Smell of burnt kerosene always made my stomach turn.
Tony didn't seem to mind it.
He was humming a classic rock track, his grease-stained fingers dancing over the exposed wiring of the experimental Stark-V8 jet turbine.
Behind him, the massive hangar doors stood half-open, letting in the cool breeze of the Pacific Ocean.
Sitting on a metal stool ten feet away, I pretended to study my fifth-grade history textbook.
In reality, my eyes were locked on the spinning titanium shaft of the engine.
My vision flickered, shifting effortlessly into the electromagnetic spectrum, then deeper into the physical density of the metal.
Underneath the polished silver exterior of the third rotor blade, a microscopic fracture was yawning open.
It was a hairline structural defect, invisible to the naked eye.
But to my Kryptonian sight, it looked like a jagged canyon tearing through the heart of the metal.
Inside my mind, a cold, semi-transparent blue status window floated, a constant reminder of the cosmic anomaly that bound me to this fate.
System notifications remained silent most of the time, but its presence was undeniable, a quiet anchor in my subconscious.
It displayed a simple, clean interface showing my current physical adaptation rate: 12% Kryptonian physiology unlocked.
Even at a mere twelve percent, I was already a god among insects.
I could lift a semi-truck, run faster than a bullet, and see through solid lead if I focused hard enough.
But the system also brought a heavy burden of survival.
If the World Security Council ever caught wind of what I was, they wouldn't hesitate to put me on a dissection table.
Hydra would turn me into a brainwashed weapon, a physical god serving their dark vision.
My only shield was my father, and his survival was my survival.
To prevent that, I had to be indispensable to him.
I had to be his perfect daughter, his helper, his shield—all while pretending to be a normal, fragile human child.
"Tony, we should pull the diagnostic on the compressor hub again," I said, keeping my voice casual as I closed my book.
He didn't even look up from his wrench.
"Baby girl, I ran the diagnostics twice," he muttered, biting down on a silver solder wire.
"Stark titanium doesn't have flaws."
He spat the wire out and grinned, his young, unburdened face radiating that insufferable genius confidence.
"Besides, Obie is coming back tomorrow to check the specs, and I want this baby screaming by sunset."
Anxiety twisted my gut at the mention of Stane's name.
"Just humor me," I pressed, sliding off the stool and walking over to his side.
"One more scan."
Tony chuckled, reaching over to ruffle my hair with a gloved hand, leaving a streak of black grease near my temple.
"You're getting paranoid, kiddo."
"Leave the engineering to the guy with the degree, okay?"
He turned back to the console, flipping a series of heavy toggle switches.
Red lights flickered to life along the engine's housing.
A low, bass-heavy hum began to vibrate through the concrete floor of the hangar.
He was adjusting the magnetic bearings on the main compressor shaft, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Solder smoke curled upward, carrying the sharp, chemical scent of rosin core.
I watched his hands—the same hands that would one day build a suit of armor in a cave to save his own life.
Right now, those hands were grease-stained and calloused, working on a project designed to prove his genius to a board of directors that already secretly plotted his downfall.
Obadiah Stane's shadow hung over this entire room, even if Tony couldn't see it.
I could still remember the low, rhythmic hum of the modified Soviet weapon blueprints I had scanned in Stane's briefcase yesterday.
It was a betrayal in the making, a slow-burn conspiracy that would eventually lead Tony to Afghanistan.
But I couldn't tell him.
How could a ten-year-old explain knowing about secret weapons deals without exposing the terrifying truth of her own existence?
I had to play the long game, protecting him from the shadows while letting him believe he was the one protecting me.
My super-hearing flared painfully.
Every mechanical click sounded like a gunshot in my ears.
Inside the turbine casing, the air was being sucked in with a deafening roar.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, forcing my brain to filter out the high-frequency screech of the intake fans.
When I opened them, the microscopic fracture in the rotor had doubled in size.
It was spreading like dry ice cracking under hot water.
"Tony, turn it off!" I yelled over the rising whine of the engine.
He didn't hear me.
He was too busy adjusting the fuel-to-air ratio on his monitor, a proud, maniacal grin spreading across his face.
"She's purring, Scarlet!" he shouted back.
"Look at those thrust numbers!"
Metal screamed.
