The mansion settled into morning routines around us—footsteps on stairs, distant conversations, the clatter of breakfast dishes. Normal sounds that still felt foreign.
I'd been awake for hours.
Laura sat across from me in the library, surrounded by books she wasn't reading. Her fingers traced the edge of Sarah's letter, folded and refolded so many times the creases had softened.
"We're meeting with Xavier in twenty minutes," she said without looking up.
"I know."
A theory had been circling my mind since yesterday. The mansion was filled with telepaths—Xavier, Jean Grey, Emma Frost.
In the Facility, I'd learned to spot surveillance. This was just another form.
Laura's eyes flicked to me. "What are you thinking?"
"Testing something."
Xavier's office smelled like old books and tea. He sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, expression gentle but assessing. Storm stood by the window. Wolverine leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"Good morning," Xavier said. "Please, sit."
We remained standing.
Xavier's smile didn't falter. "I wanted to discuss your transition. I understand this must be overwhelming—"
I shifted my vision.
The world fractured into threads. Golden causal chains stretched between objects, people, decisions. But there—connecting my mind to Xavier's—a silver-blue strand pulsed with active telepathy.
I reached out and severed it.
Xavier's eyes widened fractionally. His head tilted, like he'd heard a distant sound cut off mid-note. The silver thread dissolved, and the space between our minds went silent.
Storm straightened. "Charles?"
"It's quite alright." Xavier studied me with renewed interest. "That was... unexpected."
"You were reading us," I said.
"Passively monitoring emotional states. Standard precaution with new students." He leaned back. "May I ask what you just did?"
"Made it stop."
Wolverine's mouth twitched—almost a grin.
"Fascinating." Xavier's expression remained calm, but I caught the shift in his posture. Recalculation. "Your abilities are more versatile than reported."
Laura's shifted slightly beside me. "Are you going to keep trying?"
"No." Xavier's tone softened. "You've made your boundaries clear. I'll respect them." He glanced at Storm. "Though I hope you'll understand our need for certain... safety measures."
"The danger assessment," Laura said.
"Yes." Storm moved from the window. "We need to understand your capabilities. Both for your development and the safety of other students."
I met her gaze. "When?"
"This afternoon. Two o'clock."
Xavier folded his hands. "The Danger Room will generate scenarios to evaluate your combat effectiveness, adaptability, and"—he paused meaningfully—"your ability to work as part of a team rather than as solo operatives."
"We'll be there," I said.
The Danger Room was larger than the Facility's training arena. Sterile metal walls, observation windows above. A space designed for controlled violence.
Familiar territory.
Cyclops stood in the center, visor gleaming. Emma, Wolverine, Storm, and Jean Grey watched from the observation deck. Their faces ranged from skeptical to curious.
"Standard assessment protocol," Cyclops said. "Room will generate opponents and scenarios. We evaluate threat response, tactical awareness, and cooperation." His gaze fixed on us. "Can you work as team players, or are you just weapons pointed in the same direction?"
Laura's claws extended with the usual metallic snikt sounds. "Only one way to find out."
The room hummed to life.
Sentinels materialized first—three of them, fifteen feet tall, optical sensors glowing red. Then armed soldiers phased into existence around the perimeter. The floor shifted, creating barriers and elevated positions.
Laura moved before the first Sentinel finished forming. She launched herself at its leg joint, claws shrieking against adaptive armor. It swatted at her—she was already gone, pivoting to the next target.
I pulled strings from my fingertips.
Twelve soldiers raised weapons. I attached threads to triggers, wrists, necks. A slight pull—their aim shifted. Friendly fire erupted. Three went down before they realized what was happening.
A Sentinel's palm cannon charged, tracking Laura. I whipped a razor string through its optical sensor. Blind, it fired wild. The blast took out two more soldiers.
Laura used the chaos. She bounded up debris, drove her claws through a Sentinel's neck joint, rode it down as sparks showered.
"They're efficient," Emma's voice echoed from above. "Also terrifying."
I didn't have time to respond. The room adapted—more Sentinels, environmental hazards. Fire jets erupted from the floor. Laser grids activated.
Laura moved too fast to track, too vicious to stop. But she wasn't invincible. A blast caught her shoulder, spun her mid-air.
I was already moving. Strings lashed out, caught her ankle, redirected her momentum into a controlled roll. She hit the ground running.
She thanked me with a grunt and a nod.
I nodded back.
The room threw everything at us—drones, energy barriers, collapsing platforms. We were still new to cooperating. Our fight against Kimura had been our first time. This was different.
I created openings. She exploited them.
When a Sentinel cornered her, I puppeted two soldiers into its path. Their grenades detonated on impact. Laura burst through the smoke, claws leading.
When laser grids pinned me down, she drew fire, healing through damage while I repositioned.
Synchronization without words. We'd learned each other's patterns through years of trying to kill each other. Now those same patterns became coordination.
A low grunt from the observation deck. Wolverine's version of approval.
The final Sentinel adapted to our tactics, armor shifting, weapons diversifying. It targeted Laura with suppression fire while launching a missile at me.
I saw the causal thread, explosion, concussive force, structural collapse. I pulled Laura back with strings while weaving a shield of reinforced threads. The missile detonated. My barrier held.
Laura used the moment. She climbed my strings like a ladder, launched herself at the Sentinel's head, and drove all six claws through its central processor.
Silence.
Sparking machinery. Dissipating hard-light constructs. Us, standing in the wreckage, breathing hard.
"Simulation complete," the room announced.
Cyclops descended from the observation deck, the others following. His expression was unreadable behind the visor.
"Combat effectiveness: exceptional," he said. "Tactical awareness: high. Lethality..." He paused. "Concerning."
Emma crossed her arms. "They're extremely effective killers. Exactly what I said."
"They also protected each other," Jean said quietly. "Multiple times."
Storm studied us. "The question remains—can you integrate with a team? Or will you only ever function as a unit of two?"
Laura's claws retracted. Blood from minor wounds already drying as her healing factor worked. "We've been alone for fifteen years. You expect us to trust strangers?"
"Eventually, yes," Cyclops said. "If you're going to be X-Men."
I met his gaze. "We're not X-Men. We're students. There's a difference."
Wolverine stepped forward. "Kid's got a point. They've been here two days. Maybe don't expect 'em to join the team photo just yet."
Emma's skepticism remained obvious. "They're effective. But they're still dangerous. Weapons that happen to be pointed away from us—for now."
The words settled over the room. Laura let out a low growl. Anger mixed with hurt.
"Noted," I said to Emma. "Anything else?"
Xavier's voice came through the observation deck speakers. "That will be all for today. You've both demonstrated considerable skill. What matters now is whether you can learn to be more than what the Facility made you."
Laura turned without responding. I followed.
Behind us, I heard Cyclops murmur something to Wolverine. Jean's soft reply. Emma's sharp retort.
The door sealed. The hallway stretched ahead, full of students who would stare, who would whisper, who would see exactly what Emma saw.
Weapons.
"They're not wrong," Laura said quietly.
"No."
"We are dangerous."
I thought about the Sentinels, the soldiers, the efficiency with which we'd dismantled everything the room threw at us. Thought about Omega Red's throat opening under my strings. About Laura's claws through Kimura's brain.
"Yes."
She glanced at me. "Does that bother you?"
"No," I said. "In the world we live in, I rather be dangerous than weak."