The night wind was cold.
Across from New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art, atop the spire of a Gothic church.
Felicia crouched on a gargoyle's head, dressed in an extremely tight black stealth suit, most of her face concealed behind a half-mask.
She closed her eyes, unable to shake the image of Kingpin's face covered in dark red scars, or the assault rifles pressed hard against the backs of her parents' heads.
"Before dawn."
She took a deep breath and focused inward.
That boiling heat surged through her blood again. In an instant, her dazzling blond hair began losing its color at the roots, turning icy silver-white like moonlight drained of warmth.
Her pupils contracted into predatory slits.
Crack, crack, crack.
The joints of her fingers shifted slightly. Black claws burst from her fingertips, gleaming cold blue in the moonlight.
Across the street stood the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
The top-tier security system outsourced to Stark Industries was fully operational. Beneath the dome, four drones silently patrolled their programmed routes.
Every window was connected to a low-current sensor grid. The exhibition hall's floor was covered in pressure sensors; any change in weight exceeding thirty grams would lock down the entire block.
Security was as tight as it could get.
But to Felicia now, all of it was too slow.
She pushed off with both legs.
Two cracks split the gargoyle's stone head.
A silver-white blur tore through the night wind, crossed more than thirty meters of street, and landed precisely and silently against the museum's marble exterior wall.
Like hot knives slicing into butter, all ten claws sank to their bases into the hard stone with a hiss.
Like a real black cat, she scrambled swiftly up the wall.
Third floor. A ventilation duct opening.
Behind the louvers lay a