Chapter Fifty-Two: The Belated Ball

In the basement of the U.S. military training base.

Howard, Fury, and Carter stood solemnly around a world map, their faces set in grave expressions.

“The point of origin is the Hydra base beneath the Alps, and the autopilot was programmed for New York. Based on the usual flight speed of the transport aircraft and the moment when communication signals were lost, we can calculate that the plane most likely crashed in this section of the ocean,” Howard, dressed in a suit and tie, stood before the map, drawing a black circle with a marker in the middle of the Atlantic to mark the search area.

“But the very center of the most probable crash site was the first place we sent divers, and we found nothing. So we have to consider whether the aircraft deviated from its autopilot course, as well as the ocean currents and the distribution of icebergs at the time,” Howard continued, his expression heavier. With his pen, he drew a larger circle around the initial one, encompassing a broader swath of the Atlantic.

Fury, seated below, shook his head and sighed, “If we have to search every ten meters of this vast area with submarines, it would take us ten years and we still might not find any wreckage.”

“We can’t give up!” Carter’s cool, beautiful face was resolute as she declared, “Those two—they wouldn’t die so easily. They promised—they said they’d come back.”

“Of course. Not just the military’s submarines; Stark Industries will also invest and send professional divers into the sea. We won’t give up until we find them,” Howard agreed, nodding. After a brief silence, he voiced the worry in his heart, “What I fear is that the plane might have collided with drifting icebergs. It’s the height of winter in the Atlantic, and if the aircraft became sealed in ice and sank to the ocean floor, we could spend a hundred years searching and still not find even a trace of wreckage.”

At these words, both Fury and Carter fell silent.

The truth was that after the plane went down and vanished from radio contact over the ocean, the military had dispatched aircraft and submarines to search, but had already resigned themselves to the likelihood that Steve and Kyle had perished. At best, they hoped only to recover remains. Even if their deaths were confirmed, the military would suppress the news; the loss of heroes symbolizing the nation would have an unbearable impact in wartime.

Just then, a messenger soldier came down the corridor stairs, approaching Carter to report, “Agent Carter, someone outside the base delivered something for you.”

“Oh?” Carter was puzzled, but she took the box from the messenger. “Who was it?”

“A little girl. She said she was a friend of Agent Carter’s. The gate guards didn’t get to question her before she ran off. The box was scanned and cleared; we only brought it in after confirming it was safe.”

“Thank you for your trouble.” Carter nodded. Once the soldier departed, she placed the box on the conference table.

The cardboard box was of medium size, sealed with tape. On top was a small note in English: “To Carter.”

Carter’s beautiful eyes lingered on the handwriting, and she froze.

Sensing the heavy mood in the room, Howard tried to lighten it with a quip, “Could it be a secret admirer sending you a gift?”

“Or maybe it’s intelligence—we should check.” Fury volunteered to open it, and with Carter’s nod, he took a pair of scissors and cut through the tape.

He opened the box with practiced ease, revealing its contents in the dim yellow light—a brand-new, neatly folded red evening gown, and atop it, a card with a rose on its face.

“A dress? A rose card?” Fury, unimpressed by such feminine articles, lost interest and returned to his seat.

Howard shrugged, “Seems I was right. Miss Carter, do you need an escort for the evening?”

Carter said nothing; she stepped forward, picked up the rose card, and flipped it over. On the back, in English, was written: “Miss Carter, you are cordially invited—tomorrow, Friday evening at eight o’clock, to the Birdsong Club for a night of music and dancing.”

“He’s back,” Carter whispered.

“Back?” Howard and Fury exchanged startled glances, then looked at her eagerly. “Who’s back?”

A day passed, and Friday night arrived as promised.

In the nearby city, the Birdsong Club stood at the heart of the most bustling street. Its entrance was lined with a plush carpet, the lighting glowing with a romantic neon hue.

A long, luxurious limousine pulled up to the club’s front door. Howard, serving as chauffeur, got out first and opened the passenger door with a gentleman’s flourish. A graceful leg in a high heel stepped out, followed by Carter, resplendent in a strapless red evening gown.

Her striking, icy beauty had been carefully enhanced tonight; her golden hair was swept up to reveal her delicate collarbones. The evening gown’s design showcased her perfect shoulders and back, blending sensuality and elegance. The red fabric set off her fair skin, making her all the more captivating.

“Carter, you’ll be the star of the evening,” Howard marveled, waving her on. “Go on, don’t keep them waiting.”

With that, Howard returned to the driver’s seat, started the limousine, and drove away, leaving Carter standing alone at the door.

She took a deep breath, pressed her hands lightly to her chest, and entered the club with nervous anticipation.

Passing through the main door, guarded by impeccably dressed attendants, she walked down the corridor. Strangely, the club was not as lively as usual—quite the opposite. The hallway was dimly lit, just bright enough to see, but inside the grand ballroom, everything was shrouded in darkness.

No music, no lights, no other guests, not even the club staff.

“What…” Carter gazed at the silent, dark hall, about to call out, when suddenly the overhead lights blazed on.

In an instant, the hall transformed—soft music from a full orchestra filled the air, and as if in a well-rehearsed ballet, couples entered from all sides, hand in hand, gliding onto the dance floor in time with the song.

“Is it you?” Carter couldn’t help but ask, glancing around at the dancers, searching for a familiar presence.

“No,” a deep, familiar voice answered from among the musicians. Carter turned to see a handsome young man in a black tailcoat rise from the piano.

“It’s me. Disappointed?” Kyle spread his hands, meeting her gaze at the center of the hall.

“Not at all. Even as a stand-in, you’re terribly late,” Carter replied with a smile, her beautiful eyes glistening with tears of joy.