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Sighing softly, you caught his wrist.

"Buck, I need to get ready."

"You have thirty minutes."

"But my hair."

"What about it?"

Now, it was his turn to frown, his metal fingers sliding up your cheek and making its way into those tresses, almost studying them.

"It's awful."

"It isn't."

"It is."

He gave you a small smile, catching one of your hands with his other one, tugging you to the bed insistently.

"Come here."

You followed him without question, head still tilted curiously as he sat you down on the mattress. Your first instinct told you to get up and rush through again, but then, he disappeared inside the closet and interest kept you rooted in place.

When he did emerge back, he had his hands full. Dumped in front of you shortly after were your hairbrushes—fine-tooth comb, small pin, rat-tail, wide-tooth.

"I—Uh, I found all these."

He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, all that earlier determination dimming slightly at the seemingly-foreign objects in front of him.

You lightly giggled at that, holding up the comb with wider teeth, something easier to handle—given Bucky wasn't familiar with your practically untamable curls.

But hey, you liked them that way. A hand simply running through your hair, and it would be good to go.

...excluding workplaces. They were resolute on only having hair that was 'in place' and 'neat'—whatever that meant.

You were swiftly brought out of your thoughts when Bucky's weight dipped behind you, his hands gently gathering your hair like he was afraid the lightest touch could hurt your sensitive roots.

He loved your hair. Always finding an excuse to twirl them around his fingers during movie night. Sometimes, rubbing them between mindlessly because they were just so soft.

He started with combing through your hair, freezing every time your breath hitched when the brush caught on a stubborn tangle.

His fingers separated a tiny section near your temple.

Then another.

"Do you even know how to braid?"

"I had a sister."

There was something in his voice that made you bite back any other teasing comment. Instead, a bittersweet feeling clutched your heart, giving it a weird squeeze.

His fingers moved steadily, making tiny braids that framed your face. The outer strands crossed over the middle one with surprising care—not that you'd ever imagine his touch being anything but loving.

Once he reached the back, he secured it temporarily with a strawberry pin that he himself had once gotten for you from a fair Sam had dragged him to.

Sam slung an arm over his shoulder, pulling him close like an overexcited grandma for a wedding. His hand came up to pat his friend's back dramatically. "Aw, is that for your girlfriend?" "Shut up, will you?", Bucky had grumbled, pocketing the packet of pins and roughly shoving the cash in the worker's hands. "I'm sure she'll look soooo pretty—"

He repeated the same process on the other side, creating a delicate little plaited band across the back of your head.

You turned around.

"Thank you."

He shrugged.

"You were stressing me out."

You huffed at his comment, rolling your eyes and choosing to not indulge in another banter now. Your hand reached behind to feel it, your fingertips finding the tiny braids tucked neatly at the back of your head.

"Oh, that's cute."

"I know."

You looked at him through the mirror.

"You sound very pleased with yourself."

"I am."

A laugh slipped out of you, and you turned just enough to look at him properly.

You had spent the last twenty minutes tearing through the flat like a woman possessed—yanking drawers open, spilling tea over the counter because you stirred the spoon too hard, tripping over your socks because the fabric was too fuzzy.

Your bag was still half-zipped on the couch. Your make-up bag was left haphazardly on the dresser. Your phone was not even charged enough.

And yet here he was.

Perfectly composed.

Sitting behind you with your hair between his fingers, admiring it as though this was just another part of getting ready.

"You know I'm supposed to leave in ten minutes, right?"

"I know."

He leaned down to press a kiss on your cheek, before rubbing his rough stubble there. You squeaked and he simply laughed.

"Go."

"You're mean." You shot him a faux glare as you gathered your stuff, murmuring your checklist once again.

"I love you, doll."

You paused in your tracks, then shook your head to yourself. Grinning, you pushed the front door open.

"Love you too, Mr. Competent."

He eases in another inch and you whine, high and breathless, one hand dropping from his shoulder to claw at the expensive sheets. The sound tears out of you without permission, and Bucky tilts his head when he hears it, like a dog perking its ears at the sound of his favorite word. “Fuck, there you go. You gonna moan like that for me the entire time?”

You suck in your bottom lip and look down at the length of your own body to see the thick ridge of him already pressing up against the soft skin of your belly, a visible bulge that shifts as he sinks deeper with every slow roll of his hips. It pushes that outline higher, punching the air out of your lungs as your stomach distorts around the shape of his cock, skin stretched taut, the visual perfectly matching every private fantasy you had ever had about him. He holds himself steady, vibranium hand pressing against the mattress while his human one grabs yours against the sheets and laces your fingers together. The bedframe creaks under both your weights when he thrusts again, forcing more of himself inside of you but not yet all the way in. “I thought about you so many times. But I never imagined you’d be so tight. Look at it, look at how you’re taking me.”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried. Entranced by him, his blue eyes raking over your body, how his vibranium arm shines in the low light of his bedroom, how his body moves over yours, sliding inside slowly, how the small bump on your stomach moves with every thrust. Cunt fluttering around him, trying to adjust, the stretch burns just right and you arch your back, toes curling against the sheets. In the midst of all too overwhelming pleasure, of fingers clawing at skin and body craving more of him, you barely realize how you are holding your breath, how you haven’t exhaled or inhaled in maybe a minute, but true to his own person, Bucky notices it. Apparently, just the way he notices everything around him when he’s working, so does he when he’s not.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, bringing the hand intertwined with his down to rest low on your own stomach, right over the place where the outline of him is most visible. His palm is massive, now pressing gently against the skin, and you both feel it, now, the firm resistance of his cock from the outside, the way your body is forced to accommodate him. Inch by inch the stretch intensifies, thighs trembling around his waist, and you’re slick enough that the slide is smooth even as your body fights to take the thickness. It’s obscene how wet you already sound before he’s even all the way in.

But finally he seats himself fully inside, base of him pressing flush against you, the bulge on your belly absolutely unmistakable now, a solid ridge running up from between your legs, morphing the soft curve of your stomach. The fingers on your stomach trail over the length of it, tracing the outline even as your vision blurs, and Bucky hisses through his teeth, cock twitching inside of you. Every private thought you had ever had about him, and the size of him, is happening in real time now, hands pining you down and making you feel infinitely small, cock forcing its way inside in the midst of pleas and whines. Not because he is a dominant man, not because you didn’t want this; you wanted it so badly that the moment he took off your underwear a pool of your own slick began dripping onto his hand. But the pure size of him is enough to impose itself upon you.

