"No way. Just a fluke," Steven muttered, glancing at the car key in his hand, its weight heavier than it should've been.
He shook it off, forcing his focus. *Pawn shop. Gotta move.* Knickerbocker Avenue was close—ten minutes if he hustled. He started walking, the city's hum fading into the background.
Rounding a corner, he froze. Up ahead, a woman stood, arms crossed, leaning against a lamppost. Maria. Again.
Steven slowed, brow creasing. "Thought you were headed home."
Maria's lips curved, sharp and knowing. "Was. Then I got curious about why you're bolting like you stole something. You don't seem the type to play hero for kicks."
His hand grazed his pocket, the key's outline pressing against his thigh. "Just stretching my legs. Needed air."
"Sure." Her eyes flicked to his hand, then back up, pinning him. "You're a lousy liar, Steven. What's the hurry? Hot date?"
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. She was too quick, peeling through him like cheap paint. If he spilled about the keys, he was done. "Looking for a pawn shop," he said, keeping it vague. "Got some junk to sell."
Her brow arched. "Pawn shop? What kind of junk?"
His brain scrambled. The Rolls-Royce keys were a non-starter—too risky to mention. She'd smell a lie before he finished it, especially if she had that agent vibe he was starting to suspect. "Old watch," he blurted. "Family thing. Need cash more than memories."
Her lips twitched, barely hiding a smirk. "A watch. Right. You're gripping that pocket like it's your only friend—must be one hell of a watch."
He shrugged, faking a grin. "Know any pawn shops around? I'm turned around."
Maria studied him, then jerked her head west. "Knickerbocker's that way. Gold & Grit's open late. They'll take what you've got."
"Thanks," he said, brushing past. "Catch you later."
"Steven." Her voice hit like a warning shot. He glanced back. "Whatever you're unloading, watch your back. Bushwick eats flashy mistakes for breakfast."
He nodded, throat tight. "Noted. See ya, Maria."
She didn't answer, just watched him with that steady, unreadable stare. He walked faster, pulse hammering, aiming for Knickerbocker. Maria—random stranger or not—smelled like trouble he couldn't afford.
Sell the keys, grab the cash, and vanish before anyone else started sniffing around.
A few blocks later, the flickering neon of Gold & Grit buzzed into view. Time to ditch the keys and pray Maria wasn't trailing him.
---
Maria sat in her sedan, parked a block off, fingers drumming the wheel. The tablet on her lap glowed, showing Steven's file—or lack of one. No record, no aliases, no trace. A ghost.
"Report him?" she muttered, frowning at the screen. S.H.I.E.L.D. would say yes—unknowns were threats, and threats got tagged. But her instincts pushed back. Steven wasn't malice. Edgy, sure. Hiding something, no question. Dangerous? Not to her.
She leaned back, replaying his words, his nervous ticks. The "watch" story was flimsy—his eyes had darted too much.
Her gaze drifted to the street where he'd vanished around the corner. She could tail him. Probably should, just to pin down what he was really doing at that pawn shop.