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

“What about her abilities?” Logan asked. “Is it possible for her to learn to control them?”

The professor was silent for a moment. “I won’t offer false hope, but I won’t say it’s impossible either. Anna-Marie’s ability is essentially an energy absorption and transfer mechanism. Theoretically, if she could learn to control the direction and intensity of energy flow, it would be possible to ‘shut down’ this absorption. But that requires extremely high mental control and a great deal of practice.”

"Will you help her?" Lynn asked.

“Of course,” the professor said, “that’s the reason Xavier’s School exists.”

The meeting turned to the Brotherhood. Lynn shared information that Rogue had gleaned from Victor's memories—about the Prophet, about the Committee of Seven, and about their plans to infiltrate the government.

“This is very worrying,” the professor frowned. “If the Brotherhood does indeed have high-level contacts within the government, their influence may be greater than we imagine.”

“We need more intelligence,” One-Eyed said. “Victor’s interrogation might provide some clues, but as Lynn said, he’s just a field agent.”

“And then there’s Little Rascal,” Hank said. “She might have some information in her mind that even Victor himself doesn’t know he knows. Those locked memories, if they could be safely deciphered—”

“That’s too dangerous,” the professor shook his head. “Victor said those memories have protective mechanisms. Anyone who tries to forcibly decipher them could suffer a mental backlash. I won’t let Anna-Marie take that risk.”

"So we just have to wait?" Logan said, dissatisfied.

“Not waiting, but preparing,” the professor said. “The Brotherhood has existed for decades; they won’t collapse just because they lose one Victor. But they will also be more cautious, at least in the short term, and won’t take any large-scale action. We’ll use this time to strengthen Xavier’s defenses, train our students, and gather more intelligence about the Brotherhood.”

After the meeting, Lynn wandered alone in the college corridor. It was late at night, and most students had already returned to their dormitories; the corridor was so quiet that she could hear her own footsteps.

He walked to a window facing the garden and looked out at the moonlight. His thoughts drifted back to the past few days—the chase, the battle, the escape, and all that had been lost and gained.

"Can't sleep?" a voice came from behind.

Lynn turned around and saw Little Rascal standing at the other end of the corridor. She was wearing the pajamas provided by the college, with a long-sleeved jacket over them, and gloves on her hands.

“I was just thinking,” Lynn said. “What about you? Why aren’t you asleep yet?”

"I can't sleep," the little rascal said, moving closer and stopping at the window, maintaining his usual distance. "My mind is a mess."

"Victor's memories?"

“Partly,” Little Rascal said, “but there’s more. A lot happened today, and I need time to process it.”

They stood side by side, looking out at the garden. Moonlight shone on the rose bushes, and fireflies still danced by the pond, though not as many as a few days ago.

"Do you like it here?" Lynn asked.

The little rascal didn't answer immediately. Her gaze fell on the distant pond, her expression thoughtful.

“It’s better than I expected,” she finally said. “The people here… don’t look at me like people outside do. They’re not afraid of me, they don’t treat me like a monster. Today in class, Kurt just sat right next to me, like it was perfectly normal.”

"Because here, that's exactly what's happening."

“Yes,” Little Rascal chuckled softly, “Jin told me she was scared when she first came here. But now she says this is her home, and she can’t imagine life without Xavier’s School. Maybe…maybe one day I’ll feel that way too.”

“You will,” Lynn said. “Give yourself time.”

The little rascal turned to look at him, her different colored eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

Lynn nodded. "Tomorrow. I need to go back to New York, back to my job."

“I know,” Little Rascal said, “you’re an FBI agent, you have your own life. I just…”

She paused for a moment, as if considering her words.

"What are you?"

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Little Rascal said, “not just for saving my life, but also for the way you treated me. You never treated me like a problem to be solved, or a weapon to be controlled. You treated me like a human being. That means a lot to me.”

Lynn felt a surge of warmth in her heart. All the fatigue and worry of the past few days were worth it at this moment.

“You are a person, Anna,” he said, “a brave, strong, and respectable person. Don’t let anyone tell you anything else.”

The little rascal's eyes welled up with tears, but she quickly blinked them away and smiled.

“I will remember,” she said, “and I will become stronger. By the time we meet again, perhaps I will have regained control of my abilities.”

“I look forward to that day,” Lynn said.

They stood there for a while, enjoying the moment of peace. Then the little rascal waved gently and turned to walk back to the dormitory.

“Goodnight, Lynn,” she said.

Goodnight, Anna.

The next morning, Lynn packed his meager belongings and prepared to leave Xavier's School.

He bid farewell to the professor at the main building entrance; the old man's expression remained as gentle and wise as ever.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done, Agent Lynn,” the professor said. “You didn’t just complete a mission; you gave a lost girl hope. That’s more important than any mission.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Lynn said. “Professor, please take good care of her. She’s been through so much.”

“I will,” the professor said. “And Agent Lynn, if you need any help—whether it’s about the fraternity investigation or anything else—Xavier’s doors are always open for you.”

"Thank you, Professor."

Logan drove Lynn to the nearest train station. They drove along the tree-lined avenue out of the gates of Xavier's School and into the outside world.

"What are you planning to do?" Logan asked, lighting a cigar as he drove.

“Back in New York, continue the investigation,” Lynn said. “The Brotherhood is still around; they’ll strike again sooner or later. I need to be prepared.” “Be careful,” Logan said. “Those aren’t ordinary criminals. They have resources, they have capabilities, and there’s a lot we don’t know.”

“I know,” Lynn said, “but that’s my job. To protect people, no matter how powerful the enemy.”

Logan grinned. "You're starting to sound more and more like an X-Men member, kid."

“Maybe I caught it from you guys,” Lynn laughed.