Bucky draws back just a few inches when he starts to move, a temporary relief that lasts only long enough for you to feel the loss before he pushes back in. You tilt your head up, attempting a poor execution of trying to prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him slide home where the two of you are joined, and he grins down at you, a smirk so devastating you fear it might bewitch you.

“Want to watch? Next time we could get a mirror. Anything you want, anything at all for my girl,” he says, voice rough with praise. Then he shifts his hips just right, the head of him dragging over a spot inside you you’re not sure you were aware of before, but it makes your whole body jolt, a needy sound leaving your mouth. Bucky catches it, angles his hips in a way to hit the same spot again. “Fuck, right there? Let me hear it, baby.”

He does it again, and again, until your eyes are watering at the corners from the intensity of pleasure. His shoulders block most of the light as his hands let go of you and instead he braces both hands on either side of your head, the weight of him keeping you pinned to the mattress as he moves. With a slow exhale he leans down, kisses the spot on your cheek where a stray tear begins to slide down and catches it with his lips before licking the salt off of it. “Talk to me. Tell me how it feels,” he whispers into your skin.

“Big,” you manage, the word breaking when he thrusts in again. “You’re—you’re so big, I can’t—Bucky…”

The next thrust goes a little deeper, a little harder, and the bulge under your hand presses more firmly against your palm. “Say my name again, please?”

Bucky might as well be the only word in your dictionary with the way you keep whining it, eyes at half-mast, as your cunt flutters around him. Wet sounds fill the room with every slow movement, sheets already a mess beneath you where your slickness begins to pool, and he shifts his weight a bit, bracing more fully over you, the change making everything more intense. Your legs tighten around him, the feeling of him short-circuiting every coherent thought until he forces your attention back to him.

“I’m gonna move a little faster,” he warns. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You nod, desperate for more of him, and you quickly find out that it’s not too much, it’s exactly enough, faster thrusts still controlled but dragging your body across the mattress as he pounds into you. So full you can barely breathe around it, your orgasm builds fast, pulled forward by the constant pressure and making you shake under him, soft broken sounds spilling in a continuous string from your mouth. Bucky catches them with his own, kissing you sweetly despite the pistoning of his hips, warmth sipping into you with every touch, because even in the midst of a pleasure haze, the Bucky you have always known still comes out. Still himself, caring and gentle despite his strength, cradling your body against his.

“That’s it. Doing so good for me, sweetheart, let me feel you cum.”

Words so perfectly filthy and praising are enough to tip you over, and your cunt clamps down around the thick length of him, pulsing in tight waves. Bucky keeps up the same rhythm, never fully pulling out, working you through your peak with grinding thrusts that don’t ease the pressure on your belly until you’re gasping, oversensitive, hands weakly reaching for any inch of him you could touch.

When the last waves fade he doesn’t stop, but instead slows down, gentle, still moving inside of you, even though the size of him means that gentle still feels intense. Bucky pulls one of your legs higher against his side and spreads you open further for him, the new angle letting him sink even deeper with each thrust, until you’re whining in overstimulation, but making no attempts to let go of him. Boneless, broken under him, you’d let him do anything he wanted to you right now. His movements are a little less controlled now and a bit more out of rhythm, face twisting in concentration as his eyes lock in on your stomach, still fascinated with the outline of his cock pressing against the softness of your skin as he chases his own release. Then like a blanket covering your body he leans fully down, torso hugging you as his head drops to your side, mouth close to your ear, hips pressing down in a messy rhythm as he fully envelops you.

“Fuck, so close. Gonna fill you up. You want that? Want to feel it while you’re still stretched around me?”

You nod frantically, wrapping both arms around his neck and keeping him locked against you as he comes, hips stuttering before they press flush against you, burying himself as deep as he can go. His cock pulses as he empties himself inside of you, painting your walls with ropes of his release. Even after his high subsides he stays buried for a long time, breathing hard, forehead pressing to your shoulder as he tries to slow his heartbeat, vibranium hand slowly drifting down your body and settling on your hip, not gripping, just holding, fingers buried in the plush muscle.

He exhales slowly, then presses a kiss to the base of your neck, inhaling the scent of you. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers, voice raspy. “… Let’s do this again some time?”

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Two years had passed since the world officially logged your name under deceased.

To the Avengers, to the news networks and to Apex, you were a ghost. A memory burned away in the fires of your past. Living as a dead person was the only way to operate.

The moment a vigilante shows their face, they leave a trail. So, unlike the flashy heroes in New York or the armoured legends in the sky, you struck from absolute silence and vanished back into the dark. You became a ghost with snow white hair and a suit of invisible vibranium.

FLASHBACK

You stood erect in the centre of the smoking crater, your hair fanning out as golden light radiated from your palms and fiery sparks shot from your fingertips. You noticed how the ends of your hair were almost white. A silent smile curled your lips, as the power within you vibrated in perfect harmony with your unwavering will.

The ground beneath the rubble of Vault 04 didn’t simply shattered, but begun to liquefy under the effect of pure and uncontrolled force.

It was a matter of minutes.

Beneath the suffocating weight of hundred tons of shattered steel and reinforced concrete, your body was shattered but your mind remained frighteningly clear. The liquid Clara injected into your neck, the chemical cocktail she believed would kill you, did not annihilate you. Instead, it bonded violently to your cellular structure, acting like a volatile catalyst that released an ancient dormant cosmic potential.

In the dark tomb, your heart didn’t stop. It accelerated, taking on an entirely new rhythm. A terrifying acoustic frequency that vibrated through the earth like a localised earthquake.

Thump.

The dust on the shattered concrete blocks danced.

Thump.

The temperature inside the collapsed crypt shot from zero to thousands of degrees in a fraction of a second.

Thump.

The synthetic toxin in your veins dissolved, replaced by a fire. The colour of liquid gold that stitched your shattered spine, mended your fractured ribs and flooded through every cell in your body with the kinetic density of a dying star was visible now under your skin.

Thump.

