Cold glass pressed against my forehead as I stared down at the crashing waves of the Pacific.
Foam swirled against the jagged rocks below the cliffside, relentless and chaotic.
Inside the Malibu mansion, the silence felt ten times heavier than the ocean.
Tony hadn't looked at me in twelve hours.
Ever since he accused me of being Obadiah's spy, the air in the living room had turned to liquid nitrogen.
My chest ached with a familiar, hollow panic that made it hard to breathe.
How could I explain that I solved his equation because my brain worked at warp speed, not because I was selling his secrets?
I couldn't.
Revealing my system-granted Kryptonian biology would only make me look like more of a monster.
Living with the Supergirl System meant carrying a universe of power in a fragile, ten-year-old frame, a constant balancing act between godhood and being dissected in a government lab.
Footsteps echoed on the concrete stairs, sharp and uneven.
Tony emerged from the lower sub-level, a half-empty glass of scotch clutched in his right hand.
His left thumb rubbed the dark, bruised circles under his eyes, his hair a wild, uncombed mess.
Pungent odors of stale alcohol and ozone drifted from his clothes, a testament to another sleepless night spent hiding from his own mind.
He didn't look up, his gaze glued to a tablet displaying Stark Industries stock market projections.
"JARVIS," Tony muttered, his voice raspy and stripped of its usual playboy swagger. "Run a diagnostic on the firewall again. Double-encrypt the server."
"Already completed, Sir," the AI replied, its digital voice echoing softly through the sleek room. "No external leaks have been detected. Miss Scarlet's access remains local."
Snorting, Tony took a long sip of his drink.
He finally cut his eyes toward me, the amber liquid swirling in his glass like a miniature storm.
My hands clenched into fists behind my back, my fingernails biting into my palms so hard the skin threatened to split.
I wanted him to look at me with pride, to see the daughter who wanted nothing more than to protect him, but all I saw was a man drowning in his own paranoia.
"You're still here," he said, his tone flat.
"I live here," I whispered, fighting the tremor in my throat. "And I didn't steal your work, Dad. I was trying to help you."
Laughter, dry and humorless, escaped his lips as he set the glass down on the marble kitchen island with a sharp clink.
"Help me?" Tony walked over, his shoulders tense, a muscle twitching wildly in his jaw. "A ten-year-old girl doesn't just casually solve a quantum stabilization formula to 'help.' Who gave you those parameters, Scarlet? Was it Obadiah? Did he put you up to this?"
Hearing him say those words felt like a physical blow to my chest.
I wanted to scream, to fly up through the glass ceiling and escape the crushing weight of his suspicion.
Anxiety over being discarded, of being thrown back into the cold world where my mother had abandoned me, flared up like an open flame.
Instead, I stood my ground, my hyper-sensitive eyes catching the tiny burst capillaries in his bloodshot eyes.
"No," I said, keeping my voice dangerously quiet. "I did it myself. I'm a Stark. Isn't that what we do?"
For a second, a flicker of something resembling regret crossed his face, but he quickly masked it, taking another long drink of his scotch.
He opened his mouth to reply, but the sudden chiming of the security system cut him off.
---
Before he could answer, the security gates at the end of the driveway hummed.
"Sir," JARVIS interrupted, the interface flashing a warning on the wall. "Mr. Stane has bypassed the main gate. He is entering the elevator."
Tony's posture shifted instantly, the paranoid edge melting into a mask of casual indifference, though his fingers still twitched against his thigh.
He was always playing a role, even in his own home, putting on the armor of the arrogant billionaire before he ever built the iron suit.
He grabbed his glass again, taking a quick, desperate gulp.
"Speak of the devil," Tony muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Metal doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the massive, towering figure of Obadiah Stane.
His bald head gleamed under the recessed LED lights of the foyer.
Dressed in a pristine, bespoke charcoal suit, he exuded an aura of grandfatherly warmth that I knew was entirely manufactured.
"Tony!" Obadiah's booming voice bounced off the glass walls, rich and jovial, filling the entire room.
He stepped out of the elevator, a heavy leather briefcase gripped in his massive hand.
"Obie," Tony replied, forcing a smirk onto his face as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought we agreed Thursdays were for ignoring the board."
Obadiah chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated right through the soles of my shoes.
He walked over, clapping a massive hand onto Tony's shoulder, his fingers digging in just a fraction too hard.
My eyes narrowed as I watched the exchange, my enhanced senses picking up the sudden spike in Tony's heart rate.
Tony was terrified of losing control, and Obadiah knew exactly how to pull his strings, playing the role of the steady father figure Howard Stark never was.
"Board members are breathing down my neck, kiddo," Obadiah said, his eyes scanning the room before finally landing on me.
A cold, calculating gaze lingered on my face, completely at odds with the wide, easy smile plastered on his lips.
My stomach twisted into a tight, icy knot.
I could feel the predatory nature behind his eyes, the look of a man who saw everyone around him as chess pieces to be sacrificed.
"And look at this little flower," Obadiah purred, stepping toward me. "Scarlet, my dear. You've grown since last month. Tony, you really shouldn't keep her cooped up in this glass cage."
I took a step back, my instincts screaming at me to put distance between us.
His presence felt suffocating, like a heavy, unseen weight pressing down on my chest.
Pungent scents of expensive cigars and expensive leather rolled off him, clogging my senses.
