After Peter left, Joren returned to his room, took off his coat, and sat down at his desk.
He pulled out his phone, opened his browser, and began scrolling through the contact information and quotes of local construction teams.
The holes the Hand ninjas had left in the wall needed professional repair.
Joren suddenly stopped swiping.
An image of Tony Stark flashed through his mind—that smug, exasperated face that screamed "I'm rich" and "I'm so done with you."
Hadn't that billionaire offered to run some kind of assessment on him? Even volunteered to help sort out S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mess?
Well then—why not have him cover the repair bill too?
If trouble was already coming, might as well let the trouble pay for it.
With a clear conscience, Joren put his phone away and picked up a book titled Research on the Ecology of Deep-Sea Fishes.
The pages fell open to a detailed spread on deep-sea creatures, their habits and characteristics meticulously recorded. A full double-page spread was devoted to humpback whale migration routes—blue dotted lines stretching from the icy waters of Alaska to the warm shores of Hawaii. The paths were regular, quiet, and imbued with the most primal sense of order life could offer.
How perfect.
Nothing like this city, where all manner of strange things climbed through the windows every night.
Joren turned the page and began reading about blue whales' foraging habits.
Night fell completely.
The streets of Queens quieted, save for the occasional hum of distant traffic.
Inside the bedroom, the warm yellow glow of the table lamp cast Joren's still shadow against the wall.
He wore a purple short-sleeved T-shirt and, as always, that hat that seemed to melt into his hair—the brim casting a soft shadow over his expression.
The rustle of turning pages filled the silence.
Then—
A faint scraping sound came from outside the window.
Joren paused. His ripple perception flared outward instantly.
On the exterior wall, a human-shaped lifeform was scaling the house—steady heartbeat, even breath, movements fluid and precise.
Yare, yare.
He closed the book and slowly turned toward the window.
Through the slats of the blinds, he saw a slender figure pressed against the second-floor glass.
Her curves were accentuated by a sleek black suit, and her long, silver-white hair fluttered in the night breeze like strands of moonlight.
Felicia Hardy.
The Black Cat.
Separated only by a sheet of glass, their eyes met.
Her mask left just her green eyes visible—glinting with mischief and something sharper beneath.
When she realized Joren had spotted her, she didn't flinch or flee. Instead, she gave a playful little wave.
Joren stood, walked to the window, drew back the blinds, and slid the pane open.
"What's up?"
"Wow," Felicia chuckled softly, bracing a hand on the sill. "What a straightforward man."
With feline grace, she vaulted into the room—silent, fluid, and utterly at ease.
"Not even a simple 'good evening'?"
Once inside, she made no effort to hide her curiosity, her gaze sweeping over the room before settling on Joren with a slow, knowing smile.
The purple short-sleeved T-shirt clung to his frame, accentuating a muscular physique far beyond his years. Broad shoulders and a sturdy chest radiated quiet power—unnatural, almost engineered.
Even at home, he wore that signature hat, its brim casting a shadow over his eyes.
"He's still reading this late… and still wearing that hat?"
Felicia peeled off her mask, revealing a delicate face framed by silvery-white hair.
"Are you bald?" she teased.
Joren regarded her expressionlessly. His eyes—cold, bored—seemed to say, You're wasting my time.
"Besides…" Felicia tilted her head, utterly oblivious to the sudden chill in the air. Her hair spilled over her shoulders like liquid moonlight. "Your parents are both American. So why's your catchphrase 'Yare yare daze'? That's… oddly specific. Is it some kind of code?"
"If you keep asking pointless questions," Joren said flatly, "I won't hesitate to throw you out the window."
"Threatening me?" She chuckled, unfazed. "How rude."
She swayed past him with feline grace and settled onto his desk, crossing her legs with practiced elegance. "But I do like men with personality."
Her gaze drifted to the coffee table, where a thick volume lay open: Deep-Sea Fish Ecological Research.
"Marine biology? Interesting hobby." She picked it up, flipping through pages filled with diagrams of humpback whales, blue whales, and great white sharks. "You've got a thing for the big guys, huh?"
Joren didn't answer. He stood by the window, hands in his pockets, watching her like a predator sizing up prey that didn't yet realize it was cornered.
"The golden fireworks last night were beautiful," she said idly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, voice calm but edged with warning.
"Yeah?" Felicia rose and stepped toward him, her emerald eyes glinting beneath the dim light. "That's a shame. I thought I'd found a like-minded friend."
"What do you want?" Joren's patience was fraying.
"I want…" She stopped inches from him, tilting her head to look up into the shadows beneath his hat. "To cooperate with you."
"Cooperate?" A muscle twitched near his eye.
"This city's dangerous," she continued, voice lowering. "The Hand—ninja ghosts who die and come back twice as mean. Kingpin, that unreasonable emperor of the underworld. And let's not forget those government agents in black Dodges who've been camping outside your building for weeks…" She smirked. "S.H.I.E.L.D., right?"
She knew too much.
"I can handle some of the… minor inconveniences you can't deal with yourself." Her lips curled into a sly smile—like a cat who'd just pilfered the choicest fish. "Like unmasking your watchers. Or," she added with a playful wink, "procuring certain… exam answers."
She straightened, feigning seriousness. "All I ask in return is a little protection—when I need it. Simple, clean, mutually beneficial. What do you say?"
"Not interested."
Joren's reply was sharp, final. He didn't even entertain the offer. Turning toward the window, he jerked his chin toward the open pane—a silent, dismissive gesture.
"The window's that way. Try not to break your leg on the way down."
"What a heartless man," Felicia sighed, though amusement danced in her eyes. "But that's fine. I've got time."
She pulled her mask back on and drifted toward the sill. Just as she was about to va
nish into the night, she glanced back, emerald eyes gleaming beneath the fabric.
"Oh—and see you at school tomorrow… Joestar."
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