And then, your newly heightened senses awakened. Through five hundred tons of solid rock, your hearing expanded cutting through the chaos above you. You heard the roar of the jet’s engines tearing through the night sky.

Bucky.

His heart beat with a terrifying irregular rhythm, trembling wildly and dangerously weak. You could feel the fluid filling his lungs, the faint nauseating crackle of his internal trauma and the agonising sobs of the crew rushing his severely injured and battered body on the jet.

The realisation hit your soul like a punch in the gut. He was dying. They thought you were dead and Bucky had been torn to pieces trying to save you. Your eyes widened. They were no longer human.

You felt them burning for a second, just as you had two hot stones in your head. They burned with a blinding, terrifying mixture of energy.

A low, resonant rumble formed in your throat. It wasn’t a cry of pain. It was a frequency. A scream imbued with raw authority, piercing the silence beneath the earth.

The acoustic shockwave erupted first from your chest, pulverising the solid rock trapped above you into microscopic dust in a single, terrifying blast.

Then came the solar flare. A dazzling column of golden light and crimson energy erupted straight through your chest, tearing the collapsed vault like paper, shooting miles into the sky and ripping apart the thunderclouds above the ruins.

Gravity completely lost its grip on you.

You floated upward through the ascending column of fire. Your feet hovering inches above the hole of the newly formed crater as you stood upright. Your hair fanned out around your head like a halo of living solar flames, leaving fiery sparks from your fingertips that hissed as they touched the air. The atmospheric pressure for miles around the place dropped to zero, the sheer force of your presence bending the atmosphere to your will.

You looked down at your hands. A golden light emanated from your palms, vibrating with a power that seemed limitless.

Invincible, audible and quite utterly divine. Overhead, the same faint hum of the jet engines faded into the distance, carrying away the man you loved.

The lingering smoke drifted away, revealing the crater you caused. It was a circular sheet of smooth concrete created by the sheer, ungodly heat of your awakening. You slowly brought your hands down, the golden light pulsing beneath your skin settling into a steady, radiant hum. As the blinding glare faded, you looked down at yourself.

Your tactical suit was completely destroyed. The explosive thermal energy that stitched your broken body back together, burned the fabric away. Threads hung in singed, blackened wisps around your hips and torso. The reinforced plates melted and shattered into useless ash. The suit was torn to shreds, leaving you standing exposed in the centre of the smoking crater. Yet there was nothing fragile or exposed about you.

It wasn’t a moment of vulnerability or shame. Like a hero emerging transformed from an apocalyptic fire, your bare skin glowed with a soft ethereal golden hue laced with veins of energy that protected you far better than any man made armour ever could. The freezing night air brushed against your skin, but you didn’t feel the cold as the solar fire inside you kept your body at a perfect, blazing warmth. You stepped out of the crater slowly. Your bare feet making no sound against the hot surface.

In a dark, half collapsed space, your enhanced eyes caught a pile of heavy dark fabric lying beneath a fallen concrete beam. You pulled the material from the dust, shaking it clean. A sudden subtle heat radiated from your hands, instantly burning away the decades of grime and mould until the fabric was soft, clean and warm.

With practiced effortless grace, you wrapped the long sheet of dark fabric around your body. You draped it securely over your shoulders and wrapped it tightly around your waist and torso, binding it into a simple, hooded cloak-like garment. It fell to your ankles, dark and understated, contrasting starkly with the soft clear skin. You pulled the oversized hood up over your head, casting your glowing eyes in shadow.

Fully covered, you turned back toward the dark sky. The fabric billowed around you in the night breeze like a mantle of shadow, completely obscuring the godlike power beneath it.

It was time to move.

Stepping out of the ruined facility, the cool night air brushed against the dark, wrapped fabric of your makeshift cloak. Your mind was a chaotic storm. The echo of Bucky’s weakening heartbeat still ringing in your ears.

Driven by sheer and human desperation, you broke into a fast stride. Your feet moved swiftly across the rocky, uneven terrain of the ground, your heart racing as you tried to figure out how to cover thousands of miles to reach him. Then, you froze mid step.

The dark fabric of your cloak fluttered softly around your ankles, but your bare feet weren’t touching the dirt anymore. You looked down.

The gravel crushed stone along with the muddy earth didn’t touch your skin. You were hovering a full two inches above it all. The heavy pull of gravity that had tethered you to the earth for your entire life simply wasn’t there. A quiet, breathless gasp escaped your lips.

“What…?” You whispered.

Your voice catching in your throat, sounding light, soft, and utterly bewildered in the quiet night. You could fly.

It wasn’t a trick and it wasn’t a gadget. The kinetic force humming beneath your skin naturally repelled the earth below you.

You didn’t need to run. You didn’t need a jet. The entire sky belonged to you now.

A slow fierce spark of realisation ignited in your eyes, as a breathless astonished laugh escaped your lips.

“Okay…” you murmured to yourself. Your eyes widening as you looked from your feet to the endless, dark horizon stretching out before you. “Okay. We’re… we’re not walking.”

You leaned forward slightly, testing the invisible current beneath you. The moment your mind willed it, gravity surrendered completely. The air beneath your feet ignited with a soft incandescent golden flare and with a sudden silent burst of speed, you shot straight up into the night sky like a bolt of golden lightning.

The ground fell away in a blur. Within seconds, you broke through the heavy clouds, ascending into the quiet, starlit silence of the upper sky. The wind howled around your hooded cloak, but you felt no resistance, no cold and no fear.

Your enhanced vision locked directly onto the distant twin engine glow of the Avengers’ jet. They were pushing the aircraft to its absolute limits, racing west over the Atlantic to get Bucky back to the Compound in New York.

The jet was fast, already flying over the ocean but you were faster and in a bunch of seconds you moved from Prague to an undefined point over the water.

Below you, the ocean was a silent blur of waves and foam. You leaned into the flight current as your heart was pounding against your ribs. Your new energy flared hotter ready to push past the sound barrier, catching up to the jet and tear through the steel hull to wrap Bucky in your warm hug.

And then, mid air, you abruptly stopped. The brutal reality hit you like a physical wall.

Your momentum dying until you were hovering motionless thousand feet above the dark surging ocean. The dark fabric of your cloak snapped violently in the high altitude wind.

