Tony Stark frowned. Installing energy blades into a close-fitting combat suit was a far trickier job than working on his Iron Man armor.
It was going to burn a lot of brain cells.
Still, since this was a win-win situation, he nodded. "Alright, alright, I'll give it my best shot. Just wait for the good news."
Jack Kadere smiled in satisfaction.
The two tinkered with the prototype for a while before J.A.R.V.I.S. reported, "Sir, Ms. Potts has returned."
"I'm glad she's okay," Tony said, pausing his work. He'd only just managed to check in with Pepper earlier.
Jack's enhanced senses—his own blend of spider-sense and intuition—flashed images in his mind. Pepper wasn't alone. She was accompanied by Phil Coulson, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ever-dependable agent.
"You're a busy man," Jack remarked casually. Without another word, he activated the Serpent Charm's invisibility and teleportation. In an instant, he vanished.
Tony blinked. "Man's got no concept of doors…"
...
A heartbeat later, Jack's figure materialized inside his own gallery studio.
What greeted him was Skye training with Cindy Moon.
"Alright—hands here," Cindy instructed, standing behind Skye and guiding her wrists into position. "When you throw a punch, use your waist to generate power."
Skye twisted her hips as directed, immediately feeling the improvement. "Wow, Cindy, you're really amazing~"
Cindy grinned, slipping her leg around Skye's ankle to adjust her stance. "You've got a great, balanced frame. Must mean you work out often."
"I train with Jack," Skye admitted with a smile.
....
"You two are doing well," Jack said, stepping in with a faint grin. "Where's Felicia? Did she already leave?"
Cindy leaned out from behind Skye. "Yeah, she said something came up at home. She left in a hurry."
Jack's brow twitched, but he didn't press. "Alright. Let's keep going—my turn to teach."
...
Meanwhile…
Felicia Hardy hurried into the New York Police Department, her expression tight with worry.
This didn't make sense.
Her father was supposed to be a traveling salesman… so why were the police calling him the infamous cat burglar, the Black Cat?
There had to be some kind of mistake.
Determined to defend her father, she went straight to the precinct. But the hard evidence that Captain George Stacy laid out on the table left her speechless.
"The department's been working on the Black Cat case for a long time," Stacy explained, flipping through the files. "After a thorough investigation, we have substantial proof that your father, Walter Hardy, is the man behind the mask."
He kept his tone steady, but there was a note of empathy there. "When we were investigating, I came across your school records—Felicia Hardy, student at Midtown High. You're in the same school as my daughter. As a father myself… I'm sorry this is happening to you. I hope you can face this with strength."
"I know you, Captain Stacy," Felicia replied bitterly. "Your daughter's kind of a legend at school. I've seen Gwen perform on stage before…"
George exhaled quietly. He could see the pain beneath her composure. Her classmate's father was a respected police captain; hers was… this. The contrast alone must have been a cruel blow.
"Captain Stacy… is there anything I can do for my father?" Felicia asked, her voice low but firm. She wasn't ready to give up. Her father had always provided for her, given her a comfortable life. She could endure others' judgment, but she couldn't just stand by and do nothing.
George leaned back, choosing his words carefully. "We'll have to wait for the court's decision. But—based on my experience—if the stolen items are returned and the damages paid, the sentence can be reduced. The problem is… your father didn't just take cash. He stole rare treasures, art, jewelry. We're talking millions."
He didn't need to finish. The implication was clear—this was far beyond what a high school girl could hope to repay.
Inwardly, George considered whether there was anything he could do for her outside official channels. Maybe she just needed a positive influence to keep her from following down her father's path. Someone like… Jessica Jones.
Jessica was reckless, yes, and stubborn as they came, but she had a strong moral compass buried under all that attitude. Gwen trusted her, and so did he, in his own way.
"Felicia," George said after a moment, reaching into his pocket. "You know my daughter's friend, Jessica? She's pretty popular at school, especially with the band she plays in. If you join them, maybe you can put your energy into something good—and, who knows, you might even raise some money for your father's case."
He handed her one of the band's business cards. It wasn't much, but it was something. Then, with a glance at the clock, he excused himself for "urgent business," leaving her alone in the station lobby.
Felicia looked down at the card lying in her palm, the bold letters of the band's name staring back at her. After a moment, she slipped it into her schoolbag and walked out into the street.
But on the way home, doubt gnawed at her. A school band wouldn't earn enough to cover even a fraction of her father's debt. The thought of trying felt almost laughable.
What she didn't yet know was that her father's troubles ran far deeper than a police investigation… and the danger was far greater than she imagined.