Location: Private Workshop, Avengers Compound
Time: Late Evening
The clink of tools and hum of machinery filled the air as Riven stood near the large glass window of Tony's private workshop. He wasn't alone—Tony was leaning back in a tall chair, sipping what smelled like scotch, his eyes scanning over Riven with a familiar calculation.
"You sure about this?" Tony asked, setting the glass down. "Because if we do this, there's no half-measures. This time, you're operating off the books."
Riven stood silent, arms crossed over his chest. The bruises from his last mission hadn't entirely faded, and the burn across his shoulder throbbed with each breath. But he didn't flinch. He just nodded.
"I'm not asking for permission," he said quietly. "Just logistics. Clean ID. Untraceable ride. I'll handle the rest."
Tony didn't argue. Instead, he turned back toward the workbench and typed a few commands into a console. A holographic display spun to life, showing a remote property in the Adirondacks—off-grid, shielded, and armed.
"I've already sent coordinates to your wristband," Tony said. "Safehouse has full blackout shielding, food supply, medtech, and—" he paused, narrowing his eyes, "—an entire armory. High-grade. Everything you could need to tear Hydra apart. Quietly."
Riven's gaze lingered on the hologram, then flicked to Tony. "Why?"
Tony shrugged. "Because I'd rather you ghost into the dark and do this your way than spark another shouting match with Rogers."
A brief silence stretched between them. Outside the tower window, city lights blinked like dying stars.
Tony continued, voice lower now. "I know what I gave you, Riven. I know what that file meant. You're not the only one who looked at those names and felt something snap."
Riven nodded once, his voice a quiet promise. "None of them walk away."
Tony raised his glass again. "Then go make ghosts."
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