The café was empty, save for a barista who looked like he'd rather be asleep. It was 6:00 AM in D.C., and the morning light was just starting to turn the Potomac grey.

  I sat at a corner table, stirring a cup of Earl Grey tea. No sugar. Just the bergamot steam rising in the cold air.

  The chair opposite me scraped back.

  Nick Fury didn't say hello. He just sat down, dropping a heavy manila folder onto the table. He looked tired. The kind you get after managing Tony Stark for a week.

  "You drink that stuff like it's going to save your soul," Fury said, nodding at the tea.

  "It's calming, Director," I said, taking a sip. "You should try it. Your blood pressure would thank you."

  Fury didn't smile. He leaned back, his one good eye fixing me with a stare that had broken warlords and politicians alike.

  "Let's talk about the Expo, Adrian."

  "It was a success," I said smoothly. "Stock is up twelve percent."

  "And the fifty civilians who should have been char-broiled by exploding drones but instead got a warm breeze?" Fury asked. "And the drone that mysteriously developed a twitch right before it gunned down a family?"

  I set the cup down. "Hammer technology is complex. Glitches happen."

  "Glitches," Fury repeated flatly. "You know, Natasha's report on you is fascinating. She says you don't have a heartbeat when you sleep. She says you move like you're floating. And now, I have satellite telemetry showing a localized atmospheric containment field a force field, popping up exactly where you were standing."

  He leaned in.

  "I don't mind that you have secrets. I mind that I don't know which secrets they are."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "I am a good partner, Nick," I said, meeting his gaze. "My investment is in stability. If the board breaks, the game ends. I just... kept the pieces on the table."

  Fury held the stare for another three seconds, then let out a sharp breath through his nose. He knew he couldn't prove it. And more importantly, he knew he needed me.

  "Fine," Fury grunted. "We'll play 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' for now. Because frankly, I have bigger problems than your magic tricks."

  He tapped the folder on the table.

  "This came in three hours ago."

  I opened the folder.

  It was a satellite photo. High resolution. It showed a patch of desert in New Mexico. There was a crater, a perfect impact circle in the sand.

  In the center of the crater was a rock. And stuck in the rock was a hammer.

  My hand paused.

  I felt the weight of what it represented.

  For months, I had been dealing with children. Tony Stark in his metal suit playing hero. Justin Hammer with his knock-off toys. Even Vanko was just a man with a grudge and a physics degree.

  But this...

  This was interesting.

  I looked at the grain of the handle in the photo. Mjolnir.

  "An atmospheric disturbance," Fury explained, watching my reaction closely. "Landed in the middle of nowhere. The locals are trying to pull it out like it's Excalibur. One guy broke his pickup truck trying to tow it."

  "And you can't lift it," I stated. It wasn't a question.

  "We have a crane there right now. The crane snapped," Fury said, looking annoyed. "It's fixed in space. Quantum locking? Gravitons? We don't know."

  He sat back. "Coulson is on the ground. He says it's '0-8-4' all over again. But I have a feeling this isn't tech."

  I looked at the photo again. The "Modern Soul" in me knew the script: Thor was cast out. Odin was sleeping. Loki was plotting. The Asgardians were coming to Earth.

  Finally, "peers." Beings who understood what it meant to live for centuries.

  "Why show me?" I asked, closing the folder.

  "Because you're the only person on my payroll- wait, you're not even on my payroll- you're the only person in my orbit who looks at 'impossible' and doesn't blink," Fury said. "I want you to go to New Mexico."

  "As an agent?"

  "As a consultant," Fury corrected.

  I picked up my tea. The warmth had seeped out of the cup, but I drank it anyway.

  "I'll go," I said. "The desert air is good for the lungs."

  "Don't get cute," Fury stood up, adjusting his coat. "Coulson is expecting you. And Adrian?"

  I looked up.

  "If that thing wakes up," Fury said, pointing at the folder, "Call me."

  "I'll keep that in mind," I said.

  Fury walked out. I watched him go, then looked back at the closed folder.

  A faint smile touched my lips.

  I stood up and left a twenty-dollar bill on the table. New Mexico was waiting. And I was looking forward to the conversation.