By Saturday afternoon, the atmosphere in Stark Tower had shifted from manic scientific discovery to high-octane arrogance.
Tony Stark was pacing across the penthouse lounge, throwing designer sunglasses and expensive watches into a leather duffel bag.
Pepper Potts stood by the bar, holding a tablet and looking like she was nursing a migraine.
"Monaco?" Pepper asked, her voice tight. "Tony, you just cured yourself of heavy metal poisoning forty-eight hours ago. The board needs a statement. The press needs a statement. You cannot just vanish to Europe to watch cars drive in circles."
"I almost died, invented a new element, and now I want fast cars," Tony said, zipping the duffel bag shut. "That’s called healing."
"That is not what healing means," Pepper stated flatly.
"It is for me," Tony grinned, grabbing the bag. "Wheels up in an hour. Tell Happy to get the car."
****
Stark’s private jet was less of an airplane and more of a flying luxury hotel.
Ethan sat in one of the oversized leather recliners, a glass of bourbon in his hand. Across from him sat Gwen, wearing a comfortable oversized sweater and jeans. She was scrolling through her phone, though her eyes kept darting across the aisle.
Sitting a few rows down, reading a magazine with perfect posture, was Natalie. She wasn't wearing the French maid outfit today. Instead, she wore a sleek, incredibly fitted black pencil skirt and a silk blouse that managed to look both strictly professional and entirely provocative.
Gwen lowered her phone. She leaned across the aisle toward Ethan, keeping her voice low.
"Why is she here?" Gwen asked, glaring at the back of Natalie's red hair.
Natalie didn't even look up from her magazine. "Mr. Williams required staff support."
Gwen scowled. She knew Natalie’s hearing was too good for a normal human. "Staff support wears that?"
Natalie slowly turned the page of her magazine. "Not on the plane. Unless requested."
Gwen choked on the sip of sparkling water she had just taken. She coughed into her hand, her face turning a bright, angry pink.
Ethan took a slow sip of his bourbon, completely refusing to step into the crossfire.
Natalie finally looked over, offering Gwen a polite, entirely weaponized smile. "Would you like a napkin, Miss Maxine? Or should I ask the Master if he requires anything first?"
The way she said the word Master—smooth, subservient, and dripping with calculated teasing—made Gwen's jaw lock. Gwen knew Natalie used to work for Stark. She knew Natalie now technically worked for Ethan. She also knew that Natalie was entirely too calm, too pretty, and enjoyed pressing her buttons way too much.
"I'm fine," Gwen snapped, sinking deeper into her seat and glaring out the window.
Natalie smiled to herself and went back to her magazine.
"Alright, Merlin, get over here," Tony called out from the back of the cabin.
Ethan stood up and walked back to the lounge area. Tony had a holographic projector set up on a mahogany table, displaying a rotating, three-dimensional model of a Hoi-Poi capsule.
"What?" Ethan said, leaning against the bulkhead.
Tony tapped the hologram, highlighting the internal containment matrix in red.
"You told me you were getting me materials that bend space," Tony said, his tone impatient. "I've spent the last few days tweaking the energy matrix, rerouting the power flow from my new chest piece, and trying to trick the physics with magnetic fields. Doesn't matter. The math is gorgeous, but until I have that specific metal, the spatial vacuum just eats itself."
Ethan looked at the red stress fractures on the hologram.
He didn't need to rely on Earth's limited resources. He had over seventy thousand System Points sitting in his inventory. Buying a few pounds of Plumber-Grade Spatial Stabilizer Alloy from the System Shop was easily doable.
"I'm sourcing it," Ethan said calmly.
Tony raised an eyebrow. "You said that at the party few days ago. You say it like you’re ordering takeout."
"Cosmic takeout takes time, Tony," Ethan replied. "Just keep the assembly line warm. When we get back to New York, you'll have your metal."
"I better," Tony grumbled, swiping the hologram away. "I want my pocket armor."
The Monaco Grand Prix was a sensory overload of roaring engines, flashing cameras, and thousands of screaming fans.
Tony and Pepper were immediately swarmed by the press the moment they stepped into the VIP paddock. Happy Hogan pushed through the crowd, looking stressed as he tried to clear a path. Natalie trailed behind them, playing the part of an assistant while actively running security perimeters.
In the VIP paddock, Tony and Pepper were comfortably seated at a private table, sipping champagne. Since Tony wasn't dying of palladium poisoning anymore, the reckless, suicidal urge to jump into a Formula One car had completely vanished. He was perfectly content to watch the race from behind reinforced glass.
Gwen stayed close to Ethan, the overwhelming noise and the dense crowd keeping her on edge.
Ethan stood near the railing of the balcony, looking out over the track.
But his focus wasn't on the race. His eyes were sweeping the dense crowds of mechanics, guards, and track officials below.
He was looking for a specific person.
The timeline had already changed so much. Whiplash's original motivation relied heavily on Tony acting erratically on live television. Now that Stark was healthy and secure, Ethan wasn't entirely sure if fate would still course-correct. Would Ivan Vanko still show up? And if he did, what was his play?
Ethan scanned the pit lane.
There.
Standing perfectly still among a rushing crew of mechanics was a large, rugged man in an orange jumpsuit. He wasn't watching the cars. He was staring directly up at the VIP balcony, his hand resting near his chest.
Gwen stepped up beside Ethan, holding a bottle of water. She noticed his sudden stillness.
She followed his line of sight down to the track entrance. The moment her blue eyes locked onto the man in the orange jumpsuit, the hair on her arms stood straight up. A sharp, freezing buzz of danger rattled the base of her skull. Her spider-sense didn't just tingle; it spiked, warning her of raw, unstable energy.
"Ethan," Gwen whispered, her posture instantly shifting from relaxed to combat-ready. "Who is that?"
Down below, Ivan Vanko met Ethan's gaze.
Ethan took a slow sip of his drink.
"A ghost with a grudge," Ethan said.