You stared at the now tiny receding speck of the jet on the horizon. You had the speed and the power to catch that jet in seconds. But then what?

“No…” you whispered, your voice swallowed by the endless void.

If you revealed yourself alive and apparently godlike, Clara’s trap would instantly collapse.

The woman who had methodically poisoned Bucky’s mind. The woman who worked for Apex sitting right there and waiting for news of your death.

The moment Apex realised you survived, the entire network would go dark. They would scatter into the shadows, destroy the evidence and launch every failsafe they had.

And Bucky…

Broken, poisoned and confused Bucky would be caught right in the middle of the crossfire. His mind was probably still trapped in Clara’s web. If you appeared now, before you understood the full scope of what Apex had done to him, Clara could trigger something far worse inside his head.

“I can’t go to him,” you choked out. A raw, painful gasp escaping your lips.

You hovered alone in the freezing sky, clutching the dark fabric over your chest after your newly altered hyper-sensitive hearing picked up the faint rhythm of Bucky’s heartbeat miles away inside the jet. You heard Tony frantically bark out medical commands. You heard Steve’s desperate, trembling voice trying to keep Bucky conscious. You looked at the receding light of the jet one last time, watching it cut a quiet path through the high clouds toward New York.

Every protective, loving instinct screamed at you to follow it, to stay close enough to hear Bucky’s pulse but you knew if you lingered near the Compound, the raw turbulence of your newly awakened power would eventually set off S.H.I.E.L.D.’s atmospheric sensors.

You needed a sanctuary.

A place far off the grid, rooted in a time before Apex and before HYDRA. Before the world tried to crush you.

Nana’s house.

The memory hit you like a warm hearth in the middle of a blizzard. A tiny sun drenched farm tucked deep into the rolling isolated hills of the countryside, surrounded by wild orchards and ancient oak trees.

“Just hold on, Bucky,” you murmured into the wind. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

You turned away from the Atlantic corridor with a soft, subconscious tilt of your shoulders, willing your body into a new trajectory.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The air around your wrapped makeshift cloak hummed with a deep, acoustic vibration and with a silent breathtaking surge of speed, you streaked away from the jet, shooting like a golden comet across the dark expanse of the sky.

The earth dissolved into a tapestry of passing lights and silent mountain ranges below. Within minutes, the roaring wind began to drop as you descended through a thick layer of low-hanging fog, gliding down toward a dark, familiar valley.

Your bare feet hovered down over the grass of the backyard.

The farm stood before you, enveloped in quiet shadows. The wooden porch was weathered wrapped in wild ivy, looking as though it had been waiting for you to come home.

You stood there in the quiet countryside, your dark shroud draped over your shoulders, looking up at the rickety front door. For the first time since Vault 04 collapsed, the intense searing golden glow beneath your skin, began to soften cooling into a gentle steady warmth as the overwhelming stillness of the farm washed over you.

You took a deep shuddering breath of the sweet earth scented air, free of chemical toxins, of smoke and free of blood.

You raised your hand toward the weathered door but before your fingers could even graze the surface, the deadbolt threw with a sharp, lightning fast click.

The door swung inward.

Standing in the dimly lit entryway was your nana.

She wasn’t a fragile unsuspecting old woman. Her posture was braced, jaw set and her right hand rested with terrifying, practiced precision against the grip of a suppressed 9mm concealed at her waist. Decades of deep cover CIA field work meant she had felt the shift outside. The quiet impossible acoustic vibration that settled over her property the second your feet touched her grass.

For a second, her sharp analytical eyes locked onto you. She saw the dark burnt fabric draped over your shoulders, your bare feet and the faint unmistakable aura you had way before pulsing, just beneath your skin like living starlight.

The moment you saw her face, the godlike power, the cold resolve, and the cosmic force holding you together completely collapsed.

The tears burst from your eyes in a hot blinding wave. Your chest heaved, a choked broken sob tearing straight out of your throat.

“Nana…” you cried out. Your voice breaking into raw, desperate pieces as you stumbled across the threshold, sinking toward your knees. “Help me… please… help me…”

The hardened retired operative vanished in a heartbeat.

The gun was instantly forgotten.

She caught you before you hit the wooden floor, her arms wrapping firmly around your trembling, wrapped frame. Even as the kinetic solar heat radiating from your body warmed the cold entryway, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull back, or hesitate. She held you tight against her chest, as her fingers weaving into your hair just like she used to in the rare, secret weeks you had together before her withdrawal.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered fiercely into your hair, her own voice thick with a sudden protective emotion as she pulled you fully inside and kicked the heavy door shut, locking the world outside. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

She led you into the small and warm living room, sitting you down on the worn fabric sofa and wrapping a thick wool blanket over your heavy, makeshift cloak. She didn’t ask questions immediately. She just brewed a pot of tea, placed a steaming mug into your trembling and glowing hands, before pulling a chair right up in front of you.

And then, the story poured out of you in a frantic, choked rush.

You told her everything.

You explained Vault 04.

The trap set by Apex.

The collapsing bedrock and the heavy crushing of the building.

You told her about Clara the synthetic lilac toxin and how she had methodically poisoned Bucky’s mind, orchestrating every cold look, every push and every brutal word until he didn’t even recognise the woman he loved.

Your voice cracked violently as you confessed what happened with him. How Bucky shoved you back against the desk, how your wrist bruised and how he slammed the door leaving you to sob on the floor while a weaponised scent tore his mind apart.

Nana listened in absolute, cold silence. Her eyes, honed by decades of black ops intelligence work, narrowed into sharp lethal slits. She didn’t look at you like you were crazy, nor did she flinch when your emotions flared and tiny sparks leaped off your knuckles, singeing the wool blanket. She just absorbed every detail, processing the warfare and the tactical betrayal like the seasoned operative she was. She removed the brunt blanket

Then, you explained the waking up.

You told her about Clara’s injection, how the chemical cocktail was meant to end your life under five hundred tons of concrete, but instead bonded with your cellular structure, mutating into an incandescent solar fire. You explained the acoustic scream that pulverised the ground. The way gravity simply detached from you and how you hovered thousand feet above the ocean, hearing Bucky’s dying fluid choked heartbeat inside the jet miles ahead.

