CHAPTER 133 – DATES AND GHOSTS
The restaurant lights were low, the kind of soft glow meant to make everything look warmer than it was. Scott Summers sat stiff-backed across from Colleen Wing, hands folded, glasses reflecting the candle flame so his eyes were just two red embers in the dark. Colleen had leaned forward, chin resting in her hand, the picture of calm amusement.
"You're doing it again," she teased.
Scott blinked. "Doing what?"
"Brooding. You've been staring through your dinner like it's going to sprout claws and attack. And you've barely touched your wine."
He sighed, voice low, clipped. "It's Xavier. He hasn't been home for days. Lilandra's with him, the Shi'ar—whatever business that is. And all the systems at the mansion… dark. Communications cut. Even the phone service terminated. That's not a coincidence."
"Maybe he forgot to pay the bill," she joked, sipping her drink with a sly smile.
Scott didn't even twitch. "Jean. Hank. I don't even know how to—how to say it when he comes back. That they're gone. That I couldn't—"
Colleen reached across the table, her hand on his wrist. "Scott Summers, can you ever let yourself breathe? Just one night. Pretend the world isn't collapsing for once."
His jaw tightened. Behind the glasses, his eyes burned hotter. He wanted to argue, but the weight pressed down again. 'She doesn't get it. She can't. Family is the mission. And the mission is dead weight without them.'
The sound came first: a low rumble from behind. Scott frowned, turning his head. Colleen followed his gaze. A garbage truck, lumbering too close, too slow. Its headlights washed over the street, drowning the restaurant's cozy glow in stark white.
Then—HISS. A fine spray from the truck's side vents. The air soured instantly, sweet and cloying like rotten fruit. Colleen gagged, hand clapping to her mouth. Scott surged to his feet, pulling at her arm.
"Colleen—cover your face, don't breathe it in!"
Too late. The gas slid down his throat like syrup, heavy, choking. His limbs turned to stone. Colleen collapsed against his chest, out cold. Scott fought, teeth gritted, one last burst of stubborn will. But his knees buckled. Darkness swept in.
He fell with her in his arms as the truck's rear doors yawned open like a coffin.
---
Elsewhere in the city, laughter rang out against brick walls and neon. Kurt Wagner adjusted his tie with a flourish, tail flicking behind him.
"Meine Damen, tonight we dine not merely as mortals, but as royalty!" He swung open the door to the restaurant's private room, bowing dramatically for Amanda Sefton and Betty.
Piotr Rasputin trailed behind, trying to hide his broad shoulders in a borrowed jacket. "Kurt, maybe tone down the performance, da? We do not want to draw attention."
Amanda rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a smile. "He always draws attention."
Kurt winked, fangs glinting. "Would you rather me hide in the shadows, fraulein? Nein, life is short, and romance shorter!"
Betty giggled, tugging Piotr's arm. "At least your friend has flair. You just look like you'd rather be hauling tractors in Siberia."
Piotr flushed, ducking his head. "Maybe I would. At least tractors do not stare."
They all laughed as the four stepped inside, door closing with a soft metallic thud. Kurt reached for the lightswitch—
—only for the entire room to vibrate, a low groan of machinery beneath their feet.
Amanda frowned. "Kurt? That's… not right."
The walls shifted. Seamless steel plating slammed into place where the door had been. Windows vanished under grinding panels. The room shrank by a hair.
Piotr's hand snapped into a fist. "This is not restaurant."
Kurt's smile faltered, sharp eyes darting. "Nein. It is a trap."
The floor jolted. Amanda stumbled, clutching Kurt's arm. He steadied her, heart pounding. Outside, faint rotor blades echoed. The whole box shuddered as it lifted.
Amanda screamed. "What's happening?!"
Kurt bared his teeth, pressing her close. "Calm. Hold still." His mind raced. 'Teleport out? Nein—the walls are too close, I can't see. Blind jumps mean death. They've thought this through.'
Piotr slammed a fist against the steel, sparks flying. "Let me out! Now!" His voice was a roar, but the walls held.
The box rose higher, swallowed by the night sky.