say."
Ethan's jaw tightened. The notion of owning Destiny a blank check favor was too dangerous. "Oh, I'm sure you can think of something I can do for you. Think hard."
Destiny fell silent, her blind gaze drifting toward the window. The silence stretched, long enough for Ethan to count the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the hallway.
"You're asking quite a lot of me. You want me to try to interfere with the flow of fate for the sake of your parents. That is impossible," she mused. "As I have told you, besides you, I have never seen anyone besides you change their future. You are asking the impossible of me, Ethan Kane. So pray tell, why would I accept this bargain?"
"You are a pragmatist," Ethan countered. "If my parents die, then I have no reason to do anything, including saving mutants. I'd rather burn the world and start over. I hope by now you know I'm capable of it. Besides, I know you can't change their fate, but you can inform me of any danger heading toward them, and I'll do the heavy lifting. Your fate is tethered to mine, so I beg you to please help me."
Irene chuckled, a sound like dry parchment crinkling. "That's true, but you should word things better. Fear is a poor currency to try to use against me. Don't threaten me while asking for a favor. It's in poor taste. Very well, fine, I will do so in exchange for a vial of that serum you're currently working on."
Ethan paused. He hadn't mentioned the serum or his other research when talking to her. He hadn't told anyone except Peter and Felicia. Even though this woman saw the future, she shouldn't be able to see things that don't directly involve her. Meaning she saw him in the future, tell her about it, and ask her to ask for it earlier.
"You want a vial," Ethan stated as he wondered, 'Just what the hell does my future-self want to achieve by using this woman to manipulate me?'
"Rather, I want a specific one coded to my DNA," Irene corrected.
Ethan's mind raced. He was working on an Asgardian-variant serum, a synthesis of the Erskine-Kane formula, Asgardian genetic markers, and Mystique's shapeshifter cells. His hypothesis was that the serum wouldn't just grant the user the strength and durability of an Asgardian; it would rewrite the user's telomeres, effectively turning them into a pseudo-Asgardian, granting the user a lifespan of thousands of years and an Asgardian's natural high affinity for magic.
Truly, it would be longer if he had more potent Asgardian blood, but Roughhouse was the only available sample within his reach. If he had Thor's blood, the user might live for millions of years if not killed. However, you can only do as well as the ingredients available.
If he gave it to Irene, he would effectively be handing her an extended lifespan. While useful, she was also quite dangerous to him. If she lived for centuries, then Ethan would need a contingency plan to deal with her if she turned on him later.
'Is there no greater risk than this?' he asked himself. 'A nearly immortal Destiny.'
The silence stretched again, heavier this time. Across the low marble table, Irene took another measured sip of her tea, completely unbothered by the existential crisis she had just dropped into his lap.
Ethan's internal supercomputer ran the math at a blistering pace. An immortal precognitive was a nightmare variable—a chronological choke point that could lock down his options for centuries to come. But then his mind reframed the prompt.
'Why would my future self allow this?'
The answer clicked with the cold elegance of a perfect algorithm. If Irene lived for thousands of years, her timeline would remain intertwined with his indefinitely. It wasn't a concession; it was an anchor. By keeping her alive, his future self was ensuring that her sight would always have a vested interest in the events surrounding him. Destiny had told him that events changed and were unclear whenever he was involved. Meaning he could effectively remake the timeline to suit his needs.
"You aren't just looking for a longer life or the survival of the mutant race, Irene," Ethan said, his voice flat, his gaze boring into her blind eyes. "You're looking for a front-row seat to the end of the script I'm writing."
Irene set her cup down, a faint, razor-thin smile touching her lips. "Correction: it's a script you are currently rewriting with every breath you take, Ethan. Do we have a deal, or do you intend to let the tides of the coming storm wash over you and the Kane household unimpeded?"
"We have a deal," Ethan stated, leaning back, looking exhausted as he slid a black smartphone across the table. "But the serum will require time to synthesize, and I'll need some of your blood to code it to your DNA. I will deliver it once the stabilization process is complete. In exchange, could you take this phone? If your sight flags a single threat to my parents—or the child my mother is carrying—I want you to inform me instantly."
Irene's hand paused in the air. She then reached into her pocket and produced the vial of blood Ethan had requested. Her sightless eyes held a look of amusement. "Now now, no need to make such a sour face," she murmured, her voice holding a bemused tone. "We both know that you're the one getting the better end of this deal, don't we? Now go to the academy, Ethan Kane, with peace of mind."
Ten minutes later, Ethan stood on the dew-soaked pavement outside, the cool night air clearing the residual smell of bergamot and ozone from his lungs. He checked his phone—the custom-built device hummed with clean, encrypted metrics, completely invisible to surveillance.
He cast one final, clinical look at his parents' dark home. Ruffling his hair, Ethan sighed as he said, "I've done the best I can do and put in as many safeguards as I can. I just need things to hold on for a few more weeks."
New York criminal underground was controlled, and the board was almost set, with a few pieces missing. Tomorrow, he and his dad would head to Massachusetts. With the White Queen as anew asset thing that were difficult before could now run more easily.
As for Peter and Felicia, they would soon be angry with him once again. The new Exemplar found in Tibet was most likely Tempest, and she was one of the two pawns he'd need in the future. Sadly, he was busy, so why not send Spider-Man and Black Cat to investigate and form a positive bond before her mind was overtaken, so once the crisis was over, he could use them to recruit her. As an added benefit, this was the perfect time to have Peter get Dr. Strange on board and allow him to make a new connection he desperately needed.