“I could have torn that jet open, Nana,” you sobbed, clutching the mug so tightly the ceramic began to crack beneath your palms. “I could have… but if I showed up like this… if Apex sees what I’ve become… Clara will burn everything… and I’d lose him forever.”

You looked up at her, your eyes shining through the tears.

“I have to let them think I’m dead,” you whispered, the raw grief in your tone shifting into something cold, ancient and absolute. “I have to stay in the dark… until I pull Apex apart piece by piece.”

Nana reached out. Her cool feathered hand gently covering your hot, trembling knuckles. She didn’t offer empty reassurances. She leaned in, her eyes burning with a fierce, dangerous pride.

“Chemical neurotoxins… deep cover infiltration and atmospheric manipulation.” Nana said, her voice dropping into the quiet, commanding tone of a seasoned handler. “Its a lot to digest… but I believe you,” she said calmly.

“You do?” You sobbed more.

“Absolutely,” she squeezed your hand firmly. “You’re going to rest tonight, sweetheart,” nana commanded quietly.

You nodded.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

When you opened your eyes, the soft morning light was streaming through the sheer lace curtains of your childhood bedroom. The air smelled of old wood, morning dew and fresh coffee. A grounding, peaceful scent that felt like a lifeline after the chaos of Prague.

Sitting quietly on the wooden chair by the corner was a neatly folded pile of soft grey sweatpants and a thick oversized sweater. Right on top rested a plush white towel.

Nana knew better than anyone that after everything you had been through, you needed a simple and safe comfort.

You sat up, the heavy canvas shroud you had wrapped around yourself slipping off your shoulders. Looking down at your hands, the blinding golden radiance from the night before had settled down beneath your skin, humming like a quiet invisible engine under your veins that rested in your system.

You pushed back the covers, your bare feet lightly touching the cool hardwood floor and picked up the fresh clothes.

From down the hallway, the faint familiar sound of coffee brewing and the low murmur of a secure radio broadcast drifted through the house. Nana was already awake, already working.

Taking a deep quiet breath, you headed toward the bathroom to wash away the last remnants of dust and blood, ready to step into the kitchen and build your plan.

The hot water washed away the last traces of ash and concrete dust, leaving your skin soft and quietly humming with that internal warmth. You pulled on the oversized sweater and sweatpants. The thick fabric feeling blissfully normal against your body, before padding barefoot down the wooden stairs.

The scent of dark roast coffee and sizzling butter filled the kitchen. Nana stood by the stove, flipping eggs in a iron skillet with effortless, rhythmic ease.

“I’m sorry about the bed,” you blurted out immediately, hovering anxiously near the doorway, your hands tucked deep into the sweater sleeves. “The sheets… I was so covered of dust and smoke… hope I didn’t ruin them.”

Nana didn’t even turn around, casually waving a butter knife dismissively in the air. “Sweetheart, sit down and eat your eggs.”

“Nana, really… I can strip the mattress and wash-”

“I already changed them while you were in the shower,” Nana interrupted, turning around with a plate piled high with eggs, toast and crisp bacon, setting it down in front of you with a decisive thud. “And for the record, a little dirt never killed a cotton thread. You didn’t leave a single drop of blood anywhere, so stop worrying about my laundry and start feeding yourself. You’re burning through calories like a jet engine right now.”

She poured a dark mug of coffee, placed it beside your plate, and sat down across from you. Her sharp, analytical eyes tracked the faint, golden shimmer still playing under the skin of your knuckles as you picked up your fork.

“You’re not a broken weapon in this house, Y/N,” Nana said softly, her voice dropping its gruff handler edge for a fleeting second. “You’re my granddaughter. Eat.”

Nana took a slow sip from her coffee, her sharp, dark eyes studying you over the rim of the mug.

“Now,” she said softly, setting the ceramic down with a quiet clink on the table. “Talk to me about James.”

You took a small, shaky breath. Your fork hovering over your plate. “Clara had him completely isolated, Nana. She was using a synthetic neurotoxin masked as a daily fragrance to keep his memory hazy, feeding him false reports-”

“No, Y/N,” Nana interrupted gently, raising a hand to stop the frantic rush of your tactical debrief.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“You told me how Clara and her handlers work,” nana said, her voice steady and grounded. “Apex was a quiet ghost on the fringes back when I was still active in the field. I never crossed paths with their cell directly, but I know their playbook.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the wooden table, her gaze softening. “I don’t want the report right now. I want you to tell me about him. How was Bucky with you? Before they laid a finger on him.”

A sudden, sharp lump formed in your throat, catching you completely unprepared.

You looked down at your hands.

“He was gentle,” you whispered smiling sadly. Your voice cracking slightly as the memories washed over you, unbidden and precious. “He was so soft with me, nana. He spent his whole life being used as a weapon but when he looked at me, it was like… like he forgot he fought for his life in HYDRA. He tucked my hair behind my ear with his flesh hand, so carefully, like he was afraid he’d break me.”

A small tearful smile touched your lips as a soft spark of crimson static danced harmlessly across your thumb.

“He’d wake up early just to make tea the way I liked it. He’d hold me in the middle of the night when the nightmares got too heavy for both of us, resting his forehead against mine until my breathing matched his. He loved me so fiercely, nana. It was the safest I ever felt in my life.”

You wiped a stray tear from your cheek before it could burn into a golden ember.

“That man, the one who held me in the quiet… that’s who they took from me,” you said, your voice dropping into a quiet, absolute resolve. “That’s who I’m getting back.”

Nana watched you in silence for a long moment, a proud, lethal glint flashing in her eyes.

“Good,” she murmured, taking another sip of her coffee. “Because that’s the man we’re going to save.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Stepping out onto the back porch, the morning air was crisp and fresh, smelling of wet grass, sweet pine and distant clover.

You stopped at the top of the wooden steps, pulling the oversized sweater tighter around yourself as your eyes swept over the property. The night before, everything had been shrouded in pitch black fog and the blinding, frantic haze of your panic. But now, in the golden sunlight, the realisation washed over you like a gentle tide.

Nothing had changed.

The sprawling yard was still framed by the same towering, ancient oak trees you used to climb as a child. The old wooden barn stood off to the left, its faded red paint peeling in the exact same weathered patches you remembered. Over by the garden fence, the wild berry bushes were overgrown, bursting with dark summer fruit, and the old tire swing still hung motionless from the thickest branch of the maple tree near the well.

