"How did he know?"
Coulson and May exchanged a brief glance.
Evenson’s confidence had done something unexpected.
It had made two veteran S.H.I.E.L.D. agents uncertain.
How had he known there were only two operatives outside?
Coulson’s mind immediately began sorting through possibilities.
A leak inside S.H.I.E.L.D.?
Highly unlikely.
This operation carried Level Six clearance. He and May were both Level Seven agents.
Anyone below Level Six wouldn’t even know the mission existed.
Anyone below Level Seven wouldn’t know who had been assigned to it.
The handful of people with full access had all been thoroughly vetted. Betrayal was never impossible, but persuading a senior S.H.I.E.L.D. officer to leak classified information would require resources far beyond what a struggling curio shop owner possessed.
That left another explanation.
Fire wasn’t his only ability.
Some form of detection.
Telepathy?
Spatial awareness?
After weighing the options, Coulson favored the latter.
If Evenson could truly read minds, he wouldn’t be running a barely profitable curiosity shop.
He’d spend a week in Las Vegas and retire.
His bank account, according to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s investigation, was painfully modest.
There was no point pretending otherwise.
Coulson relaxed slightly.
"You’re right."
"There are only the two of us."
"And we’re not here to recruit you."
"Nor are we here to eliminate you."
"We’re here to understand your situation... and explain a few things you should know."
To both agents’ surprise...
Evenson looked genuinely disappointed.
"Really?"
"What a shame."
May frowned.
"Which part?"
"The part where you aren’t recruiting me."
Evenson answered as if it were obvious.
"Did you think I was disappointed you weren’t trying to kill me?"
He gave her a look that suggested she’d just failed an elementary school exam.
May ignored the insult.
"You actually wanted to join S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
That caught her off guard.
It wasn’t the purpose of today’s visit.
Still...
If someone with abilities like his voluntarily wanted to enlist, headquarters would at least consider it.
His powers were dangerous.
But more importantly...
They were discreet.
That mattered.
Most S.H.I.E.L.D. operations relied on infiltration.
You didn’t approach a terrorist leader carrying an assault rifle and a rocket launcher.
You disguised yourself.
Smuggled in a hidden blade.
A compact pistol.
Poison.
Even then, missions failed.
Some targets insisted on multiple security screenings.
Others demanded visitors strip completely, change into clothing provided on-site, and conduct meetings through bulletproof glass while surrounded by bodyguards.
An ordinary agent could be searched.
An enhanced individual...
Was the weapon.
Good luck confiscating someone who could launch fire from empty hands.
Naturally, joining S.H.I.E.L.D. involved far more than signing paperwork.
There were psychological evaluations.
Security investigations.
Loyalty assessments.
Training.
No exceptions.
"Of course I’d join."
Evenson nodded earnestly.
"I hear government jobs come with excellent benefits."
"My shop isn’t exactly thriving."
"I’ve been looking for a part-time position."
Silence.
Coulson stared.
May stared.
For one brief moment they’d actually been considering whether Nick Fury might entertain the idea.
Then Evenson casually suggested moonlighting for S.H.I.E.L.D. as though he were applying to stock shelves at a supermarket.
May slowly raised one finger.
Specifically, the middle one.
"Oh, go to hell."
"I ought to knock your brain out."
Evenson looked at the gesture approvingly.
"Agent May..."
"That’s not very ladylike."
She leaned across the counter until they were nearly eye to eye.
"I’ll happily show you exactly how ladylike I can be."
Evenson smiled.
"The way you keep saying that..."
"...it almost sounds like a promise."
"I’m looking forward to it."
"Cough."
Coulson cleared his throat before the conversation could deteriorate any further.
May closed her eyes briefly, took a slow breath, and stepped back.
Business first.
Punching him later.
Hopefully.
Coulson straightened his tie.
"Enough joking."
"Mr. Richter."
"From this point forward, I will be asking questions on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D."
"Your answers will directly influence how this organization chooses to deal with you."
Evenson’s smile faded.
"Including whether you decide to kill me?"
"Yes."
Coulson didn’t hesitate.
"Including that."
For the first time since they’d entered the shop...
Evenson became completely serious.
He sat upright.
His playful expression vanished.
"I understand."
"I’ll answer honestly."
"Good."
Coulson nodded.
"We already know your personal history."
"Your family."
"Your education."
"Your finances."
"So let’s skip the background information."
Evenson spread his hands.
"No objections."
Frankly, if S.H.I.E.L.D. had investigated him this thoroughly, they probably knew what color underwear he’d worn as a child.
There was little point pretending otherwise.
Neither agent produced a notebook.
Nor did Coulson consult a prepared questionnaire.
Senior field agents trusted trained memories more than paper records.
Written files could be stolen.
Their minds were harder to compromise.
Coulson asked his first question.
"Mr. Richter."
"How much control do you have over your abilities?"
"More specifically..."
"Is there any possibility they’ll become unstable?"
"My current power?"
Evenson answered without hesitation.
"Complete control."
"My magic obeys my will."
"One hundred percent."
Coulson wasn’t convinced.
Power loss.
Emotional surges.
Accidental activation.
Among enhanced individuals, those were almost expected.
Complete mastery was extraordinarily rare.
"Please answer carefully."
"We’re aware that many enhanced people struggle to control their abilities."
"Occasional loss of control doesn’t automatically make someone dangerous."
"It won’t determine our decision by itself."
Evenson blinked.
"Enhanced?"
A look of realization crossed his face.
"Wait."
"I think I understand."
"You’ve mistaken me for one of those mutants."
"Someone born with powers they barely understand."
He laughed softly.
"Isn’t that what you are?"
Coulson asked.
"There’s nothing shameful about it."
"If anything..."
"...you could call it another stage of human evolution."
"Perhaps."
Evenson shook his head.
"But that’s not what I am."
He spoke quietly.
Yet every word carried absolute certainty.
"I’m a Warlock."
"And what I wield..."
"...is magic."
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