The train station was small, with only one platform and one waiting room. Lynn got off the train and took his backpack from the back seat.

“Take care, Logan,” he said. “If you need any help, feel free to contact me.”

“You too,” Logan said. “Don’t die at the hands of those bastards. I still owe you a drink.”

"I've got it."

Lynn watched Logan's car disappear at the end of the road, then turned and went into the waiting room. The next train to New York was in twenty minutes. He sat down on a bench and looked out the window.

Sunlight streamed onto the platform, illuminating the dust motes floating in the air. In the distance, towards Xavier's School, tall trees swayed gently in the breeze.

Lynn took a deep breath, feeling as if the heavy burden on her shoulders had finally been completely lifted.

Little Rascal is safe and has found a place he can call home. Victor has been captured and, at least for now, won't harm anyone. His colleagues, though injured, will all recover.

This is not the end, but at least it's a good pause.

The train arrived, and Lynn stood up, picked up her backpack, and walked towards the platform.

The train traveled smoothly along the tracks, the scenery outside the window gradually changing from suburban fields to dense towns, and then to towering buildings. Lynn leaned back in his seat, watching the familiar scenery approach little by little, feeling a mix of emotions—the relief of returning home, and a certain indescribable tension.

New York. He'd only been gone for less than a week, but it felt like an eternity.

As the train crossed the bridge over the Hudson River, the Manhattan skyline came into view. The Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, and countless other glass-walled skyscrapers glittered in the afternoon sun. This city never sleeps, always in motion, no matter what's happening elsewhere in the world.

Lynn gazed at the familiar building outlines and recalled his days at Xavier's School. It was quiet, peaceful, and far removed from the hustle and bustle of the world. But this was his battlefield, his true home.

The train slowly pulled into Pennsylvania Station, the hiss of brakes mingling with the noise of passengers packing their luggage. Lynn stood up, picked up his simple backpack, and followed the flow of people toward the train door.

The platform was bustling with people; travelers from all over the world hurried by, dragging suitcases, looking down at their phones, or making loud phone calls in various languages. The air was filled with the metallic smell unique to the subway and the warmth of the crowd, along with the aroma of fried food wafting from a fast food restaurant in the distance.

Lynn walked through the crowded platform toward the exit. His pace was neither fast nor slow, his eyes subconsciously scanning the surrounding crowd—a habit ingrained from years of FBI training that he couldn't turn off even on his leave.

Pennsylvania Station's main hall is a vast underground space, with giant electronic displays hanging from the dome, scrolling through the arrival and departure times of various trains. Long lines form at the ticket windows, and the coffee shop counter is crowded with commuters carrying takeout cups. Several station staff members in yellow vests weave through the crowd.

Lynn walked past a group of tourists taking photos and onto the escalator leading to the ground. Sunlight streamed in from the exit, and he squinted, feeling the warmth of the long-lost New York sun on his face.

The hustle and bustle of Seventh Avenue hit him the moment he stepped out of the station.

Car horns, conversations among the crowd, the guitar playing of street performers, and sirens blaring from who-knows-where—all these sounds intertwined to create a unique urban symphony for New York. The sidewalks were crowded with hurried pedestrians: white-collar workers in suits, mothers pushing strollers, delivery riders speeding by on their bikes, and tourists holding selfie sticks.

Lynn took a deep breath and smiled slightly.

He is back.

He walked north along Seventh Avenue, intending to find a place to eat before returning to his apartment to rest. His ribs were still throbbing, and Hank said they would take several weeks to fully heal, but at least he could walk and breathe normally now.

Shop windows lining the street displayed a variety of goods—designer clothing, electronics, jewelry. Pedestrians hurried past him, each absorbed in their own world, no one noticing the FBI agent who had just survived a life-or-death ordeal.

This is New York. Here, everyone is just an unnamed face in the crowd.

Lynn turned into a side street, intending to take a shortcut to his usual sandwich shop. This street was relatively quiet, with a few small grocery stores and a dry cleaner on both sides, and only a few pedestrians on the sidewalk.

Just then, he heard a scream.

The sound came from about fifty meters ahead. Before his brain could even process it, Lynn's body moved—he quickened his pace and ran towards the sound.

He turned a corner and saw what had happened.

A man in a grey hoodie is pointing a gun at a young woman who is holding an open purse and looks terrified. Another man—clearly an accomplice—is snatching a shopping bag from an elderly woman standing nearby.

"Give me your wallet! Give me everything!" the gunman roared, his voice hoarse and tense.

"Please, please don't hurt me." The woman's voice trembled, and tears streamed down her face.

Lynn's mind assessed the situation in an instant. Two robbers, at least one gun, two victims, and no one else around—no, across the street a middle-aged man was hiding behind a dumpster calling the police on his cell phone, and further away a few passersby were fleeing the scene.

He was unarmed. His new gun was still locked in a safe in his New York apartment.

But he couldn't stand idly by.

“FBI! Put your gun down!” Lynn shouted, pulling his badge from his pocket and holding it high.

The man with the gun suddenly turned his head and pointed the gun at Lynn.

"Damn! He's a cop!" the accomplice exclaimed, releasing the old man's shopping bag.

“Don’t you fucking come any closer!” the gunman roared, his eyes gleaming with madness in the shadow of his hoodie. “I’ll shoot! I swear I’ll shoot!”

Lynn stopped, raising his hands in front of him in a non-threatening posture. His heart was racing, but his voice was surprisingly calm.

“Listen to me, brother, it’s not too late to put down your gun. Robbery is a few years’ sentence, but killing a federal agent? That’s life imprisonment, no chance of parole. You don’t want to go that far.”

"Shut up!" The man's hand trembled, the gun barrel swaying. "You think I'm afraid of you? You're all alone, without even a gun!" (End of Chapter)