PROLOGUE
The Key to Everything

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AT NIGHT, NEW YORK CITY was a dream. No matter how late the hour, no matter how thick the darkness that shrouded the sky was—though never as bad as back home, considering the light from the skyscrapers that remained on twenty-four-seven—there was always activity. Sure, the traffic may not be as bad as it was during the day, where it might take you hours to get out of a jam, but a steady stream of cars still turned down the streets. Stores remained open when they should have long since been closed, making it easy for stragglers to buy a sandwich or a coffee instead of sleeping. The homeless—and there were far too many of them, even with the efforts of the Avengers and F.E.A.S.T to get them off the streets—were slumped over in their makeshift shelters, bundling up in ratty blankets or garbage bags. College students returning home from bars and employees just finishing a late-night shift headed down the sidewalks, keeping a buddy with them to evade the muggers on the prowl. It was a surreal feeling, seeing so much activity when there really should have been none—when there had been none, back at home. And it was even more so when you realized you were partaking, too.

When her new uncle had woken her up at two in the morning, Cecelia had been astonished by all of the sounds occurring outside her window. She wasn't used to the city that never slept. At home—her old home, her real home, the home she'd never return to—come midnight, everything went quiet. All of the lights turned off, too. Going outside at any hour past that meant pure black, with only nocturnal animals to keep you company.

Uncle had told her to get dressed, and Cecelia obliged blearily, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She folded her Hello Kitty pajamas neatly and tucked them under her pillow. It was brand-new, like most of the things in her new house. It hadn't been worn into softness yet.

Now, hair slightly greasy, she stumbled forward, trying not to wince at the way Uncle gripped her arm. She could walk on her own, but apparently, she was too slow for him. So, he'd resorted to holding on tight enough to hurt.

They'd been on the main streets for half an hour, and, to ignore the pain, Cecelia had spent that time marvelling at how big everything was. Every building reached up, up, up, as if attempting to burst through Earth's atmosphere. It made her feel like Alice in Wonderland, downing the bottle labelled Drink Me. It made her feel like Jack in the land full of giants.

Things weren't just big, though. They were also bright. Billboards shone brightly as the Moon, gas station and motel signs flared with neon light, and every car that whizzed by did so with blinding headlights. Cecelia was tempted to ask for sunglasses, but she didn't want to bother Uncle. He seemed like he was in such a hurry.

For what, she still didn't know.

They turned down a quieter street, and things got a little more bearable—at least in terms of activity. It did stink, though—garbage and diesel and cigarette smoke all combined into one horrifying stench that invaded Cecelia's nostrils. She held her breath. Her feet splashed through a puddle, and some of the water sunk into her socks. She winced as the abrupt cold tickled her feet.

"Where are we going, Uncle?" she finally asked. It was still strange to call him that. It had only been a month since she'd become an Olivier—and, by extension, his niece. Even so, he'd taken an interest in her. He'd taken her to the park multiple times, bought her ice cream, and gave her the teddy bear she snuggled with every night. Mostly, though, he handed her scraps of technology. He liked to see what she did with them, how she fixed them.

Uncle's grip tightened on her arm in warning, and Cecelia resisted the urge to make him let go. It would be so easy, now, but it was also rude. He'd made sure to tell her that early on.

"We're going to see some friends, my little Tinkerer," he finally responded. "They're very interested in what you can do."

I can do a lot of things, Cecelia thought. She'd been told multiple times she was intelligent for her age, or that she was bound to do great things. She supposed that was true. Only ten years old, and she'd already reprogrammed her alarm to wake her up with a personalized message and added an ingrained timer into her electric toothbrush. Those hadn't been too hard to do, but apparently, girls her age didn't usually do that. Nor did they fix broken pieces of technology their uncles gave them.

Most of the time, she didn't let it get to her head. That was another thing she'd been told was rude. This time, it had been back in foster care. But Uncle seemed to disagree with that rule. Even her new Mom and Dad did, to some extent.

She didn't ask any further questions, even though she was bursting with them. Who were these friends or her uncle? What did they want to see her do? Why did she have to wake up at two in the morning to meet them?

Instead, she just walked. Her foot crunched over a discarded can of soda, and a lone Iron Man balloon waved at her from where it was tied to the handle of a bench. At the corner, a homeless man—maybe Uncle's age—was clutching a worn coat to his shoulders, shivering beneath a drippy awning. A hat lay at his feet. A five-dollar bill and a few coins were pathetically heaped in the bottom.

She tugged at Uncle's sleeve. "Uncle, can't we help him?"

Uncle blinked, turning his face down to her. He followed his niece's gaze to the homeless man, brow furrowing. It seemed he hadn't even noticed his presence.

