“No,” Tony sighed. “A motorized one.”
Tony snatched it. “Where was it?”
“It’s non-stick?”
Tony took a deep breath. “New rule: no one under twenty-five touches anything platinum. And Peter—you’re on fridge-cleaning duty for a month.”
“Analysis complete: peanut butter, hydrogenated oils, and a trace amount of grape jelly.”
One by one, they were questioned. Peter swore on Aunt May’s churro recipe that he never touched the drawer. Rhodey called Tony a “drama queen” via comms. Bruce admitted he heard a soft click around 11 PM but assumed it was the coffee machine.
The team exchanged glances. The Excalibur was Tony’s latest pride: a retractable vibranium-alloy blade system designed to attach to any Avenger’s suit. But without the encrypted smart card—a thin, platinum-encased key—the weapon was a glorified paperweight.
“You used a billion-dollar encryption key as a spreader .”
