CHAPTER 139 – GHOSTS IN THE HALL
Midnight at the Xavier mansion.
The Danger Room's roar shook the foundation as Cyclops barked orders, optic blasts cutting precision lines through holographic foes. Colossus strained under steel weights that twisted midair into angular monsters. Storm floated above, winds coiling like living ropes.
But Kurt was not in the room.
He padded through the halls instead, tail swaying, steps as quiet as a cat's. He liked the solitude, the mansion's silence after midnight. The walls whispered with history, with laughter and tears, with echoes of Xavier's dream.
Then the whisper changed.
The air thickened. His ears twitched. His eyes narrowed as a shadow moved at the far end of the corridor.
Intruder.
Kurt dropped low, muscles coiling. He teleported in a puff of brimstone, reappearing directly in the path of the figure. "Stop right there, mein freund—"
The man lunged. Kurt met him with a roundhouse, tail whipping to snag an arm. A counterpunch caught Kurt's ribs. He teleported again, sparks trailing, and reappeared clinging to the ceiling.
"Whoever you are, you picked the wrong night—"
Lightning split the sky outside, flooding the hall with white fire.
Kurt froze. His jaw slackened. His golden eyes went wide, all fight gone from him.
He vanished with a bamf and reappeared inside the Danger Room mid-battle, eyes wild. "A ghost!" he stammered. "I—I saw a ghost!"
The simulation paused with a screech of grinding gears. Cyclops lowered his visor guard. "Kurt, pull yourself together. What ghost?"
Kurt swallowed hard, pointing toward the hall. "Beast. Hank McCoy. I saw him. Clear as day. He's supposed to be—" His voice broke. "—he's supposed to be dead."
Logan snorted. "Dead men don't smell, elf. And I don't smell a ghost." But his claws slid halfway out all the same.
The team rushed from the chamber, following Kurt's trembling lead.
And there he was.
Hank McCoy, blue fur and all, standing in the hall with wide eyes of his own, staring at them like they were the ghosts.
The silence broke first with a laugh—half disbelieving, half joyous. Cyclops rushed forward and threw his arms around Hank, the embrace fierce, brotherly. "Hank! God, you—you're alive."
Hank clapped him on the back, his grin wide but misted with tears. "So are you, Scott. And Jean—Jean will be overjoyed when she learns of this reunion."
Cyclops froze mid-breath, pulling back to search Hank's face. "Jean? You mean—she's alive?"
"Yes," Hank said simply, with the weight of truth. "Alive. On Muir Island, with Moira MacTaggert. She's been… undergoing evaluations. As for Charles, he and Lilandra have gone to her empire. She must ascend her throne, and he is at her side. That's why the mansion was shut down. That's why you were left adrift."
The words hit like thunder. Scott's heart pounded against his ribs, hope and guilt twisting in equal measure. Jean—alive. His Jean.
"Then we waste no time," Cyclops said, jaw tightening. He strode to the phone, hands shaking as he dialed the lab.
The line crackled. Polaris's voice came through, sharp and strained. "Scott—it's chaos here. Jean—she's—she's gone. She screamed and vanished. We can't find her!"
The room tensed, the team exchanging horrified looks.
"We're coming," Scott said firmly. "Hold on. We'll find her."
But before he could say more, Polaris gasped. A shriek tore through the line, raw and panicked, and then silence.
The connection cut.
Scott stood frozen, the dead receiver in his hand.
The others waited, their breath held, their eyes on him.
Logan stepped closer, voice low. "Say the word, Cyke."
Scott turned, visor glowing faintly red. "Gear up. We leave for Muir Island now."
And above them, lightning split the sky again—though none of them noticed.