"We don't have time, Cecelia," he said shortly. "Besides, if we stopped to help every sorry sap in New York City, we'd be taking their place in the streets within a day. Let them fend for themselves. Now, come on."

Cecelia did, but only because Uncle was still grasping her arm. As she shuffled past the homeless man, she dug through her pockets. Unfortunately, there was nothing in there but lint.

Sorry, she thought.

A few more turns, and Uncle finally pulled Cecelia to a stop and released his grip on her arm. As Cecelia rubbed it, he reached out and entered a combination on a keypad against the wall. When he pressed the final button, it lit up with green, and the garage door they were standing in front of groaned open.

They entered a warehouse, wide and spacious. It was nearly as large as the Olivier's apartment and packed to the brim with machinery and people. A conveyor belt took up a large portion of the space, crates rolling down its length. Multiple desks were scattered throughout the area, and each one had someone sitting at it, power tools whirring as they worked on whatever was in front of them. Occasionally, one shouted to another to retrieve a specific part. It was noisy, cluttered, and somehow comforting.

"Rich!" a man called, walking over. He held a coffee cup in his gloved hands, and his eyes sparkled at the sight of them. He was white, just like Uncle, with a receding hairline and a wrinkled forehead. His clothes were oil-stained and patchy, but he didn't seem to mind. Neither did Uncle, who shook his hand enthusiastically.

"Adrian, good to see you again," Uncle responded. "Sorry it's been a few days, I had to get a few things sorted out."

"Oh, no worries, no worries." The man patted Uncle on the shoulder. Then he looked down at Cecelia. When he smiled, he showed slightly yellowed teeth. "This is her, I presume?"

"Indeed. This is Cecelia. Say hello to Mr. Toomes, won't you, Cecelia?"

Cecelia raised her hand into an awkward wave. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Toomes."

The man—Toomes—crouched down so he was at eye-level to Cecelia. She resisted the urge to shrink away. "Your uncle and I are very good friends," he said. "We've been working on something very special. And he tells me that you can help with it."

"I can?"

"Well, I was told you have quite the gift with technology, don't you? You managed to fix a broken motherboard last week?"

"It was no big deal."

"On the contrary; one of my old employees was working on that for a month. You managed to do it in a week. I'd say that's pretty extraordinary."

Don't let it get to your head. "I guess."

"And there's another thing, isn't there? Something you can do that nobody else can?"

Cecelia shrugged. "Yeah."

"You wanna show me? It'll be just me; you can demonstrate to the others when you're comfortable. I promise, I don't bite."

Cecelia glanced at Uncle. "It's okay?"

"Of course, Cecelia," he responded. "I give you my permission."

"Okay." Cecelia inhaled, taking in as deep a breath as she could. Then she headed back over to the garage door. It was closed, now. She knocked on it, ensuring it was solid.

Then she tensed every muscle in her body, letting them be felt. Then, one by one, she released, letting them become something else. Lighter than air.

She reached out her hand again, letting it approach the door with excruciating slowness. Her fingers brushed the metal, but when she brought her hand forward, her palm didn't collide with it. Instead, it slipped right through, burying up to her knuckles. She reached further. Her whole hand disappeared through the door. Then her elbow, then her shoulder. Then all of her as she stepped right through.

Knowing Uncle and Toomes were waiting, she only gave herself a moment on the abandoned street before she stepped back inside. Uncle was proud as usual, but Toomes had blanched. As she approached him again, she willed her body solid.

"I can go through things," she explained, even though the demonstration had pretty much showcased that. "Most things. Some materials are harder than others, but with practice, I can manage them, too."

Toomes's shocked expression slowly morphed to genuine awe. "Ain't that something," he murmured. Then he turned to Uncle. "You were right. She will be useful."

"And we haven't even seen what she can do with our tech yet," added Uncle gleefully.

"You really hit the jackpot here, Richard."

Cecelia glanced from man to man and shoved her hands into her pockets. She was used to people talking about her as if she wasn't there, but that didn't mean it made her any less uncomfortable. To distract herself, she glanced past the two men and back to the workshop. A lot of what the others were working with seemed to be a foreign glowing purple material. Already, her hands ached to take it apart and see what it was made of.

"Cecelia." Uncle's voice brought her back to the present. She looked back to him, rubbing at her eyes. The night was catching up to her. "Come here. Let me show you what Adrian and I have been working on."

Dutifully, Cecelia followed, ignoring the stares of the other workers. She was shown to one of the desks, which had the same glowing purple material on it that everyone had been tinkering with. It captivated her, drowning out everything else.

"What is it?" she asked. Toomes smiled.

"This, my dear, is the key to everything."

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HAVEN: a nice short and sweet prologue to start us off. i promise the actual chapters are longer! i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

thanks for reading <333