"She likes the view," Tony interjected, his voice tight.
He stepped between us, a subtle shield that made a tiny spark of warmth bloom in my chest despite the tension.
Obadiah didn't seem to mind, simply chuckling as he set his heavy leather briefcase down on the glass coffee table.
Heavy thuds of the leather against the glass echoed like a gunshot in my hyper-sensitive ears.
Curiosity, mixed with a sudden, overwhelming wave of hyper-vigilance, flared inside me.
Tony suspected me of being a spy, but the real threat was standing right in front of him, smiling with a mouth full of silver teeth.
If I could find proof of Obadiah's treachery, I could save my father and finally earn the trust I so desperately craved.
---
I focused my gaze on the dark leather of the briefcase.
Concentrating, I let the warmth pool behind my retinas, pushing my vision past the visible spectrum.
Slowly, the leather began to fade, turning translucent, then completely transparent.
My breath hitched in my throat.
Beneath the outer layers of calfskin and brass latches, the contents of the briefcase laid bare before my eyes.
Stacks of financial reports and corporate memos filled the main compartment, but it was the hidden partition at the back that caught my attention.
I forced my vision deeper, burning through the metal lining of the secret folder.
Inside a sleek, metal-lined folder sat a set of detailed blueprints.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Schematics of Stark Industries technology—specifically, the early designs for the Jericho missile guidance systems—lay exposed to my gaze.
But something was horribly wrong.
Scrawled across the margins of the blue-lined paper were heavy, black modifications, written in Cyrillic characters and marked with Soviet-era military symbols.
They were weapon schematics, modified for black-market production.
My eyes traced the signatures at the bottom, matching Obadiah's distinct, sweeping handwriting authorizing the transfers.
Stane wasn't just managing the company; he was actively preparing to sell Tony's life's work to foreign enemies.
He was planning Tony's downfall.
Realization hit me like a physical blow, sending a wave of hyper-vigilant panic roaring through my veins.
If these designs leaked, if they fell into the wrong hands, it would paint a target on my father's back that he could never escape.
A cold sweat broke out across my forehead, my vision snapping back to normal with a painful, disorienting jerk.
I stumbled back a half-step, my hand gripping the edge of the kitchen counter to steady myself.
My mind raced, a hyper-vigilant panic clawing at my throat.
How could I tell Tony?
He already suspected me of being a spy; if I pointed at Obadiah, he would think I was just trying to deflect blame.
I was completely, utterly trapped in my own silence.
Heavy weight of the future pressed down on my shoulders, heavy enough to crush a normal child.
"Is she alright?" Obadiah's voice cut through my racing thoughts, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at me. "She looks a bit pale, Tony. Are you feeding her anything besides takeout and anxiety?"
Tony didn't answer immediately, his eyes darting from me to Obadiah.
"She's fine," Tony said, though his voice lacked its usual certainty. "Just spent too much time reading. She gets that from me."
"Well, make sure she doesn't inherit your bad habits," Obadiah laughed, though his eyes remained dead, cold as a winter morning.
He turned back to Tony, gesturing to the briefcase.
"We need to finalize the shipping manifests for the Eurasian sector. The board is getting anxious about the delays."
"I told you, Obie, the thrust vectors are still unstable," Tony replied, pacing the room, his fingers tracing the edge of his whiskey glass.
His jaw was clenched tight, the skin around his eyes pinched with exhaustion.
"We don't need perfection, Tony. We need results," Obadiah countered, his voice dropping to a low, paternal rumble.
He reached down, snapping the latches of his briefcase closed with a sharp *clack*.
Sharp clicks of the locks made me flinch.
Every instinct in my body was screaming at me to grab Tony, to drag him away from this wolf in sheep's clothing.
But I had to play the part of the quiet, obedient daughter.
I had to remain invisible.
My hands trembled slightly, and I tucked them into the pockets of my oversized sweater to hide the shaking.
I had to wait, to watch, and to protect my father from the shadows until I was strong enough to face the sun.
---
Obadiah picked up his briefcase, his eyes sliding back to me with a cold, analytical intensity.
He stepped closer, his heavy shoes clicking rhythmically against the polished floorboards.
My muscles tensed, ready to spring, ready to use the terrifying, god-like strength hidden beneath my childish frame if he tried anything.
"Well, I should let you get back to your... research, Tony," Obadiah said, his voice dripping with false warmth.
He stopped right in front of me, his massive shadow completely engulfing my smaller form.
A thick, gold pocket watch hung from his vest, glinting under the lights.
Slowly, he reached out his hand, intending to pat my head in a paternal gesture.
I stood frozen, my heart pounding so loudly I was afraid he could hear it.
In that split second, I dialed my senses to their absolute limit, desperate to anticipate any sudden movement.
My hyper-hearing engaged, filtering out the crashing of the ocean waves outside, filtering out the hum of the laboratory below.
Deep inside the folds of his vest, right beneath his breast pocket, a sound emerged.
It wasn't the slow, heavy thud of Obadiah's heart.
Instead, a faint, metallic sound echoed through my ears.
*Tick. Tick. Tick.*
It was too fast, too precise to be a normal timepiece.
My eyes locked onto the golden pocket watch dangling from his chain.
Beneath the ticking of the gears, my hyper-hearing picked up the distinct, high-frequency hum of a live electrical circuit—a miniaturized explosive device hidden right inside the casing.