The steady, rhythmic hum of the Blackbird’s cooling engines did little to soothe the tight knot forming in Scott Summers’ jaw. He stood near the edge of the hangar bay, his boots planted firmly against the grated steel floor, arms crossed rigidly over his chest. His posture was unyielding, a physical manifestation of the control he forced himself to maintain, though the faint, crimson spark dancing behind the ruby-quartz lens of his visor betrayed his mounting agitation. He had just been handed a stark, unannounced deviation from the schedule—a literal last-minute arrival authorized entirely over his head.

"A new recruit. Unvetted. Unannounced," Scott muttered, his voice a low, disciplined rumble that barely carried over the facility's ambient noise. He didn't turn his head, keeping his eyes locked firmly on the hangar's main elevator doors. "I am the field leader of this team. I draft the tactical pairings. I coordinate the danger room rotations. Yet I find out we’re expanding the roster through a generic terminal notification five minutes before landing."

A few paces behind him, Logan leaned back against a stack of metallic equipment crates, casually scraping a dirt-caked thumbnail against the edge of a fresh cigar. He didn’t bother lighting it—not in the hangar—but the unlit tobacco rolled lazily to the corner of his smirk.

"Take a breath, One-Eye. You’re gonna pop a blood vessel before the kid even steps off the lift," Logan grunted, his gravelly tone dripping with deliberate indifference. He adjusted his stance, shifting his weight with the easy, predatory grace of someone who couldn't care less about logistics or chain of command. "Chuck’s the one pulling the strings. You know how the old man gets when he catches a whiff of a stray mutant needing a roof. He doesn't exactly wait for committee approval."

"This isn't about Charles's altruism, Logan, it's about basic operational security," Scott snapped, his tone sharpening as he turned slightly to glare toward the older mutant. The red tint of his visor seemed to deepen. "We are in the middle of tracking three separate anti-mutant extremist cells. Bringing an unknown, untrained variable into the mansion without a proper psychological or power assessment puts everyone at risk. It’s reckless."

"Reckless is how we live, kid," Logan scoffed, finally looking up, his dark eyes narrowing with a sharp, knowing glint. "Besides, you’re not mad about the security risk. You’re mad because your precious little color-coded schedule got a smudge on it. The world ain't a simulation, Summers. Deal with it."

Scott’s jaw clenched so tightly the muscle twitched. He turned back toward the elevator doors just as a distant mechanical chime echoed through the bay, signaling the lift's ascent. "I deal with variables every single day, Logan. I just prefer the ones that don't come with blindfolds."