American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask,” Lynn finally said, “why is Professor Xavier so concerned about your transition? There are certainly many graduates from the college who go on to enter ordinary society.”

Elisa paused for a moment, seemingly considering how to answer the question: "Part of the reason is the nature of my ability. Telepaths are always subject to stricter supervision because our abilities might infringe on the privacy or autonomy of others."

She paused, then continued, “But a more personal reason is… my parents rejected me when I was fifteen because of my fear of mutants. The professor became, in a way, my guardian and mentor. He had a fatherly concern for me.”

Lynn felt a pang of sympathy: "I'm sorry to hear that. How are your parents now? Have they tried to get back in touch?"

“We talk on the phone occasionally,” Alyssa’s voice grew quieter. “Things are much better now, but still complicated. They love me, but they’re still afraid of my abilities, even if they’re so limited. That’s why I need to learn to live in the ‘normal’ world—not only for my career, but also for the possibility of rebuilding a closer relationship with my family someday.”

Lynn nodded, understanding the complex family dynamics: “It’s a respectable goal. You know, my sister went through a similar journey, even though our parents always supported her. But she also had to learn how to navigate a world that doesn’t always accept differences.”

"Did she succeed?" Elisa asked, her eyes sparkling with hope.

“Very successful,” Lynn replied with a smile. “She now owns her own business, has a stable circle of friends and a community, and her abilities are seen as unique professional skills, not as eccentric or threatening. It takes time and is challenging, but entirely possible.”

Elisa seemed inspired by the story: "This is exactly what I want. A life where I can be myself, but not defined by my abilities."

They continued talking for nearly an hour, discussing everything from New York's secure communities to practical issues of handling identity documents, and how to explain certain variant characteristics without arousing suspicion. Lynn found Alyssa to be sharp-minded, adaptable, and possessing both enthusiasm for the future and a realistic understanding of reality.

As the conversation progressed, Lynn began to seriously consider Xavier's request.

“I think I have one last question,” Lynn finally said. “Why do you want to leave the safe environment of the Academy? Here you have support, understanding, and protection. The outside world can be dangerous and unfriendly to mutants.”

Elisa considered the question carefully, then gave an answer Lynn hadn't anticipated: "Precisely because it's too safe here, Inspector Hall. The Institute is a wonderful place, but it's also a bubble. If we want true peace and understanding between humans and mutants, someone has to take that step, live in the other's world, and build a bridge."

Her green eyes gleamed with determination: "I don't want to hide behind a safe wall forever. I want to be part of change, even if it means facing risks and uncertainty."

Lynn gazed at the young woman, feeling a newfound respect and admiration. Her words reminded him of his initial motivation for joining the FBI—not merely to enforce the law, but to change the system and make it more just and inclusive.

“I understand,” he finally said, “and I think it’s a courageous and valuable stance.”

When Professor Xavier returned to his office an hour later, he found Lynn and Elisa still having a heated discussion about the various neighborhoods in New York and their pros and cons for young professionals.

“It seems the conversation is going well,” Xavier observed with a gentle smile.

Lynn and Elisa both turned to him, Elisa's expression full of hope.

“Yes, Professor,” Lynn replied, standing up, “we discussed Elisa’s plans and the challenges they might face.”

“So?” Xavier asked directly, “Have you considered our request?”

Lynn glanced at Alyssa, then returned to Xavier: "I agree to help Alyssa transition to life in New York, offering advice and support to the best of my ability."

A bright smile spread across Elisa's face, while Xavier nodded his thanks.

“However,” Lynn continued, “I need to clarify a few points. First, the nature of my job means I can’t always respond immediately. Second, while I’m happy to offer advice and occasional assistance, Elisa’s daily life and decisions are entirely her own responsibility.”

“Of course,” Xavier agreed, “we fully understand your professional limitations and respect Elisa’s status as an independent adult.”

Elisa stood up and extended her hand to Lynn. "Thank you, Inspector Hall. This means a lot to me."

Lynn took her hand, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. "Just call me Lynn, Alyssa. Now that we're going to be colleagues in some way."

“There’s one more thing,” Xavier added, “Given Elisa’s transition needs, we’d like to provide her with safe and affordable accommodation. The college has an apartment building in Lower Manhattan, primarily for supporting our graduates and staff. We can provide Elisa with a small apartment there that’s safe and reasonably priced.”

Lynn raised an eyebrow: "That sounds like a good arrangement."

“The apartment building is located in Greenwich Village, very close to NYU,” Elisa explained, clearly pleased with the arrangement. “It will make my studies and work arrangements much more convenient.”

“By the way,” Xavier added with a smile, “is your department nearby, Lynn?”

Lynn nodded: "The FBI's Manhattan branch is in Federal Square, not too far from Greenwich Village. Public transportation is convenient."

“Excellent,” Xavier said, looking pleased. “This will make your occasional meetings much more convenient.”

Lynn noticed how meticulously Professor Xavier had arranged everything and couldn't help but wonder if it had all been planned in advance, just waiting for the right time and the right person. But even so, he didn't feel manipulated—everything was transparent and reasonable.

"Should I inform my superiors of this arrangement?" Lynn asked, considering professional ethics and reporting responsibilities.

Xavier considered for a moment: “It’s up to you, Lynn. Technically, this is a private arrangement and doesn’t involve official FBI operations. But if you value transparency or are concerned about potential conflicts of interest, then simply informing your direct supervisor might be the wise thing to do.” Lynn nodded: “I’ll consider the most appropriate course of action.” In his mind, he had already decided to at least briefly explain the situation to Special Counsel West to avoid any potential future complications.

As the discussion concluded, Xavier extended his hand to Lynn: “Thank you again, Lynn. This support means a great deal to our community, far beyond what appears to be a personal arrangement. It represents a bridge between two worlds, a symbol of cooperation and understanding.”

