"If it's all the same to you, I'd really like to have my feet back on solid dirt as soon as possible," Maya muttered, her voice cracking as she clutched the door handle.
She wasn't enjoying the 'thrill' of high-altitude flight at all. In fact, she looked like she was about to be sick. Her knuckles were white, and her breath was hitching in a way that suggested a total nervous breakdown was only seconds away.
Leander didn't seem to notice. He was leaning his head out of the driver-side window, his hair whipped into a frenzy by the freezing Tennessee wind. Down below, the town of Rose Hill was a scattering of flickering amber lights against a blanket of deep, nocturnal blue.
"It's a tiny place," Leander said, his voice hummed with a strange, predatory excitement. "That's actually perfect. Nowhere for a billionaire in a mechanic's hat to hide. We'll find him in five minutes, tops."
To Maya's absolute horror, Leander let go of the steering wheel entirely. He half-kneeled in the driver's seat, balancing precariously as he squinted at the ground, his eyes beginning to pulse with that rhythmic, golden light.
"Leander! The wheel! Grab the wheel!" Maya shrieked, lunging forward to grab the plastic rim herself. "Can we please just land like normal people? Just... a slow, dignified descent?"
"Haha, don't sweat it. The car knows where it's going," Leander laughed, flashing her a grin that was way too relaxed for someone currently a mile above the earth.
The silver sedan continued its impossible glide through the clouds, the metal skin of the car shimmering under the moonlight like a ghost. Down in the town, a stray dog barked at the sky, and a lone resident looked up, rubbing their eyes as they saw a pair of headlights hovering where there should have been nothing but stars.
Leander's gaze locked onto a specific thermal signature—a hum of electricity that didn't match the surrounding residential grid. It was the distinct, rhythmic pulse of an Arc Reactor interface.
"Bingo. Found the XLII signature. He's charging in a garage on the edge of town."
Before Maya could even process the words, Leander's fingers flicked downward. He didn't just steer; he commanded the car's gravity to invert. The sedan plummeted. It wasn't a fall; it was a dive. Maya's screams echoed inside the cabin as the world rushed up to meet them at terminal velocity, only for the car to level out and park with a soft click directly in front of a weathered, snow-dusted garage.
Leander pushed the door open and stepped out into the biting cold, leaving a hyperventilating Maya behind. She sat there for a good thirty seconds with her eyes squeezed shut, still screaming, before she realized the movement had stopped. Shaking, she scrambled out of the car to catch up with him.
Inside the garage, Harley Keener had just finished his latest check-in with Tony. He was slumped in his chair, surrounded by empty gummy bear bags, staring at the Mark 42. His mom was pulling a double shift at the hospital and wouldn't be back until dawn, leaving him alone with the most expensive piece of hardware on the planet.
Suddenly, a strange thump vibrated through the floorboards.
Harley froze. He wasn't a helpless kid; he was a survivalist. He grabbed his modified potato gun, checked the pressure, and palmed a stun grenade Tony had helped him "refine." He pulled on his jacket, his heart hammering against his ribs, and crept toward the garage door.
Before he could even reach the handle, the heavy door groaned and slid upward of its own accord. A gust of freezing wind swirled into the room, bringing a fine mist of snow with it.
"Who's there?" Harley yelled, his voice cracking. The darkness outside was absolute, save for a tall, slender silhouette walking slowly toward him.
Harley didn't wait for an answer. His hand shook as he launched a plastic projectile at the intruder's head.
Leander didn't even flinch. He reached up with the casual grace of someone catching a falling leaf and snatched the projectile out of the air.
"Easy there, kid," Leander said, stepping into the light of the garage. "I'm not here to steal your lunch money. I'm looking for Mr. Stark. Has he already hit the road?"
Harley lowered his gun an inch, his eyes darting over Leander's black shorts and short-sleeved shirt—outfit choices that made no sense in a Tennessee winter. "Who are you? And why are you dressed like you're going to the beach?"
"Name's Leander. I'm a friend of Tony's. The world thinks he's a ghost right now, but I know better. Did he mention me?"
