It didn't matter what the arena was, a game of cards or basketball, academia, or the criminal underworld. Other skills were important, sometimes, came and went, but underneath it all a fact remained: he who was best informed had more of an edge than you.
The problem, Mystique thought as a frown twisted her lips, was that she had no idea who he was, any of the several individuals who were besting her in one way or another, nor could she begin to say how they were doing it. Another dead end, following the trail of the email to Dubai and back and coming up as blank as when she'd sent the request out, and now she was alone and irritated and warm, wandering the streets as she rearranged her lack of information to see if anything new would sort itself out.
People naturally parted for her, as they always did, although there was nothing particularly impressive about her at the moment. Relatively tall, thin, almost delicate although her demeanor suggested something more. Intelligence, perhaps, or drive. Whatever it was, it cleared a very small space on the busy sidewalks and Mystique took that as her due and paid no more attention to it than that.
Until one man didn't instinctively step back from her. Mystique blinked, coming out of her thoughts, and a faint smile crossed her lips. Either there weren't nearly as many people in New York as the numbers led one to believe, or she was surrounded by coincidence.
Bennet.
The smile faded as she turned, following his line of sight. He was doing something, watching someone - the young man in the coffee house, perhaps? or the older woman at the window table - but she wouldn't pass up an opportunity like this one. He was good enough to survive a moment's conversation.
"Are," she frowned. "Are you okay? You're spilling your - your coffee's all over."