"There's still a jet down here?" Rowan stared at the sleek black aircraft in the underground hangar, genuinely stunned.
He had assumed the X-Jet was long gone, flown off years ago during Logan and Charles's escape. Seeing it intact beneath the school felt unreal.
Logan shrugged out of his dress shirt and pulled on his old leather jacket, a cigar dangling from his mouth. "Shame I never learned to fly. Would've saved us a lot of trouble back then."
When Charles lost control, Logan had rushed him to a hospital by car. Charles stabilized, but the pursuit began soon after. Federal agents closed in fast. If Logan had known how to pilot the jet, they could have left the country overnight, avoided years of hiding, and sought treatment elsewhere.
"Still," Rowan said, circling the craft, "it's good it's here. We'll need it eventually."
Only then did he remember that Logan not only couldn't fly—he hated flying. Heights too. The X-Jet had always been Beast's domain, sometimes Storm's, occasionally Scott's.
Despite its age, the jet was anything but obsolete. Beast had rebuilt it from the inside out. Speed, stealth, and full satellite evasion. In practice, it rivaled even SHIELD's newest aircraft. Once someone learned to fly it, this jet could pull everyone out of danger in minutes.
Logan led Rowan farther into the underground levels and stopped beside what looked like an ordinary motorcycle.
"For city runs," Logan said. "Scott's favorite. Custom build. Top speed's three times faster than anything legal."
Charles, Logan, and Caliban were too recognizable to move freely. Any regular appearance in public risked exposure. That made Rowan the obvious choice for reconnaissance—especially anything involving Stark Industries.
Rowan swung onto the bike and took it for a quick test run. The response was immediate, razor-sharp. He grinned. "Scott had taste."
With the school secured and time finally on their side, Rowan no longer felt pressured to approach Tony Stark immediately. Rushing into Stark's orbit meant attracting SHIELD—and where SHIELD watched, Hydra followed.
Instead, Rowan planned to use the bike closer to home. The Bronx wasn't just chaotic; it was profitable. Gangs, illegal operations, money flowing through shadows.
For the next three months, he intended to focus on magic. After that, he would clean house—once. Strip the wealthiest criminal groups dry, then disappear. When Stark Industries stock hit its lowest point, he'd buy in hard. When Tony returned and the stock rebounded, he'd sell. And when Stark later shut down the weapons division, he'd buy again.
One decisive move. No repeats.
Do it too often and someone like Wilson Fisk would notice. Cameras were scarce in the Bronx, but patterns always surfaced eventually. One operation, then silence.
Logan watched him thoughtfully. "Scott had good instincts. Especially about women. Funny thing is—I used to hate the guy. Now I kinda miss him."
Rowan caught the meaning instantly and chose not to comment.
"Question," Rowan said instead. "We'll be using a lot of power down here. Won't that trigger attention? Maybe we should run generators instead. Safer."
Logan waved it off. "Beast thought of that. After an incident, he rebuilt the entire power system. Independent grid. Shielded. You could light the place up like a city block and no one would see a thing."
Good. Whatever that incident had been—Apocalypse, Stryker, something worse—it didn't matter. What mattered was that this place was secure.
"One more thing," Rowan added. "While I'm gathering intel, maybe you and Charles can start training the kids. Real training. Combat control. Survival."
The simulation room still worked. And unlike the lab that had tortured them, this place had teachers who actually understood what they were doing.
Rowan didn't expect miracles. He just wanted the children able to protect themselves.
Because the people hunting them wouldn't stop. And next time, it might not be another Logan clone. It could be copies of Charles, Erik, or Scott.
Those replicas wouldn't match the originals—not without freedom, growth, and understanding. Power didn't mature in a cage.
But even weak enemies became dangerous in numbers.
And Rowan intended to be ready.