She turned away from the desk and walked out of my room, closing the door behind her quietly.
I sat in the bathroom and felt my eyebrows lift in genuine surprise.
Huh.
She walked away.
Evidence within reach—and she walked away.
In the living room of the scrying mirror, Sharon returned to the couch like she'd just gone to check a window latch. She picked up the remote and started watching some drama, posture relaxed now, shoulders loose like she'd made a decision and it had removed something heavy from her chest.
Then her phone buzzed.
She checked the message.
I couldn't see the screen clearly, but I didn't need to. I could guess.
Coulson.
How about it?
Sharon hesitated. Fingers hovering.
Then she typed:
Nothing unusual.
She hit send.
And put the phone away.
No immediate reply came. Coulson went silent.
Sharon leaned back, eyes on the TV, and for a second I saw a small smile—quiet satisfaction, not smugness. Like she'd chosen something she could live with.
I stared at the mirror.
She lied to S.H.I.E.L.D. for us.
For Theresa.
For me, by extension.
That didn't make her "safe." It didn't make her "mine." It didn't mean she wouldn't change her mind later if she saw something she couldn't justify.
But it did mean she wasn't a mindless agent.
She had a moral compass.
And if I had to guess where that came from…
Peggy Carter's influence, probably. The Carter line seemed built to treat "doing the right thing" like a religion.
I'd been prepared to Obliviate her if she crossed the line—wipe her memory, plant a false narrative, lock the door on this entire situation and walk away clean.
Seems I don't need to.
Not tonight.
"This result," I murmured at my own reflection, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, "is actually better."
I tapped my wand lightly against the mirror.
The scrying window collapsed. The mirror returned to being just a mirror, fogged with steam.
Then I actually took a shower—because at this point, I'd earned the right to be clean.
The weekend passed without incident.
That sentence shouldn't feel like a miracle, but in my life it did. No portals ripping open. No mind-control surprises. No monsters. Just Theresa cooking, Sharon hanging around like she belonged, and me trying to figure out how to study magic at home when a SHIELD agent was basically living in the guest room.
By Monday morning, Sharon was still here.
She'd stayed Saturday night.
Then Sunday night.
Now she was drinking coffee in the kitchen like this was normal.
She really likes staying here now. Great.
We left the apartment together, walked down to the building entrance, and said goodbye like normal people.
"Have a good day," Sharon said, warm and casual.
"You too," I replied, matching the tone.
Then we split—me toward school, Sharon toward whatever SHIELD business she pretended was "college."
As soon as she was out of sight, I let my shoulders drop slightly.
Having her around this often was going to make home research inconvenient. Not impossible—but inconvenient. Which meant I'd need to shift more study time to the Sanctum, or to Kamar-Taj when I could, or to somewhere I could control the environment.
I wasn't an idiot. I'd figured out who Sharon was.
The last name. The timing. Coulson's interest. The "distant cousin" story that was too perfect to be random.
Sharon Carter.
Peggy Carter's niece.
A founding-S.H.I.E.L.D. bloodline.
Of course they sent her. Who better to watch a potential anomaly than someone who could plausibly be in my home without raising alarms?
I adjusted my backpack strap and started walking toward school.
At least she's on our side now. Probably.
Still.
Trust, but verify.
Always.
Because the moment you stop verifying, the universe stops giving you second chances.
The Monday after you survive a rooftop wizard fight, break into a corporate lab, and accidentally become Iron Man's weird side quest is always going to feel a little… anticlimactic.
Which is why Midtown being loud at 8:05 AM was actually unsettling.
I rode my bike to school, locked it in the usual spot, and immediately felt it—everyone's energy was wrong. Not the normal "I hate Mondays" vibe. This was excited chaos. Clusters of students everywhere, phones out, heads bent together like they were worshipping tiny glowing rectangles.
I scanned faces. Nobody looked scared.
They looked thrilled.
That narrowed the possibilities down to:
Celebrity scandal
Someone leaked exam answers
The world ended but in a cool way
I spotted Sean in the distance, waved, and he jogged over with that always-on energy like his body ran on caffeine and gossip.
We did our stupid handshake.
"Sean," I asked, "why does the whole school look like it just discovered fire?"
Sean sighed dramatically and patted my shoulder like I was his confused elderly relative. "Brother. Sometimes I really think you and my grandparents are the same generation. Have you not been on Facebook since last night? Twitter? Don't tell me you didn't watch TV either."
I blinked. "I… read books."
"You read books," he repeated, scandalized. "In 2008."
"Yes," I said. "Paper doesn't need a charger."
Sean rolled his eyes so hard I worried he might see his own brain. "Okay. I think from now on I need to personally inform you of major world events." He shoved his phone toward me. "Watch these two videos. Then you'll understand why everyone's losing their minds."
I took the phone.
The first clip was shaky, blurry, filmed from far away—two armored figures smashing each other in the street. One sleek gold-and-red. One bulky iron-gray. Iron Man and the Iron Monger, mid-fight, the exact kind of footage people upload right before they scream, "ALIENS!" and run.
The second clip was crystal clear.
Press conference.
Tony Stark in a suit, smirking like he owned the concept of attention. He started reading some prepared statement—Pepper's fingerprints all over it, the careful words of a PR team trying to keep a billionaire from detonating national security with his mouth.
Then Tony tossed the papers aside.
"The truth is…" he said, and the pause was perfectly timed, "…I am Iron Man."
The press exploded.
Reporters shouted. Cameras flashed. People lost their collective minds.
Tony just stood there, completely unbothered, like he'd announced he owned a boat, not that he'd become the world's first publicly confirmed powered hero.
I handed the phone back to Sean.
So he went public.
Earlier than I expected, honestly. Which meant one thing:
The era had officially started.
To everyone else, Tony's announcement was a miracle. A hero emerging. A genius billionaire saving the world.
To me, it was a clock starting to tick louder.
Because Iron Man wasn't just a superhero.
Iron Man was the first domino that made the rest inevitable.
Thanos. Stones. The Snap.
This announcement wasn't the end of a story.
It was the beginning of the one that kills half the universe.
Sean was practically vibrating. "So? Isn't it amazing? Aren't you excited?!"
I blinked at him and forced my face into something that didn't scream I have seen the future and it ends badly.
"I'm really excited," I said.
Sean squinted. "Your attitude is so perfunctory it hurts. Don't you feel anything? This is incredible!"
I pretended to think, serious. "If one day New York gets invaded by aliens and some guy with a sledgehammer flies through the sky, maybe I'll get a little more excited."
Sean burst out laughing. "Oh my God. Abel. That's actually funny."
I shrugged.
Sometimes the truth is the easiest thing to ignore when it sounds too ridiculous to be real.
And I wasn't going to be the guy who ruined Monday by saying, "Yeah, great, now wait until the purple guy with the space cube shows up."
School stayed peaceful—shockingly peaceful—so I enjoyed it while it lasted.
Because peace in this universe wasn't a state.
It was an intermission.
As soon as the final bell rang, I didn't go home.
I went straight to the New York Sanctum.
I had a goal now, and it was very specific:
Step two of befriending Tony Stark.
In other words: I needed a potion that could relieve palladium poisoning symptoms, and I needed it fast enough that Tony would accept my help before S.H.I.E.L.D. decided his chest reactor was a "national asset" and tried to solve his "health issue" with a cage.
I arrived at the Sanctum expecting Daniel.
Instead, the front room had a different guardian presence.
Kaecilius.
He greeted me at the entrance with polite composure, hands folded, expression controlled.