Minutes later,
A nearby outdoor cafe,
"Skye, your program's loaded," Jack Kadere said, pointing at the sleek, high-spec laptop on the table beside them.
Thanks to the system's recent upgrade, Jack had acquired advanced hacking skills. It was easy for him to tell that Skye's laptop wasn't some off-the-shelf machine — the rig was military-grade, borderline illegal in most countries.
"Loading complete!" Skye grinned, her eyes lighting up as she saw the system's progress bar hit 100%.
But then her smile faltered.
She looked around, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Something wasn't right.
Quietly, she slipped the laptop back into its case. Her movements were smooth, practiced — not panicked, but alert. "This place doesn't feel secure."
Jack didn't argue. He tossed the last of the bread crumbs into the water where the swans scrambled over each other to get a bite. Then he stood and dusted off his hands. "Yeah. The wind just told me someone's watching."
Skye gave him a look. "The wind, huh?"
She laughed as she slung the computer bag over her shoulder. "Is this how artists talk now? You're like a walking poem."
Jack smirked but didn't answer.
She assumed he was joking, using intuition or gut feeling — but in truth, Jack had used his atmospheric sensing ability. There was someone close, someone moving counter to the natural air flow. And they weren't just an idle bystander.
"Alright, great artist," Skye teased, looping her arm through his. "Forget the outdoor paranoia. Weren't you going to show me your art exhibition?"
"There's not much to see there." Jack flashed a mischievous smile. "But I do have a better place in mind — somewhere I keep my best work."
....
Later — Central Park District, Manhattan.
In a building just across from the Stark Tower's North side stood a private, unmarked structure. It wasn't open to the public — not technically.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Kadere," the front desk security guard greeted him politely. "Please verify access."
Jack tapped a few quick codes into the tablet the man offered. A moment later, a confirmation tone chirped, and a hidden elevator opened.
He guided Skye in with a theatrical bow.
"Oh my God, Jack..." Skye's jaw dropped as the doors opened on the top floor.
Dozens of illuminated display cases stood in organized rows, housing framed artwork that ranged from impressionist oil paintings to flowing Asian ink scrolls. It felt like stepping into a museum — except more intimate, more alive.
"These are all yours?" she breathed.
"Some of them," Jack said modestly. "Others are from friends, or pieces I've acquired."
Skye wandered deeper into the room, drawn to one especially large portrait mounted behind reinforced glass. A warrior goddess, helmeted and noble, gazed out with fierce, serene eyes.
"Athena," Jack said, stepping up beside her. "It's one of my most well-known pieces."
"She's stunning," Skye said quietly, reaching out but stopping just short of touching the glass.
Jack smiled. "You like mythology?"
"I love it. Gods, monsters, aliens — the lines blur sometimes." Her voice lowered. "Do you think any of it's real? Greek gods, Norse gods… that kind of stuff?"
Jack thought about Thor's hammer, which — if he recalled correctly — would be arriving on Earth very soon.
"Let's just say I think gods are… relative. Some people call them aliens. Others call them myths. I think they're just powerful beings with good PR."
"Wow," Skye grinned. "That's so unromantic of you."
"Hey, materialists can be romantic, too."
Jack pushed the portrait of Athena open, revealing a concealed door behind the frame. "Come on. If you're looking for a quiet place to boot up your system, this room's got better vibes."
They stepped into a private studio — one built like an artist's dream den. Raw wood tables, untouched canvases, unopened tubes of paint. Tall one-way windows framed the New York skyline in shimmering light.
"You used this painting as a door?" Skye blinked in disbelief. "That's next-level extra, Jack."
"I've only shown this room to two people before — Gwen and Jessica," Jack said, already unlocking a drawer nearby. "Now I'm letting you in, too."
"My, my," Skye smirked. "Should I feel honored or suspicious?"
"Maybe both."
....
Down below…
A blonde woman stood watching the building from a nearby bench, her phone in one hand, earbuds silent.
Agent Bobbi Morse, codename: Mockingbird, frowned as she reviewed the security footage.
Nothing.
She had followed Jack Kadere and Skye up the building. Surveillance confirmed their elevator path, but every camera beyond the penthouse floor had gone dark.
Either the place was off-grid... or someone very powerful didn't want anyone watching.
Bobbi exhaled slowly. "Maybe I should just go check out the Ghost Spider Club instead," she muttered. "At least I won't be choking on PDA and weird atmospheric shifts."
A sudden gust of wind tugged at her coat.
Harder than expected.
She glanced at the forecast on her tablet.
Clear skies. Low wind.
Then why did it feel like a storm was circling?
...
Inside the penthouse, Jack opened his eyes, calm and focused.
"I've found our stalker," he murmured.
Skye blinked. "What?"
"The wind told me."
Jack smiled, a quiet sort of smile that never meant anything good for the person on the other end.
"Let's go welcome our guest."