Inheritance of ash

False calm

Tony tilted his head, examining Peter the way someone might examine a frog in a science experiment.

"You know, when you've been accused of as many things as I have — insider trading, emotional unavailability, narcissism, creating homicidal AI, parking in a no-fly zone — you get good at reading lies."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "You parked in a no-fly zone?"

"Multiple times. But this?" Tony gestured vaguely in the air. "This vodka mystery? It's my least favorite whodunnit."

Peter looked at the counter. "You mean the one Vicky already confessed to?"

Tony raised a brow. "You believe that?"

"I mean... yeah."

"Even though she's never drunk anything in front of anyone. Even though she hasn't even touched soda since New Year's. Even though she looked like someone told her the cat died when we confronted her. That's the story you're sticking with?"

Peter swallowed. "Yes."

Tony took a slow sip of his radioactive drink. "Huh."

"Look, Mr. Stark—"

"Oh no, don't 'Mr. Stark' me now. This isn't a father-son moment, kid, it's a chess game. And you're playing checkers."

Peter felt the heat crawl up his neck. "She said it was hers. I believed her."

Tony stepped closer. "And she's not lying to protect someone?"

Silence.

Peter's jaw clenched. He hated how easily Tony could read him. It wasn't fair. The man could build a particle accelerator out of a coffeemaker and a paperclip — of course he could tell when Peter's pulse spiked.

But still.

"She said it was her," Peter repeated, firmer this time. "And I think it's kinda messed up how fast everyone jumped to accuse everyone else."

Tony tilted his head. "You think I was too hard on her."

"I think... I think you didn't even want to believe her. You wanted it to be someone else. Me or Kate or Pietro, anyone else. And that's why you keep circling back — like it's a puzzle you can solve instead of a person who already gave you an answer."

For a second, Tony didn't reply.

He just studied Peter, eyes unreadable behind his tinted lenses.

Then — casually, like they were talking about grocery lists — he said, "Okay."

Peter blinked. "Wait—what?"

"I said okay," Tony repeated. "You believe Vicky. And now, I believe you."

That didn't feel right.

Peter frowned. "You... do?"

Tony smiled, thin and sharp. "Sure. You've convinced me. Vicky drank the vodka. Alone. In the bathroom. Left the bottle where someone might find it. Hid it until asked, and now she's grounded. Sounds airtight."

Peter stared at him.

There was a beat of heavy silence.

Then Tony set down his drink, straightened up, and added, far too casually:

"Which means we'll need to make sure her punishment reflects the severity of the act. Now that we're sure. Might even need to extend it. Revoke a few more privileges. Really reinforce the lesson."

He started walking toward the hall.

Peter's heart dropped straight into his stomach.

"Wait—what? Wait, wait, that's not what I—"