"The equipment will arrive first thing tomorrow," Rowan said after reading the report. "Based on your assessment, how long until recovery?"
Stephen Strange considered the data. "Logan should purge the remaining toxins in about three days. Charles will take longer. Close to a month."
Rowan nodded. He wasn't disappointed.
Charles Xavier losing the ability to push his powers recklessly wasn't ideal, but it wasn't a loss either. A fully unleashed Xavier was a global safeguard and a global risk at the same time. Rowan respected the man, but he'd never shared his faith in ideal outcomes or peaceful inevitability.
Xavier believed in coexistence. Rowan believed in boundaries.
Enemies were enemies. Allies were allies. Everything else was noise.
With his mind stabilized and his powers restrained, Xavier could focus on teaching, guiding the next generation instead of carrying the weight of the world alone. That suited Rowan just fine.
"When the treatment is complete," Rowan said, "you'll be released as promised."
Strange let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Three days later, the medical bay lights dimmed as the pod hissed open.
Logan sat up.
He moved like someone who'd remembered how strong he used to be.
In a single smooth motion, he swung his legs out, dropped to the floor, and straightened. Gone was the worn-down figure with graying hair and lingering injuries. Muscle definition returned. Posture sharpened. The years peeled away.
This was Wolverine at full strength.
Nearly two centuries of combat instinct. A body that refused to die. A healing factor that laughed at bullets, blades, and poisons alike. Short of specialized counters, he was functionally unstoppable.
Logan flexed his hands.
Snikt.
Adamantium claws slid out clean and precise.
"Damn," he said quietly. "I missed this."
The change wasn't just physical. His mind felt clearer, lighter. Age hadn't only weakened his body before. It had dulled his edge. Now it was back.
Rowan didn't waste time.
"I need you watching someone," he said, briefing Logan on Tony Stark and the situation around him. "No interference unless things go sideways. If they do, tell me immediately."
Logan lit a cigar, nodding. "Got it. I won't let our investment bleed."
He was willing. Protecting the school, the kids, and the fragile stability they'd built mattered more than any moral discomfort.
Stephen Strange looked up from his instruments and scowled. "Is smoking in a medical facility really necessary?"
Logan glanced at him, then crushed the cigar out in his palm. "Fair point, Doc. Sorry."
Three weeks later, Charles Xavier's treatment concluded.
The suppressor toxins were gone. After a complex neurological procedure, his seizures were brought under control. He wouldn't regain his former endurance, but with medication and rest, he could live normally.
Strange's skill spoke for itself.
Rowan honored the agreement. After generous compensation, Strange and the other doctors were returned to the city.
On a rooftop, Strange turned back. "We won't say a word about what happened."
Rowan shook his head. "I believe you mean that. But belief isn't protection."
Before anyone could react, Rowan raised his hands.
Light flared.
Memories unraveled.
When the doctors left the roof, the past month was gone. No mutants. No academy. No impossible recoveries.
Rowan watched them disappear into the night.
Promises broke under pressure.
This didn't.