It was a time capsule. In a world of secret facilities, collapsing vaults, synthetic toxins, and cosmic explosions, this quiet farm had remained completely untouched by the violence.

“I kept it just the way you left it,” nana said softly, stepping down onto the grass beside you, her light house shoes sinking slightly into the soft, dew-covered earth. She looked up at you, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. “I knew one day you’d need a place where the world couldn’t reach you.”

You took a deep grounding breath, feeling the cool earth beneath your bare feet and the steady, warm hum of the fire resting peacefully beneath your skin.

“It’s like… stepping back into a dream,” you whispered, a faint, genuine smile touching your lips for the first time in weeks. “Like none of the bad things ever happened.”

“They happened,” Nana corrected gently, turning to face you with that sharp, protective glint in her eyes. “But they don’t get to live here. This is where you catch your breath. And this is where we figure out how you’re going to use that sun inside your chest.”

“Nana,” you asked softly, watching the morning light filter through the leaves above. “Why did you had to stop coming to see me? After Mom and Dad died… you were just gone. I always thought your agency kept us apart, but it wasn’t just them, was it?”

Nana slowed her pace, looking out over the open fields with a quiet, distant expression.

“No, sweetheart,” she said, her voice turning heavy with the weight of old memories. “It wasn’t. It was my own mess.”

She stopped near the old well, leaning her hand against the weathered stone.

“Right after your parents passed, I was working a deep-cover CIA operation in Eastern Europe,” nana explained, turning to look at you with deep sincerity. “It went sour. Fast. My cover was blown, my cover identities were burned and my real name got leaked to half a dozen hostile networks. I became a walking target overnight.”

You listened quietly, feeling the warm hum of your body settling into a steady protective beat inside your chest.

“If I had stayed in your life back then… if I had tried to raise you or even visit you, those people would have used you to get to me,” she continued, her jaw tightening. “I couldn’t live with that risk. So I faked my retirement, cut every digital tether I had and hid in the one place no one would ever think to look. The one place that was off every agency grid.”

She gestured around at the quiet, sun drenched yard, the peeling barn and the wild berry bushes.

“Apex was never part of my world back then,” nana added softly. “I spent years watching you from afar, making sure S.H.I.E.L.D. was keeping you safe…”

She reached out, gently patting your shoulder.

“I stayed away to keep you safe from my past,” she said, her eyes softening. “And now, this farm is going to keep you safe while you prepare for yours.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The mid morning sun broke through the misty horizon, bathing the old oak grove in a warm, yellow glow. The farm was completely still, save for the rhythmic clicking of nana’s pen as she stood near the fence line, a heavy leather notebook resting in her hands.

She watched you quietly as you stood in the centre of the overgrown pasture. You took a slow deep breath, feeling the morning air fill your lungs while the radiant solar engine beneath your ribs hummed in perfect, effortless harmony.

“Alright, sweetheart,” nana said tapping her pen against the page as she looked up with a dry, approving glint in her eyes. “Let’s see what we’re working with here. We need to map out what do we have.”

She flipped to a blank page, her seasoned CIA handler mind breaking down the impossible, godlike force standing in front of her into clear, cold tactical realities.

“You’re essentially a three part weapon,” nana murmured, watching the sunlight soak directly into your skin.

“First,” she noted, “the sheer physical density.”

You closed your eyes, feeling your cells feed directly on the golden light pouring down from above. You didn’t just walk under the sun, you refuelled on it.

To test your durability, in the afternoon, nana picked up an old heavy iron crowbar from the barn and struck it square against your shoulder. The iron didn’t even bruised your skin. It simply buckled and snapped in half like a dry twig around your frame.

You couldn’t bleed.

You couldn’t break.

Gravity too, was nothing more than a suggestion. You willed yourself upward, your feet lifting effortlessly off the dew kissed grass, hovering three feet in the air without so much as a whisper of wind. Your senses expanded outward. Your hearing slicing through miles of country noise until you could hear the exact, delicate rhythm of a crow’s heartbeat nestled deep in the distant woods.

“Second,” nana said, stepping closer to the fence. “The voice.”

You hovered softly back down to the earth, turning toward an old, rotting tree stump near the edge of the woods. You took a quiet breath, focusing the raw, kinetic energy building in your chest down into a microscopic point.

You opened your lips and let out a low, concentrated frequency. A focused scream that didn’t roar like a bomb, but sliced through the air with surgical precision.

THUMP.

The rot-hollowed stump instantly disintegrated into a fine, microscopic cloud of sawdust. Right beside it, a clump of delicate, yellow dandelions didn’t lose a single petal.

“Good precision,” nana approved quietly, writing down a quick note. “Sonic destruction, completely controlled.”

You both tried many other signals. Some were more quietly than others. Suddenly, when you pictured Bucky in that room shoving you, the scream erupted louder and louder. A crying scream of pain. Your nana slumped back on her butt smiling.

“Nana,” you run towards her.

“Perfect lungs, sweetie,” she laughed taking notes. “And third…” nana murmured, stepping back slightly as the temperature in the pasture suddenly spiked ten degrees. “…the scary part.”

You held out your hands, palms facing the sky. The golden light humming beneath your skin bled through your veins, pouring from your palms in brilliant, incandescent waves. Fiery sparks trailed off your fingertips, hissing softly as they touched the cool morning air.

It was raw cosmic energy, the power of rebirth and thermal devastation bound together. You could melt heavy steel with a glance, stitch torn cellular tissue back together, or release a solar shockwave powerful enough to split storm clouds wide open.

Nana closed her leather notebook with a crisp snap, looking up at you as you stood in the quiet meadow. The oversized sweater hid your frame, but your eyes burned with a terrifying, breathtaking blend of molten gold and cosmic crimson.

“Super-strength, sonic dominance, and celestial fire,” Nana said, a fierce, deadly pride dancing in her dark eyes. “Apex thinks they buried a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent under five hundred tons of Czech concrete.”

She smiled, stepping over to clasp your warm, glowing hand in her cool, weathered grip.

