Nick Fury read the title once, then a second time: Reborn and Traveled to World War II, I Became Captain America's Comrade-in-Arms. He frowned.
"Time-travel fiction?" he said, glancing at Coulson. "Phil, are you sure this is worth my time?"
"Read on," Coulson urged. "The second volume is where things get… odd."
Fury took a breath and read.
At first the manuscript looked like run-of-the-mill historical fiction—an anachronistic protagonist tossed into 1942, meeting Steve Rogers and the familiar era. But the casual details began to stack: the exact layout of Howard Stark's lab, specific procedures in the vibranium-shield notes, even marginalia about serum side effects—things Fury recognized from classified S.H.I.E.L.D. dossiers, not public lore.
He put the pages down and looked at Coulson. "How does a kid in New York know Howard's workshop layout? Or the real side effects recorded in our files?"
"On the face of it, he's Voss Nibaba—young, new author, no obvious ties," Coulson said. "But the content… it's not something an ordinary novelist would invent."
Fury's pace quickened as he flipped through the manuscript. He hit the chapter about Steve and Peggy and paused again. Private conversations—intimate moments—appeared on the page with uncanny accuracy. Even Fury, who'd seen classified reports and reconstruction notes, felt a cold prickle.
When he reached the final volume, he stopped reading and read again: the protagonist taking the place of Captain America on that fateful flight; the exact coordinates scribbled into the narration—71° N, 49° W—and a painstaking description of the underwater terrain where the wreckage sank.
Fury read the coordinates aloud and set the page down. "That's the area we've been searching," he said.
Coulson's voice was low. "If the coordinates are real… they may point to Rogers' crash site and whatever's down there."
Fury's jaw tightened. Then he turned a few more pages and found the clincher: the last lines from a high-ranking Hydra voice.
The most dangerous place is the safest place; we have successfully infiltrated the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.
Fury's single eye narrowed until it was a slit. The full name—Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division—was not public. It was the old designation, an internal classification. He had never seen that phrasing outside the agency's deepest files.
"Who's seen this?" he asked.
"Only Oscar at the publishing house and Coulson," Phil answered.
A heavy silence settled in the office. Fury tapped the manuscript with a single finger. "If that phrase made it into a printed manuscript, someone fed the author something we haven't put on any public record. Either this kid got lucky, someone inside S.H.I.E.L.D. leaked classified material, or—" Fury stopped, the possibilities worrying him more with each breath. "—or he knows something no one was supposed to know."
Coulson ran through the options. "He could be a Hydra plant, but why publish the truth? He could've stumbled onto classified files, though getting Level-Ten intel would be nearly impossible without inside access."
Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. "There's a third possibility—something we don't understand. An ability. Some method of knowing things that shouldn't be known."
Coulson pictured Voss's young face—the haunted eyes, the hunger for recognition. "Director, should we move on him?"
Fury's decision came fast and cold. "We monitor him. Quietly. Full background sweep: family, friends, banking, digital traffic. Put a tail on him but make it look natural—no lights, no sirens. Find out who he talks to, where he goes, what he reads. I want everything. Now."
"Understood," Coulson said.
"And the coordinates?" Fury asked.
"Dispatch a search team," Coulson replied. "If there's any chance Rogers or the Cosmic Cube are where the manuscript says they are, we have to go."
Fury's answer was a terse nod. "Do it. But keep this at a need-to-know level. Only you and I. Not Maria Hill. Not Pierce. If Hydra has infiltrated senior ranks, the fewer people who know, the better."
Coulson blinked. "Not even the Deputy Director?"
Fury's voice was flat. "Not yet. If Hydra's in our halls, anyone could be compromised. Until we confirm who's clean, this stays between us."
Coulson swallowed and left to execute orders. Before he went, an afterthought tugged at him. "Director—Voss's manuscript is slated for release. If it comes out as-is, it could tip off a lot of people."
Fury considered the publishing problem for a moment. "Don't pull the book," he said finally. "Not unless we have to. Pulling it screams cover-up. Let it print under controlled circulation. Track purchases. Anyone who knows how to read these clues will act—and when they do, they'll leave fingerprints. We'll be watching."
Coulson understood: make the novel a lure and watch who bites. Fury's plan was raw, risky—and exactly the kind of chess move the Director favored.
After Coulson left, Fury sat alone with the manuscript and read it again, slower this time. He traced the name on the title page with a finger: Voss Nibaba. A novelist. A potential threat. A possible key.
"If you really know something," Fury muttered under his breath, "I'll find out what it is."
He flipped to the final Hydra passage one more time and tucked the paper into his drawer. Outside the office, the Triskelion hummed with its usual activity. Inside, one man now held a small, dangerous secret: the possibility that the enemy might already be inside their walls.