{Chapter: 94 - Meeting Natasha At A Bar}
Night had quietly arrived.
The island was draped in darkness, save for the silver gleam of the moon reflecting off the calm surface of the ocean. A light sea breeze swept across the coastline, whispering through the palm leaves and brushing against the spaceship like a lullaby from nature itself.
Within the metal confines of the spacecraft, Aiden sat in silence. Despite the gentle ambiance outside, a subtle discomfort nagged at his body. He had been absorbing Aether throughout the day—more than he typically would—and now, the accumulated energy was pressing against the limits of his capacity.
Though Aether coursed through him like a well-trained river, flowing unimpeded, there were boundaries even he could not breach without consequence. Just as when he devoured abilities from others, too much energy too fast could be dangerous. His body, powerful and adaptive as it was, needed time to assimilate what it consumed. Pushing past that threshold could stir chaotic results.
Already, Aiden felt it—the agitation building under his skin, a tingling buzz through his veins. His thoughts grew more erratic, less grounded, his focus slipping ever so slightly. The temptation to give in to these urges crept like shadows at the edge of his mind, whispering thoughts that had no place in his usual discipline.
"No good," he muttered to himself, eyes flashing with a trace of gold. He needed to clear his head.
Rising from his seat, Aiden stepped out of the spaceship into the open air. The cool night breeze greeted him like an old friend, brushing away the staleness that clung to him inside. He took a deep breath, the salty scent of the sea filling his lungs, and began walking along the quiet shore.
This was the first time he truly allowed himself to take in the island at night. It was... different. The sun had a way of making everything feel alive and busy, even on a remote island, but the night had its own magic. The moonlight painted everything silver and blue, casting the world in a dreamlike glow. Crickets sang in the distance, waves crashed softly against the sand, and a soft glow came from the power cells running on the spaceship—like a small beacon in an untouched paradise.
Still, the restlessness inside him didn't fade.
With a shimmer of energy, Aiden soared into the sky, cutting through the wind like a shadow in flight. The island grew smaller behind him as he passed over the dark ocean, the reflection of stars flickering beneath him like lost souls seeking light. After a short flight, the skyline of a bustling city came into view.
It was alive.
Bright lights, towering buildings, flashing signs, the honk of taxis, the chatter of tourists—this was another world entirely from his quiet island. And right now, it was exactly what he needed.
He landed softly in a shadowed alley beside a main avenue, adjusting his coat as he stepped onto the lit sidewalk. The city pulsed with energy. Everywhere he turned, people moved like waves—some laughing, others drunk, a few engaged in whispered arguments under the shadows of neon signs.
As he strolled down the street, his sharp eyes scanned his surroundings. He passed shops still open, stalls selling skewered meat and roasted chestnuts, and the occasional flashing holographic ad promoting the latest Stark Industries gadget or some dance club run by the Xandar Syndicate.
Of course, it didn't take long before women noticed him.
Two of them approached with practiced smiles—plunging necklines, glitter on their cheeks, walking with heels sharp enough to stab. Their profession was clear. Their confidence faltered only slightly when Aiden gave them a polite but firm shake of the head. He wasn't here for that.
He was looking for something else—something slower, calmer.
A bar caught his attention, set between a ramen shop and a vintage bookstore. Its signage was modest, its lighting dim and inviting. Unlike the more crowded venues on the street, this place gave off an aura of low-key sophistication. Warm amber lights flickered within, and soft music—some old jazz tune—filtered out through the cracked door.
Aiden stepped inside.
It was cozy. Not too crowded. The wood-paneled walls, ambient lighting, and old posters from bands long gone gave it the charm of a place untouched by time. He moved quietly toward the bar, not wanting to draw attention, and let his gaze wander across the space in search of an empty table.
And then his eyes caught her.
In the far corner, seated on a high stool with a glass of wine delicately cradled in one hand, sat someone he recognized. Her hair was tied back in an elegant yet effortless bun, and her sharp leather dress had been exchanged for a more casual, off-the-shoulder blouse and jeans. She looked out of place in the best way possible—like a swan who had decided to land in a pond filled with ducks just to see what they were quacking about.
Aiden wasn't expecting to see her tonight—and judging by the slight wideness in her eyes, neither was she.
He blinked once, a little surprised, but quickly recovered his composure. Without missing a beat, he made his way to the bar, ordered a few cold bottles of beer, and then strolled toward her table with that lazy, half-smile that always seemed to imply he knew more than he let on.
"I didn't expect to run into you here," Aiden said casually, taking a seat opposite her like they were old friends rather than dangerous acquaintances with too many secrets.
Natasha Romanoff, in all her Black Widow glory, leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. Black leather pants hugged her long legs, paired with a snug black T-shirt and a leather jacket that screamed both danger and allure. Her red hair, slightly curled at the ends, caught the dim lighting and framed her sharp face like fire licking at porcelain.
"Well, well…" she said, eyes narrowing slightly, voice cool with a touch of sarcasm. "Seems tonight's going to be more eventful than I thought."
He chuckled, popping the cap off a bottle and pouring it into a pair of glasses. "I just found this bar by accident. Now imagine my surprise when I see the most dangerous woman sitting here before me. What are the odds?"
"You think I'm here for you?" Natasha raised an eyebrow, voice like silk wrapped around a knife. "Please. Don't flatter yourself. I'm working."
"Working?" Aiden offered her a glass and took a long sip from his own. "And here I thought you were just here to drown your sorrows in overpriced alcohol."
"I don't get sorrowful," she replied. "I get even."
Aiden let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to ghost you."
"You wouldn't live long enough to."
He smirked at her, then took another slow sip of his drink. "Fair point."
Natasha gave him a long, deadpan look—half annoyance, half challenge. "Seriously? You're really going to sit there sipping beer like we're on a date while I'm in the middle of an op?"
Aiden gave a lazy shrug, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking another long sip. "I didn't realize I'd crashed a mission. Thought I was just crashing happy hour."
She leaned forward, voice dropping into a sharp whisper, her tone clipped but unmistakably laced with urgency. "That 'stick' you glanced at in the duffel bag? It's not just some artifact or a fancy club for street punks. That thing is pulsing with unstable energy. Dark energy. I don't know where it came from yet, but I've seen enough to know it's killed before—and it'll keep killing if it gets in the wrong hands."
Aiden tilted his head slightly, pretending to stretch, and caught a glimpse of the group. Sure enough, a long, stick-like object poked out from a half-zipped duffel bag. It gave off a faint but distinct aura—one that sent a ripple through his instincts.
Aiden arched a brow, only mildly impressed. "Sounds dramatic."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "That group? They've already left a blood trail through two cities. Innocent people—dead. My mission is to intercept the weapon and trace its origin before it turns into another global crisis."
He nodded slowly, lips pursed in thought. "Huh. Sounds like a you problem."
"Aiden…" she growled, jaw tightening.
"What?" He leaned in, voice lowered just enough to feel intimate, the edge of a smirk tugging at his lips. "You know I'm not really the boy-scout type. I came here to enjoy a drink, maybe flirt with someone out of my league, not punch ghosts and chase sticks buzzing with cursed energy."
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