Nick Fury didn't summon people.
Summoning implied courtesy.
He arranged circumstances.
The parking garage was chosen for its cameras—old ones, analog backups that couldn't be remotely accessed. The time was chosen because most agents were asleep or pretending to be. And the escort was chosen because Maria Hill asked the fewest questions.
He stood beside the black SUV, coat hanging heavy on his shoulders, when the shadows shifted.
That alone told him he'd made the right call.
"You're early," Fury said, not turning around.
"I didn't want to be late," the man replied from somewhere to his left. Not hidden. Not visible. Present.
Fury turned.
The man looked exactly like the file suggested—ordinary, tired, alert in the way people got when they hadn't slept enough and couldn't afford to.
"Nick Fury," the man said. Not as a greeting. As confirmation.
"That's Director Fury to you," Fury replied. "And you're the problem Romanoff didn't file."
The man winced. "I was hoping you'd hear about me later."
Fury smiled thinly. "Hope's not a strategy."
They studied each other in silence.
Finally, Fury spoke. "You told one of my agents SHIELD is compromised."
"Yes."
"You didn't bring proof."
"Not proof that would survive daylight."
"And yet," Fury continued, "you knew where to look."
The man nodded once. "Because I know what happens if you don't."
Fury's good eye sharpened. "Careful."
"HYDRA stays buried," the man said calmly. "Until it doesn't. And when it surfaces, you lose more than an organization. You lose people who trust you."
That landed.
Not because Fury believed him—yet—but because the man didn't sound like he was trying to convince anyone.
"You got a name?" Fury asked.
A pause.
"Not one that exists here," the man said. "You can call me whatever you need for the paperwork."
Fury grunted. "I don't like ghosts."
"Neither do I," the man replied. "But I didn't choose to be one."
From a nearby rooftop, Natasha watched the meet without intervening.
That alone was new.
Fury didn't meet unknown variables without backup. The fact that he'd allowed this—allowed her to stay out of it—meant he was testing more than one person tonight.
She kept her breathing slow, eyes scanning for movement that didn't belong.
Nothing yet.
"Here's how this works," Fury said. "I don't act on predictions. I act on evidence. You want me to burn my own house down, you're gonna need more than foresight and bad vibes."
"I know," the man said. "That's why I didn't come to you first."
Fury's jaw tightened. "You went through Romanoff."
"I went through the person least likely to panic."
Fury stared at him, then let out a quiet laugh. "Smart. Dangerous. Usually those come together."
He stepped closer.
"You say HYDRA's inside SHIELD," Fury continued. "Fine. Prove it without tipping them off."
"I can't," the man said.
Fury's smile vanished.
"But you can," the man added. "Because you already suspect it. You just haven't allowed yourself to say it out loud."
Silence.
That was the moment Fury decided not to dismiss him.
"Give me one thing," Fury said. "One verifiable fact. No future talk. No hypotheticals."
The man didn't answer immediately.
Then: "Project oversight committee seventeen," he said. "Audit its budget reallocations from the last five years. Look at who signs last—not who authorizes first."
Fury memorized it instantly.
"And if you're lying?"
"Then I disappear," the man replied. "And you never hear from me again."
Fury nodded once. "Fair."
Natasha watched Fury turn away, conversation clearly over.
She didn't move until the SUV drove off.
Only then did she drop down behind him.
"You survived," she said.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Barely."
She studied his face. "He didn't dismiss you."
"No," he agreed. "Which means things just got worse."
"That's one way to see it," she said. "Another is that you're still alive."
They stood there, city humming around them.
"This doesn't make us safe," she continued. "It makes us useful."
He nodded. "I can live with that."
She turned to leave, then paused.
"For what it's worth," she said without looking back, "you did the right thing."
He watched her disappear into the night.
The shadows settled.
For the first time since he arrived in this world, he felt something close to direction.
The board was set.
And the game—finally—had players who knew it was being played.