Lynn grasped Xavier's hand, feeling an unusual connection, as if the beginning of some greater mission: "I am honored to have this opportunity, Professor. I believe it will benefit both of us."

After leaving Xavier's office, Lynn strolled through the college corridors, reflecting on everything that had just happened. Before he knew it, he found himself on a spacious balcony overlooking the college's playground, where dozens of students were enjoying their lunch break. Some were playing various games, some were chatting, and some were simply reading or meditating quietly. Although many of them displayed obvious mutant traits or abilities, the overall atmosphere was no different from any ordinary school—young people growing, learning, making friends, and finding their place.

"You accepted that girl's guidance, didn't you?" Wolverine's voice came from behind.

Lynn turned around and saw Wolverine leaning against the balcony door frame, holding a bottle of water in his hand, his expression inscrutable.

"The news travels fast," Lynn commented.

Wolverine shrugged. "It's a small community. And Xavier started considering this arrangement weeks ago, just waiting for the right person."

“So I was chosen,” Lynn said thoughtfully, without any sense of blame, just a confirmation.

“In a way, yes,” Wolverine acknowledged, walking over to Lynn to look down at the playground with him, “but not in the way you think. Xavier does plan to help Alyssa transition to the outside world and does want to find a trustworthy, ordinary person as a contact. But you were chosen based on observation and assessment, not a pre-planned scheme.”

“Elisa sensed me,” Lynn said.

“Part of it,” Wolverine nodded, “but more so your actions. Your performance in Adirondack, your interactions with the rescued mutants, your training in the Danger Chamber—all of these demonstrate a certain…” He seemed to be searching for the right word, “a certain understanding and respect that transcends professional duty.”

Lynn remained silent for a while, processing this information.

“You don’t need to worry about being manipulated, Hall,” Wolverine continued, with a rare directness and honesty. “Xavier may be a master strategist, but he doesn’t play mind games. If you’re not a good fit or unwilling, he’ll accept it and look for other options.”

“I know,” Lynn responded, finding himself genuinely believing it, “and I’ve already agreed. Alyssa is a smart, ambitious young woman. Helping her adjust to life in New York seems like the right thing to do.”

Wolverine's lips curled into a slight smile: "Watch out, Detective. This is how we all start—a small promise, and then suddenly, you find yourself fighting for the mutant cause."

Despite the teasing tone, Lynn could sense the sincerity in Wolverine's words.

“Perhaps this isn’t a bad thing,” Lynn responded, her voice quiet but firm. “Perhaps this is exactly what we need—more connections and understanding that transcend boundaries.”

The two stood on the balcony, silently watching the students below, each lost in their own thoughts.

A quiet night in the underground facilities of Xavier's School of Design.

The lights in the special detention area were dimmed to a minimum, leaving only pale blue emergency lighting that cast cold, eerie patches on the metal walls. This was one of the Academy's most secure areas, designed specifically for holding dangerous, hostile mutants. The cells were reinforced with special materials to withstand attacks and damage from most mutant abilities; the ventilation system operated independently to prevent manipulation of any gases or chemicals; and the entrances and exits were equipped with multi-factor biometric and access control systems to ensure that only authorized X-Men members could enter.

Flame—the captured senior member of the Black Raven—lay flat on a specially made bed in the center of the cell, her eyes closed, her breathing even and slow, seemingly asleep. Her red hair, tinged with an eerie purple under the blue light, was scattered across the white pillow; she wore a neutral gray uniform provided by the academy, and her hands were covered with specially made suppressive gloves that restricted her ability to manipulate fire.

But she wasn't actually sleeping.

Flame's mind was clear and sharp, precisely calculating the passage of each second. She had endured nearly forty-eight hours of captivity since being subdued and brought here by that damned FBI agent—Lynn Hall. During this time, she had remained silent, refusing to answer any questions, carefully observing every detail of the detention area—the guard shift schedules, the routines of the technicians checking equipment, the intervals between meal deliveries and medical examinations.

Now, the time has finally come.

In the control room, a young X-Men member—Bobby Drake, also known as "The Iceman"—was on his night shift. He sat in front of the monitor, occasionally glancing at the screen, but his attention was mostly focused on the tablet in his hands, seemingly reading some research material. After a long and quiet shift, one's vigilance naturally decreases, which was exactly the moment Flame had been waiting for.

Inside the cell, Flame's eyes suddenly snapped open, her sharp gaze immediately focusing on the surveillance camera on the ceiling. She slowly sat up, making sure the movement wouldn't arouse too much suspicion, then gave the camera a weak look.

“Water,” she said hoarsely, her voice just loud enough for the surveillance system’s microphones to pick up, “I need water, please.”

In the monitoring room, Bobby was startled by the sudden noise. He immediately put down his tablet and checked the surveillance footage. Seeing that Flame seemed to be in some kind of unwell state, he hesitated for a moment, then picked up the communication device.

“This is the monitoring room,” he said. “The prisoner seems to need water and may be feeling unwell.”

A brief response came from the other end of the communicator: "Understood, medical personnel are being dispatched to investigate."

Bobby nodded and continued watching the footage. As per standard procedure, he was required to monitor the situation and record any unusual activity until medical personnel arrived.

Inside the detention cell, Flame saw that her request had been received, and a barely perceptible smile appeared on her lips. She continued to feign discomfort, coughing occasionally, looking increasingly weak. For a professionally trained Black Crow agent, this performance was effortless.

A few minutes later, the door to the detention area opened, and a woman in a white medical uniform walked in, carrying a tray with a water bottle and some medical equipment. She was a member of the academy's medical team; Flame had seen her several times during her previous observations. (End of Chapter)