The city looked different at dusk. Shadows stretched like fingers across concrete canyons, transforming the familiar into something mysterious. Esdeath sat with one leg dangling over the edge of the apartment building, her mask pulled down around her neck as she watched people scurry home before darkness fully claimed the streets.
Three days had passed since her encounter with the X-Men. Three days of wondering if she'd made the right call by not immediately accepting their offer. The card Jean had given her felt heavier than it should in her pocket, a constant reminder of possibilities and pitfalls.
A subtle shift in air pressure alerted her before the soft sound of feet touching down on the rooftop behind her. Esdeath didn't turn around.
"You really like rooftops, huh?" Jean Grey's voice carried across the space between them, tinged with amusement.
Esdeath glanced over her shoulder, a casual smirk playing across her lips. "Best place to watch the chaos without being part of it."
Jean walked closer, her civilian clothes—jeans and a light sweater—a stark contrast to the uniform she'd worn during their first meeting. The normality of it struck Esdeath as both strategic and oddly vulnerable.
"Mind if I join you?" Jean asked, though she was already settling down beside Esdeath, leaving a respectful distance between them.
"Free country," Esdeath replied, turning her attention back to the streets below. "Though I'm guessing this isn't a coincidence."
Jean smiled. "No, it's not."
Silence stretched between them, comfortable enough that Esdeath almost missed the subtle pressure against her consciousness—like the lightest touch of fingertips against glass. Not invasive, just... present.
The Lust inside her stirred in response, coiling protectively around her thoughts without conscious direction. It wasn't aggression, merely a natural reaction—oil separating from water.
Jean's brows furrowed in confusion, her head tilting slightly as if listening to a song that had suddenly changed key.
Esdeath caught the shift in expression immediately. "Feeling nosy today?"
Jean blinked, surprise flashing across her features before she regained her composure. "I apologize. Professional habit."
"Must be convenient," Esdeath said, her tone light but eyes sharp. "Reading people like open books."
"It's not that simple," Jean replied, studying Esdeath with renewed interest. "Most minds have patterns—emotions, thoughts, memories—organized in recognizable ways. Yours is... different."
"Different how?"
Jean seemed to consider her words carefully. "Like there's something else there. Something that isn't you, but also is."
The accuracy of the assessment sent a chill down Esdeath's spine that had nothing to do with her powers. She kept her expression neutral, but her pulse quickened.
"Maybe I'm just naturally suspicious of people who can read minds," Esdeath deflected.
"It wasn't an accusation," Jean said gently. "Just an observation. Whatever it is—it's protecting you."
Esdeath's fingers flexed involuntarily. "I protect myself."
"Yes," Jean agreed, her gaze steady. "But you don't have to do it alone."
The sincerity in Jean's voice threatened to crack something in Esdeath's carefully constructed armor. She looked away, focusing on a distant siren wailing through the streets below.
"Why are you really here, Jean?" Esdeath finally asked.
Esdeath leaned back on her palms, the concrete rough beneath her fingertips. A smile curved her lips—not the predatory one she wore in fights, but something playful, deliberate. She tilted her head, letting her hair fall just so across her shoulder.
"If you're that interested in me, just say so." Her voice dropped half an octave, a practiced purr. "I'm not that hard to read... unless you're trying too hard."
The shift in tone caught Jean off guard. A flush crept up her neck, visible even in the fading light. She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear and laughed—not the polite, professional chuckle Esdeath expected, but something genuine that softened her entire face.
"I was just curious," Jean admitted, the tension between them easing. "You've got... layers. Like you're made of glass, but it's all frosted over."
The metaphor was too apt, striking closer to home than Jean could possibly know. Esdeath stood in one fluid motion, balancing effortlessly on the ledge. Her body moved with the casual confidence of someone who knew exactly what it was capable of.
"Let's keep a little mystery between us." She walked along the edge, arms slightly extended, each step precise. "Makes things more fun, don't you think?"
Jean watched her, eyes tracking the deliberate performance. Not with suspicion, but with the careful assessment of someone piecing together a complex puzzle.
"Mystery has its place," Jean conceded. "But so does trust."
Esdeath executed a small pivot on the balls of her feet, facing Jean while still perched on the ledge. The six-story drop behind her might as well have been six inches for all the concern she showed.
"Trust is earned," Esdeath countered. "We barely know each other."
"Fair enough." Jean stood, brushing dust from her jeans. "For what it's worth, I think you'd fit in at the Institute. Not because you need fixing—you don't—but because you might find people who understand."
Something flickered across Esdeath's face—a momentary crack in her performance. The idea of belonging somewhere held an appeal she wasn't prepared to acknowledge, even to herself.
"I'll think about it," she said, more sincerely than she'd intended.
Jean nodded, respecting the boundary Esdeath had drawn around her thoughts. But she couldn't help noticing how Esdeath's mind operated—the discipline in her emotions, the strategic way she positioned herself, both physically and conversationally.
It wasn't just unusual for a teenager; it was unusual for anyone outside specialized training.
Most young mutants with new powers were chaotic bundles of emotion and impulse. Esdeath's control was... different. Like someone who had lived much longer than sixteen years.
"The offer stands," Jean said simply. "No pressure, no timeline."
She turned to leave, then paused. "By the way, we never did get your name. Your real one, I mean."
Esdeath's smile returned, sharp at the edges. "No, you didn't."
Jean laughed again, shaking her head. "Touché. I guess I'll see you around, Mystery Girl."
As Jean departed, Esdeath remained on the ledge, perfectly balanced between two worlds—the one she'd left behind, and the one stretching before her, full of possibilities and pitfalls.
The rooftop fell silent as Jean's footsteps retreated. Esdeath watched her for a moment, calculating the risk-reward ratio of what she was about to do. Her mind—the part that was still Mark—screamed that getting close to the X-Men was dangerous. Too many telepaths, too many ways to be exposed.
The part that was pure Esdeath, however, saw opportunity.
"Wait," she called out, her voice cutting through the evening air.
Jean paused, turning with a questioning look.
Esdeath hopped down from the ledge and closed the distance between them with measured steps. She settled against an air conditioning unit, gesturing for Jean to join her.
"Maybe I'm being too cautious," Esdeath admitted as Jean sat beside her, their shoulders nearly touching. The proximity sent a subtle current through her, the Lust within responding to Jean's presence—not sexually, but as recognition of power meeting power.
"Caution keeps people alive," Jean replied, her voice soft. "Especially people with abilities like ours."
Esdeath studied Jean's profile, the way the last rays of sunlight caught in her hair. "Tell you what—you can try reading me again if we ever go out for coffee."
Jean turned, surprise evident in her expression before it melted into something more playful. She raised a single brow, lips curving upward. "Is that a challenge or a date?"
The question hung between them, charged with possibilities. Esdeath felt a flutter of nervousness that had nothing to do with her powers and everything to do with the woman beside her.
She shrugged, letting her eyes twinkle with mischief. "Why not both?"
Jean laughed, the sound warm and genuine. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small notepad, scribbling something before tearing off the page.
"Here," she said, holding out the paper. "My personal number. Not the school's."
Esdeath took it, their fingers brushing momentarily. "Bold move, Professor."
"I'm not your professor yet," Jean countered, rising to her feet with fluid grace. "And I like bold moves."
With that, she stepped back, her body lifting from the rooftop as telekinetic energy enveloped her. Esdeath watched her ascend, a silhouette against the darkening sky, before Jean banked toward the north and disappeared between buildings.
Esdeath remained seated, turning the paper between her fingers, the faintest grin playing on her face. Perhaps getting closer to the X-Men wasn't such a bad idea after all. n
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