San Francisco, 601 West Buenavista Avenue.
"Whew, whew..."
A flash of light rippled across the lawn in the villa courtyard, and a blue figure landed without a sound, not even disturbing a single blade of grass.
The deep-blue glow on his chest flickered, and the azure armor covering his body receded like a tide, turning into countless motes of light that converged back into the core, revealing Miles beneath it in casual athletic clothes.
"Mr. Miles, this way."
A familiar figure hurried over—it was Agent Phil Coulson. Wearing his usual professionally warm smile, he led Miles toward the brightly lit study.
"Dr. Pym's signal disappeared seven hours ago." As they walked, Coulson gave a rapid report. "Our agents reached the scene two hours after the incident. The preliminary assessment is that it was an accident."
"Why?" Miles asked as he walked. "Shouldn't the first assumption be that old Pym had been planning this all along?"
"Because the signal vanished instantly." Coulson's tone carried a trace of helplessness. "During his confinement, we required Dr. Pym to wear a specially designed tracker. If he'd really wanted to slip away on his own, with his technology, he could easily have faked a signal source and kept us from realizing anything was wrong for at least a day."
He paused and glanced sideways at Miles, his expression somewhat complicated.
"This is how we deal with 'special people' like you. We know that many coercive measures mean little to you, but mutual trust has meaning too. For everyone's sake, we've all been doing our best to maintain that understanding..."
By the end, the resentment in Coulson's gaze toward Miles was practically overflowing.
"Ah, that's very well said, Mr. Coulson." Miles nodded solemnly in agreement without changing expression. "Don't worry. I spend most of my time