It wasn't a sound a normal human could detect over the thunder of the jet engine, but to me, it was a death knell.
Rotor blade three snapped.
Centrifugal force seized the jagged shard of titanium, converting it instantly into a lethal projectile.
It punched through the heavy steel casing of the engine block like wet paper.
Directly in its path stood Tony, his back turned, completely oblivious as he reached for a notebook.
Time ground to a halt.
Dust motes suspended in the air froze in place.
My Kryptonian physiology took over before my conscious mind could even process the terror.
I didn't think about the secret I was keeping.
I didn't think about the risk of exposure.
My only thought was that my father was about to die.
Moving with explosive speed, I propelled myself off the concrete floor.
Air cracked with a miniature sonic boom as I crossed the ten-foot gap in a microsecond.
I threw my body directly in front of him.
Titanium met flesh.
Or rather, titanium met the unbreakable, solar-dense cells of my collarbone.
A deafening metallic clang echoed through the hangar, sharp and violent enough to drown out the engine's roar.
Kinetic energy of the impact pulsed through me, but there was no pain.
It felt like nothing more than a flick of a finger against my chest.
But the force of my leap carried me straight into Tony, tackling him hard to the ground.
We crashed onto the hard concrete, rolling together as the engine behind us violently sputtered and choked, black smoke pouring from its torn casing.
Silence descended on the hangar, broken only by the hiss of escaping steam.
Tony groaned under me, his arms wrapped instinctively around my waist.
He shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears.
"Scarlet?" he gasped, his voice tight with panic.
"What the hell just happened? Are you okay?"
My mind raced faster than a supercomputer.
I was laying on top of him, completely unscathed.
A projectile that should have decapitated me had just ricocheted off my body.
If I got up right now and dusted myself off, he would know.
He would ask questions I couldn't answer.
He would see me as a monster, an alien, something to be feared or studied.
I couldn't lose him.
I couldn't let him look at me with fear.
So, I screamed.
I clutched my right shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut as I forced tears to well up in my eyes.
I rolled off him onto the cold concrete, writhing as if my collarbone had been shattered into a million pieces.
"Ahhh! My shoulder!" I cried out, my voice cracking with simulated agony.
"It hurts, Tony! It hurts!"
Tony scrambled to his knees, his face completely drained of color.
Grease and sweat smeared his forehead as his hands hovered over me, trembling violently.
He didn't know where to touch, terrified that moving me would make the injury worse.
"Oh my god, oh my god," he muttered, his brilliant mind utterly failing him in the face of my supposed pain.
"Jarvis, call an ambulance! Now!"
A smooth, British voice echoed from the ceiling speakers.
"Dispatching emergency services immediately, Master Stark."
Tony leaned down, his chest heaving as he tried to stabilize my shoulders.
"Hey, hey, look at me, Scarlet," he pleaded, his voice cracking.
"Stay still. Don't move. You're going to be okay. I've got you."
Guilt sliced through my heart, sharper than any piece of flying metal.
Seeing him this terrified, this broken by my pain, made me want to vomit.
But the alternative was worse.
I had to keep playing the part.
I sobbed, letting out a ragged breath, burying my face in his grease-stained shirt.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, letting the fake tears run hot down my cheeks.
"I just... I saw it flying, and I reacted."
Tony's hands tightened on my arms, his grip fiercely protective.
"You stupid, brilliant, heroic kid," he choked out, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"Why did you do that? You could have died. You took the hit for me."
He was trembling so hard I could feel the vibrations through his chest.
This was the man who would eventually face gods and armies, now completely undone by a child's injury.
I kept my eyes squeezed shut, whimpering softly to maintain the illusion.
While he was frantically whispering reassurances, my eyes drifted over his shoulder.
I looked at the floor where the impact had occurred.
A massive chunk of the titanium turbine blade lay resting near the base of the workbench.
I blinked, focusing my vision on the shattered metal.
My heart stopped.
That blade hadn't just fractured upon impact with my collarbone.
Bubbling outward in a sickeningly smooth, liquefied curve, the edges of the thick titanium were warped.
As Tony frantically calls for an ambulance, Scarlet glances at the shattered turbine blade on the floor and realizes it didn't just break—it melted from the sheer kinetic heat of her skin.