CHAPTER 15

"Indeed," Magneto said, his voice a low, appreciative rumble. He regarded Ethan not as a child, but as a fascinating new piece on the grand chessboard. "It seems Charles has managed to Grow a few sharp thorns amongst his roses."

Jean didn't waste a second. She moved toward the corner where Kurt Wagner huddled, the faint smell of brimstone and old incense clinging to him.

"Kurt," she said softly, her voice an anchor in his sea of fear. "It's Jean. Look at me. We're not going to hurt you. I just need to see what they made you see."

As his frightened, yellow eyes met hers, she gently placed her fingers on his temples. Ethan could almost feel the shift in the room, a silent thrum of power. Jean's expression went distant. She wasn't just reading, she was excavating. Pushing through layers of psychic scar tissue, through the oily, manipulative residue left by another mind. She felt the phantom sensation of teleporting, the dizzying bamf, the terror, until she broke through a final wall of fear into a cold, clear memory: massive concrete walls, the deafening roar of water, and the stark emblem of a dam.

She pulled back, taking a steadying breath. "It's at a facility in the Canadian Rockies," she announced, her voice tight. "Built into a dam at Alkali Lake."

"No way," Logan growled, shaking his head. "I was just up there. Place is a ghost town. Nothin' but dirt and a couple of mangy wolves."

"The facility isn't on the surface, Logan," Jean clarified, her gaze steady. "It's underground."

The mission parameters began to solidify. The assault team would be Magneto and Mystique, Logan and Storm, Kurt as their key, and Ethan as the wildcard. Colossus would stay behind to protect the kids.

"Hold on," Ethan said, his voice cutting through the planning. "I have a different suggestion. Professor Jean should stay here. Piotr should take her place on the mission."

Storm frowned. "Piotr is strong, but he is untested in a coordinated strike. Jean's experience is invaluable."

"And that's exactly why she's more valuable here," Ethan countered, his logic sharp. "Look, the whole neighborhood probably heard the firefight last night. It's only a matter of time before local cops, maybe Feds, show up and start poking around. What happens if Stryker left some of his own men behind to watch this place? We need a telepath here to handle that. To calm minds, to suggest they look elsewhere, to keep the students safe."

His argument was sound, but it was a carefully constructed lie. His real reason was a cold, hard knot of fear in his stomach. He remembered the images from the movies he'd once watched—a woman's face, eyes burning with cosmic fire, planets cracking like eggs behind her. A force of nature that ate stars for breakfast. And that thing, that Dark Phoenix, was sleeping inside Jean's head, held back by a few mental walls built by a man who was now a prisoner. Taking her into a high-stress combat zone was like carrying a lit match into a munitions factory. It was a risk he absolutely refused to take.

"The boy's reasoning is flawless," Magneto said smoothly, seeing his own advantage in removing a powerful, unpredictable telepath from the equation.

"Kid's right, Jeannie," Logan grunted, his primary motive a selfish, desperate need to keep her out of the line of fire. "You're needed here."

Storm looked from one to the other and finally sighed in concession.

Jean nodded, accepting the decision, but her eyes locked onto Logan's. "Logan. Promise me," she said, her voice fierce. "You bring Scott back."

"I'll get him back," Logan vowed. "Promise."

"It is settled, then," Magneto declared. "Stryker will need time to assemble his new machine. We are all exhausted. We rest now, and we strike at dawn, when their senses are dull and their guard is down."

Ethan was fine with that. His template needed to cool down anyway. He slipped away from the tense meeting and headed for the basement. After a bit of rummaging through boxes of emergency supplies, he found what he was looking for. Sunglasses. He pulled out a pair. The frames were bright yellow and shaped like Mickey Mouse ears. He sighed.

"Beggars can't be choosers," he muttered, stuffing the ridiculous-looking glasses into his pocket.

They were his leash. A child's toy to keep a monster in check. Because tonight was the full moon, and if his naked eyes saw it, the power of the Oozaru would overwhelm him. Ten times his current strength. A mind filled with nothing but rage. It was his ultimate trump card, the self-destruct button he'd press if his own life was on the line. And he knew, with a cold certainty that settled in his gut, that if it came down to his life or theirs… he'd let the monster out to play. Self-preservation. It was the only rule that had never failed him.

As he came up from the basement, he heard hushed voices. He paused in the shadows. It was Logan and Jean. Logan had his hands on her waist, his expression raw and pleading. She had her hands on his chest, her own face a mask of sorrow. It was the end of a kiss. A painful one.

"Logan, I'm sorry," Jean's voice was barely a whisper. "You know I… that I care for you. But I love Scott. I choose Scott."

Ethan saw the light go out of Wolverine's eyes. It was like watching a statue crack. For the first time, the unbreakable Logan looked… broken.

Ethan waited a few minutes before finding him on the back patio, staring into the darkness. He walked up and held out a cigar.

Logan took it without looking. "Thanks, kid." He sounded hollowed out. "Maybe she's right. Guy like Scott… he's steady. I'm just… a stray."

He took a long drag, then looked at the cigar box in Ethan's hand. A flicker of his old self returned. "Hey… where'd you get that box?"

"Found it," Ethan said.

"'Found it'? I think I dropped that yesterday."

"Finders keepers, Logan."

"That's my last box, you little thief, give it back!"

"What's the matter, an adult snatching things from a poor, traumatized child?" Ethan teased, holding the box just out of reach. "What would the Professor say?"

In a blur, Logan snatched his wrist, his other hand easily plucking the box away. "Don't push your luck, kid," he grumbled, though a hint of a smirk touched his lips. "And you're too young for these. I'm just… keeping 'em safe for you."

"Hah, joke's on you," Ethan said, grinning. "I don't actually smoke."

Wolverine just stared at him, then at the box of cigars in his hand, a look of utter, flustered defeat on his face. He shook his head and, for the first time since Jean had walked away, let out a short, rough laugh.

POWER STONE FOR SUPPORT