“They have no idea you’re coming back as a god.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The smell of soup simmered in the kitchen as you followed nana back inside, wiping the faint sheen of sweat from your forehead. You pulled your sweater down past your wrists, feeling the raw warmth under your skin cool back into a quiet hum. Then, you both froze.

From the living room, the quiet hum of the television left on a low background channel, was suddenly cut off by a breaking news broadcast. The harsh, familiar chime of a S.H.I.E.L.D. press briefing echoed through the small cottage.

Nana’s sharp eyes darted toward the hallway, her body instinctively dropping into a tense stance. You stepped past her, your heart hammering against your ribs as you walked into the living room.

On the screen, a polished news anchor sat before a solemn graphic featuring the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem framed in black.

“… confirming late this morning that the tragic tactical collapse in Prague has claimed the life of one of their own.”

The screen cut to a high-resolution photo of you.

It was your old S.H.I.E.L.D. file picture.

You looked so young. So ridiculously human, wearing the dark uniform you used to think made you invincible.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, a key intelligence asset, was reported missing and presumed dead following an unprovoked attack by unknown hostile forces. Steve Rogers and the rest of the team arrived back at the New York Compound days ago with the surviving team members, including Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, who remains in critical condition.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Bucky.

He was alive at the compound.

The news anchor continued, their tone heavy with practiced grief.

“…they now just revealed the tragic death of agent Y/L/N. A private memorial service and honour walk, will be held this Friday at the S.H.I.E.L.D. compounds in New York to honour agent Y/L/N’s ultimate sacrifice. Flags at all regional bases have been lowered to half-mast…”

You stood rooted to the hardwood floor, staring at your own face on the television screen. Beside your photo, a small ticker at the bottom read.

IN MEMORIAM OF AGENT Y/N Y/L/N.

They were burying a ghost.

They were planning a funeral for a woman who was currently holding enough solar energy in her chest to vaporise the entire facility.

A soft, dark chuckle escaped nana’s lips from the doorway. She walked over, picked up the remote and clicked the television off plunging the room back into absolute silence.

“Well,” nana said smoothly, tossing the remote onto the sofa. “At least they picked a good picture for your obituary.”

You looked down at your hands. The skin over your knuckles vibrated in a quiet brilliant flare of light washing over your fingers before vanishing.

“They’re holding a funeral for me on Friday,” you whispered, your voice surprisingly calm, laced with a cold, terrifying authority.

“They are,” nana agreed, folding her arms over her chest as she studied you. “Which also means Apex thinks their mission was a complete success. Clara is going to be standing right there at that memorial, pretending to mourn you, completely convinced she won.”

A smile erupted on your lips.

“Let them throw the funeral,” you murmured, your eyes turning to the window, looking out toward the sky. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Nana leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you pace back and forth across the hardwood floor.

“So,” nana said, taking a quiet sip of her tea. “You want to crash your own memorial on Friday. I respect the flair for the dramatic, sweetheart but… how exactly do you plan on standing in a cemetery full of top-tier Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. security agents without being spotted? You’re can be bright enough to light up a city block right now.”

You stopped pacing, running a hand through your hair as a frustrated sigh escaped your lips. “I… I don’t know, nana. I can fly above the clouds. I can crush steel apparently,” you said remembering the bar of steel crushed on you.

“… but I can’t just walk into the cemetery like a ghost. The second I step into range, their thermographic cameras will pick up my heat signature.”

Lost in thought, you aimlessly wandered toward the far side of the kitchen. You stepped up to the window where the sharp sunlight poured in, framing your figure in a warm, amber glow.

Right below the sill, just inches from your hip, sat an open electrical wall socket that still needed a reparation.

The moment you stood between the intense solar rays and the opened socket on the wall, something strange happened.

The air around your arm began to hum a low, microscopic vibration where the high frequency sunlight collided with the invisible electromagnetic field of the house.

Your celestial energy didn’t just absorb the light. It bent it.

You looked down to adjust the sleeve of your sweater and froze.

Your entire right forearm, from the elbow down to your fingertips, had completely vanished.

You weren’t just covered. The skin, the sweater and the subtle aura was all rendered entirely transparent. It was like looking through clean, distort free glass. You could see the kitchen cabinets directly behind where your hand was supposed to be.

“Nana…” you gasped. Your voice barely a whisper as you held up your invisible arm, turning it back and forth in utter disbelief. “What… what is this?”

Nana set her tea mug down on the counter with a sharp, heavy clack, her sharp eyes instantly narrowing into calculated focus. She took a step toward you, leaning in to examine the empty space where your hand was hovering.

“Electromagnetic refraction,” nana breathed out, her voice filled with awe and the cold, brilliant precision of a master spy. “The solar energy in your blood isn’t just generating heat, Y/N. When it reacts with an ambient electrical field, it’s forcing the light waves around you to completely bend.”

She looked up at your face and a fierce smile slowly spreading across her features.

“You don’t need a stealth suit, sweetheart,” nana whispered, her eyes shining with absolute triumph. “You just learned how to turn yourself into a ghost.”

A breathless, incredulous laugh bubbled up from your throat. You held up both of your hands, watching the sunlight from the window weave directly into the faint electric current radiating from the open socket.

You closed your eyes and took a deep steadying breath, consciously pushing the solar fire beneath your ribs to meet that invisible ambient charge. You willed the energy to expand outward not in a violent, explosive shockwave, but in a tight fluid shell around your entire body.

A sudden, strange sensation washed over you. It felt like stepping into a gentle pool of warm glass yet light and weightless.

When you opened your eyes and looked down, your stomach dropped in pure, giddy shock.

You were completely gone.

Where your feet were supposed to be planted on the kitchen floorboards, there was only the sunlit wood. Where your hands were holding out in front of you, there was only empty air. You looked toward the reflective glass of the microwave door and saw nothing.

Not a shadow, not a silhouette, not even a faint outline.

You had literally disappeared into thin air.

“Nana! It worked! I’m completely gone!” You squealed, your voice echoing from what looked like entirely empty space in the middle of the kitchen.

You took a few excited steps, your invisible feet gliding soundlessly across the floor. You waved your arms frantically, thrilled by the realisation of what this meant for your plan.

“Nana, touch me. See if you feel me.”

