"You still smell like blood. Even though you've changed clothes, I can still tell." She leaned in, her warm breath brushing against Solomon's ear. "Don't forget, I'm the best spy."
Even though Solomon was now wearing a spotless suit, paired with a black tie patterned with scarlet winding roses, she could still detect the scent of gunpowder clinging to his skin. There were traces of dried blood stuck in the grooves of his knuckles—tiny brown flecks that might be mistaken for rust by someone else, but not by her. She knew blood. Natasha Romanoff reached a conclusion effortlessly. There was no hard evidence, but she was sure she was right.
"You've really opened my eyes. I thought I was prepared, but I still underestimated the limits of mortals."
The arcanist nodded in satisfaction.
Agent Romanoff's intelligence-gathering skills exceeded his expectations. Even after S.H.I.E.L.D.'s entire intel network had been reduced to ashes, she could still find whatever she needed using her own means. That kind of tradecraft and thinking never goes out of style—it was priceless, a model for all intelligence operatives to learn from. The watch Romanoff had gifted him sat in front of him, while the earrings Solomon had given her now adorned her ears, complementing her long dress perfectly.
"This round goes to you. The victor usually claims the spoils. Since you've chosen to display this intel, what is it you want, Natalia Romanova?"
With her head held high and a smile on her face, Natasha stood up, lifted her expensive handbag, and walked down the jewelry store staircase without looking back. Her aetheric body shimmered with a strange color shift, prompting the arcanist to briefly wonder whether Agent Romanoff's fragmented psyche was starting to crack.
"You were too direct, Mr. Pendragon," the manager said smoothly. "I'll have the jewelry you requested wrapped up and delivered shortly. Also, I recommend you put on that watch before trying to make amends—it'll be more effective that way."
Solomon glanced at him.
"If you're really trying to fix things, I suggest you order a diamond ring. Like the earrings you texted about, it's part of the Tiffany platinum diamond collection by legendary designer Elsa Peretti. Clean design, perfect for daily wear. Not your style? Then perhaps the BLUE BOOK high jewelry series is more your taste—great for galas and special occasions. And if you're planning a proposal… well, let me just say this." The manager raised his left hand. "A proposal might fix the problem temporarily, but the long pain afterward is yours alone to bear."
Solomon looked at him in surprise. "Why are you talking so much today?"
"Because you're one of our VIPs, Mr. Pendragon."
"Isn't it because women are the ones who buy jewelry?"
"That's part of it. After the economic crisis, we rarely see clients like you anymore." The manager gave a sheepish smile. "The more female companions you have, the higher Tiffany's sales. And I'm the one who handles all your shopping… My son's private school tuition isn't cheap."
"You've taken more money out of my pocket than most women ever have, and you're a man," Solomon muttered, rolling his eyes and signing a few checks. "I'm in a hurry. You know where to send it, but—"
"Of course, of course. Two separate addresses," the manager said, miming a zipped lip. "I'm very good at keeping secrets. You can trust me. The ring you need will be delivered soon—I promise there won't be much delay… What? No ring? You're not proposing?"
"As you just said, I'm not making a lifelong mistake I'll regret."
Solomon rose and descended the stairs.
Natasha Romanoff appeared silently behind him. Even in four-inch heels, her movement was as elegant as a heron's. Fifth Avenue, in the heart of Manhattan, was still busy as sunset approached. The store windows along the main avenue glowed warmly. With the winter solstice approaching, the orange-red sunlight brushed the tops of the high-rises. In just a few days, the "Manhattanhenge" phenomenon would occur, with the sun setting in alignment with the island's grid and casting red light through the streets.
"A few hours ago, there was an explosion at Pym Technologies. Strangely, it didn't cause widespread panic. But while the local police were maintaining order, they discovered some unusual activity among the area's gangs." She lifted her handbag and gave it a little shake to show she wasn't recording anything. "They're all dead. The autopsy reports show wounds caused by melee weapons, and some of the large-caliber rounds match those used by the weapons your artificial soldiers carry. Got anything to say, big boy? Why would you do this? I don't want to see you getting into another conflict with Stark and the others."
"Because it was necessary."
"What about guilt?" She looked at Solomon as if she didn't recognize him. Her eyes sparkled in the twilight. The seductive, wild top notes of violet and bergamot drifted from her skin—he couldn't help but breathe them in.
"The Only One. That's a rare perfume."
The spy smiled. "I can't believe you recognized it! But don't think you can dodge the topic that easily."
"All right, then I'll answer your question." They walked slowly, turning a corner, passing by St. Patrick's Cathedral, making their way toward Madison Avenue. Strolling through the sunset was a great idea—everything slowed down, giving them more time to talk. She listened closely to every word he said, not letting a single one slip by.
"All I can promise you is that no one died who didn't deserve it. From now on, that city's crime rate will drop—until the gun runners restock the black market." Solomon gave that assurance while not forgetting to mock the so-called "free world."
"I doubt you care about some gangsters' lives. Instead of blaming you, shouldn't we be more concerned about the gun black market or the Second Amendment?"
"I think that's a great suggestion. But why are you taking me toward the Lotte New York Palace Hotel?"
"I have a long-term lease on a room there. It's yours. It has a private bath, a minibar, and a big bed. We can see the skyline from it." Solomon remained silent until they arrived. As they took the elevator up, he finally spoke again.
"I executed a lot of people with my own hands, Natasha," he said. "To suppress the chaos quickly, I had to confiscate weapons across several neighborhoods. Some people just didn't understand the situation and were trying to defend themselves—but I still hurt them. Probably some broken bones, dislocated joints, maybe concussions. I still feel guilty. But I had no choice. Doing nothing would've led to even more people getting hurt."
"So this is your penance for the bombing?"
"You could say that, ma'am."
"Oh, now I'm a 'ma'am'?" The spy raised an eyebrow. "We haven't even made it into the room yet, you heartless man! What are you going to call me next—Madam? You just had to bring up my age, didn't you?"
"I didn't say anything!"
"I said it for you. That's a woman's privilege—you two-faced man!"
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I Am Zeus, KING OF GODS (Chapter 79)
Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 391)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 471)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 677)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 1059)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1418)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1422)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1452)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1504)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld!(Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 703)
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