"No," Harley said, his guard still high. "He doesn't talk much about his friends. He's too busy having panic attacks and being a jerk. You got any proof you aren't an AIM hitman?"
Maya walked in behind Leander, her eyes instantly locking onto the Mark 42 charging on the workbench. Her jaw dropped. "Tony... he really is here. Or he was."
"Leander, where is he?" Maya asked, turning to the boy. "And who is the kid with the potato gun?"
Leander ignored her for a second, focusing on Harley. He didn't use a threatening tone; he just leaned against a tool bench and looked the kid in the eye. "Look, I know he's annoying. But he's also in a lot of trouble. Why don't you give him a call?"
Harley's expression soured. "He told me to stop calling. Said I was a nuisance. How did you even find this place? He said this was a 'dark site.'"
"I'm an Avenger," Leander said simply. "Finding people who don't want to be found is kind of the job description."
The room went dead silent.
"An Avenger?" Harley whispered. Maya's breath hitched. They both stared at Leander, the realization hitting them like a freight train.
In the Avengers lineup, there was only one member who remained a total mystery to the public—the one the tabloids called the Golden Legend. The boy who appeared in New York, decimated an army, and vanished into the sun.
"Wait... are you... are you him?" Harley's potato gun clattered to the floor. "The Golden Legend?"
Leander chuckled. "Is that what they're calling me? It's a bit dramatic, but I'll take it."
Harley scrambled forward, his fear replaced by a frantic, fanboy energy. "No way! Where are your wings? The news footage showed wings made of pure light! Are they like... Stark tech? Can I see them?"
Leander walked over to the Mark 42 and placed a hand on its cold, gold-and-red chest plate.
The suit's optics instantly flared to life, a blue glow bathing Leander's face. "Mr. Hayes, it is a pleasure to see you again," Jarvis's voice echoed through the garage speakers. "My diagnostic sensors indicate your return will significantly improve Mr. Stark's morale. Shall I attempt to establish a secure link?"
"Jarvis, good to hear you're still kicking," Leander replied.
Harley was practically vibrating at Leander's side now. "It's really you. You're friends with Tony? Like, for real? Do you guys have a secret base? Do the wings come out of your back or is it a backpack?"
Leander sat down on a stool, waving Harley over. "Slow down, kid. You can grill me all night, but first, tell me where Tony went. He's walking into a slaughterhouse if he's not careful."
"He's fine... I think," Harley said, trying to regain his composure. "The suit is dead, so he's doing the 'mechanic' thing. He went to a hardware store to build some DIY weapons. He's heading to Miami. Said the Mandarin is hiding out in Florida."
"Miami?" Leander frowned. He looked at the Mark 42, his eyes glowing gold as he visually dismantled the suit's internal circuitry. He saw the power bypasses, the fried relay switches, and the sheer complexity of the new modular design.
A few minutes later, Leander shook his head and let the light fade. The Mark 42 was a different beast than the suits he'd helped Tony with before. It was too experimental, too decentralized for him to fix with a simple magnetic nudge.
Maya watched the gold fade from Leander's eyes, and for the first time, the weight on her chest seemed to lift. Seeing the Golden Legend in the flesh made her thirteen-year obsession with Extremis feel small—insignificant. She realized she didn't want to run anymore. She didn't want to be Killian's accomplice.
"Leander," Maya said, her voice steady. "I know the Miami base. I know exactly where Killian takes the subjects for the final stage. I can take you there. But you have to listen... Killian, he's lost his mind, but maybe we can still—"
"Stop right there," Leander interrupted, his voice turning cold as ice. He turned to her, and for a second, Maya saw the ancient power behind the teenager's eyes.
"I know Killian has been your partner for a decade. But while you were 'researching,' he was turning innocent people into walking bombs. He's killed hundreds. He tried to erase Tony, and he went after Pepper. He chose this path."
Leander stood up, the air in the garage suddenly feeling heavy with an unspoken threat.
"Aldrich Killian is a dead man walking. Even if Jesus himself came down to Rose Hill right now, he couldn't save that man from what's coming. I'm ending this tonight."