“Marie,” the woman said, her voice smooth, almost pleasant.
“My name is Emma Frost. I believe we have quite a lot to talk about.”
She settled into the chair across from her, crossing one leg over the other, unhurried about it.
For a few seconds she said nothing, just studying the girl in front of her — blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a pair of gloves so unassuming that no one would look twice unless they knew to look.
The undersleeves peeking out beneath her cuffs were just as easy to miss.
“So. What questions do you have?” Emma asked.
“You’re free to ask.”
Marie opened her mouth—
“Let me save you the trouble,” she continued, speaking smoothly right over her.
“You want to know if I’m going to hurt you.”
She leaned forward just a fraction.
“I’m not. You also want to know about the boy. Marcus, was it?”
Marie’s mouth went dry.
“How do you—”
“I know things. That’s rather the point of me.” She leaned back, entirely at ease.
“Whether he’s in trouble depends on quite a lot. Mostly on you.”
She gave her a smile, enjoying the look on her face.
This was what she loved most — people like Marie were so easy to bend, to use as leverage against someone else.
No struggle, no mess.
Just a quiet threat and total compliance.
It was the best feeling in the world.
Emma rose from her seat and moved behind the chair, leaning against it slightly for support.
“Do you like him?” she murmured, low, right at her ear.
Marie’s expression flickered.
She looked down quickly, trying to hide it — too late.
A soft chuckle came from behind her.
“You’re so cute…”
“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt him — but only if you do exactly as I say. And if you don’t—” She paused, then leaned down, lips close to her ear, and whispered something.
She nodded quickly, agreeing to whatever had just been said.
Then, slowly, the gate shut behind her, and Emma walked out.
Outside, several people in white coats bearing the Frost International logo were waiting.
“I want to know what her mutant ability is by morning.”
…
The guard didn’t say much — just unlocked the door and gestured for Marcus to follow.
The hallway was the same sterile white as everywhere else in the building, fluorescent lights humming overhead.
He was led into a room nearly identical to the one Marie had been in: bare, cold, a single table, a single chair.
He’d barely settled into the seat when the door opened again.
Emma Frost walked in like she owned the place — because, as far as he could tell, she probably did.
She didn’t say anything at first.
Just pulled out the chair across from him, sat down, and looked at him.
And kept looking.
A minute passed.
Then two.
Marcus shifted in his seat, waiting for her to say something — anything — but she just watched him, her expression unreadable, faintly amused at whatever was going on behind her eyes.
Two more minutes crawled by with neither of them saying a word.
Marcus let it sit for a moment before he decided to just say what was on his mind.
“You’re not getting anywhere, are you?”
Emma’s eyes flicked to his face, the faintest crease forming between her brows — the first real reaction he’d gotten out of her since she walked in.
“Excuse me?”
“In my head.” He tapped a finger against his temple, keeping his tone light, almost bored.
“Whatever you’re doing. It’s not working. You can stop straining yourself.”
For half a second, something flickered behind her composed expression — surprise, quickly smoothed back over.
She leaned back in her chair, arranging her face into something unbothered, like she hadn’t just been caught off guard.
“And what makes you think I’m straining myself?”
“I’m guessing your range doesn’t reach as far as you’d like. Or maybe it’s just me. Either way — not happening.”
Something like genuine amusement crossed her face, gone as quickly as it appeared.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe not,” he said, shrugging.
“But I know you haven’t gotten a single thing out of my head, and it’s bothering you.”
Emma tilted her head slightly.
Her jaw was tight for just a second before it relaxed — small, but he caught it.
He’d landed closer to the truth than she wanted to admit.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, more to herself than at him.
“Not S.H.I.E.L.D. tech. That much’s obvious.” She tapped one nail against the table,
She looked back up at him.
Marcus kept his face blank.
Wait.
The tech she’d mentioned, though — that actually made sense.
If mutants existed in this world, there was no way S.H.I.E.L.D. would just sit back and let people walk around reading minds and pulling off superhero-tier nonsense without some kind of countermeasure.
He wasn’t even that shocked to learn they had something that rang an alarm whenever a mutant tried using telepathy or mind control.
And that probably explained why Frost International was still playing second fiddle to Stark — she couldn’t use her powers freely without exposing herself.
Which meant this world wasn’t quite as chaotic as he’d assumed.
Emma leaned back in her chair, arms crossing loosely beneath her chest.
“Are you a mutant?”
“Nope.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Marcus shrugged.
“Not really my problem.”