Nana followed your voice and touch your arm. “It’s weird,” she muttered. “Good weird don’t get me wrong. I feel you but it’s like you’re immaterial even if I’m touching you…”

Then, a sudden practical thought hit you, and you stopped dead in your tracks.

“Wait…” you said, your invisible head tilting in confusion as you looked down at where your chest should be. “Nana, how am I going to dress for this? If I step away from the wall or go outside, do I have to be… naked? Are my clothes going to stay visible while I’m invisible?”

Nana chuckled softly crossing her arms as she stared right into the empty patch of kitchen where your voice was coming from.

“Sweetheart, take a breath and look at yourself,” Nana said smoothly, a fond, amused glint in her sharp eyes. “The energy shell you’re generating isn’t just wrapping around your skin. It’s bending the light around everything contained within your personal electromagnetic field.”

She gestured toward the empty air where your sweater was hovering.

“Right now, those thick sweatpants and that oversized sweater are just as invisible as you are. The clothes, your hair, whatever you’re holding close to your body. It’s all gets pulled into the refraction field and when you decide to drop the field…”

You let go of the breath you were holding, allowing the tension in your solar core to relax. The warm, humming barrier dissolved.

In an instant, your hands, the soft grey sweater and the comfortable sweatpants materialised right back into plain sight, completely solid and unchanged.

“…they come right back with you,” Nana finished with a decisive nod, a proud, lethal smile touching her lips. “No naked tactical missions required.”

You were so caught up you didn’t realise before that your clothes were indeed invisible too.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Friday arrived.

The moment the door clicked shut and your frame slipped silently out into the crisp morning air, nana stood motionless in the quiet kitchen. She watched until your departure faded into the distance.

Taking a slow steady breath, she moved slowly and controlled toward the living room. Picking up a frame off the wall, a safe appeared. Clicking the number on the pad, the safe opened with a click. Inside, cash of different currency and a phone. She picked it. It was an old, heavily modified burner phone. Untracked, satellite-linked, and dark for over fifteen years.

She flipped it open, dialled a ten-digit sequence from memory, and brought the receiver to her ear.

It rang once.

A click sounded on the other end of the encrypted line, followed by a low, gravelly voice.

“I need your help,” nana said quietly. Her voice cold, commanding and laced with the undeniable authority of a legend.

There was a brief beat of silence on the line before the voice answered, sharp and unwavering.

“Coming, agent Brown.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You drifted ghostly and unseen above the somber gathering, staring down at the cruel theatre below.

A sad casket sat draped in the national flag, surrounded by towering wreaths of white lilies and pristine roses. The mournful melody of a single bagpipe bled into the grey afternoon air as dignitaries in pressed black suits offered practiced, somber nods to the press. To the rest of the world, it was an honour bound send off for a fallen hero. A polished, solemn tribute to a life cut short in the line of duty. To you, watching from the ether, it was an absolute farce.

They were burying a box full of lead weights, laying a ghost to rest while your actual heart was still beating, fuelled purely by rage and survival. The sheer absurdity of witnessing your own memorial sent a bitter chill straight through your spiritual form. Everyone down there was mourning a tragedy that hadn’t even happened, weeping over a lie engineered by Apex.

Your eyes shifted away from the polished mahogany and landed on the true casualty of the day.

Bucky.

He stood apart from the rigid rows of folding chairs, ignoring the speechmakers and the camera flashes, looking like a man being carved away from the inside out.

You sank into the saturated earth beside him, still unseen and untouchable, watching Bucky go entirely rigid.

The hitch in his breath was immediate. A choked, desperate gasp as the sudden flare of your warmth grazed his freezing skin. Slowly and agonisingly, he lifted his face to the sky, his eyes bloodshot and drenched with rain, fruitlessly hunting the empty air where you knelt right in front of him.

“Y/N…?”

When his palm closed on nothing but downpours and shadows, the last bit of light drained from his face. Fresh tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks. He yanked his hand back, pressing it hard over his sternum as if manually forcing his shattered heart to keep beating, collapsing back against the cold granite headstone in pure, unadulterated ruin. He thought he was losing his mind, convinced his own crushing grief was conjuring hallucinations.

Yet, even without sight, his gaze locked directly onto yours. He was looking straight into your eyes, anchored by the faint, invisible pull of your soul hovering inches away but because your form remained hidden from the physical world, his stare cut right through you, striking Steve, who stood motionless a few paces behind your floating silhouette.

A silent war waged inside your chest, threatening to tear you apart right then and there. Every protective instinct, every fibre of your soul screamed at you to strip away the illusion, to break the stealth field and throw your arms around Bucky’s neck. You wanted to press your forehead against his, to let him feel your heart hammering wildly against his palm, to whisper that you were there.

You could do it.

It was a single thought, a single flick of a switch away. You could end his suffering in a heartbeat. You could wipe away Steve’s crushing despair and pull your family back from the brink.

Just reveal yourself, the desperate voice in your head begged. Fuck Apex. Fuck the mission. Look at him. He’s dying inside.

One decision and Bucky wouldn’t have to face another second of this nightmare alone. But the cold, terrifying reality slapped you back.

From your unseen vantage point your eyes shifted to Clara, the woman who had tried so desperately to take your place.

You studied her with a cold, terrifying detachment, analysing every detail of her presence like a target locked in a crosshair.

She stood near the edge of the mourners, her tailored black coat pristine and her hair immaculately styled despite the driving rain. Her posture was framed in carefully practiced grief. Brows furrowed just enough, hands folded neatly in front of her and a performance designed for the cameras and the watching eyes of the Avengers.

She looked like a grieving colleague. But you knew better.

You watched the subtle twitch of her fingers near her pocket, the way her eyes darted calculatedly toward Steve’s trembling shoulders and then over to Bucky’s broken form in the mud.

There was no real sorrow in her gaze. Only a cold, opportunistic assessment.

She was sizing them up, gauging their vulnerability waiting for the precise moment to slip back into your spot and play the comforter. She was one ready to dismantle them from the inside out.

She thought she was subtle.

She thought her cover was seamless.

Look at them, Clara, you thought. Enjoy the act while it lasts.

You recorded every movement, every micro expression, etching her face into your memory.

She had tried to put on your gear. She had tried to sit in your chair. And worst of all, she had helped Apex orchestrate the nightmare that was currently destroying the man you loved.

She believed you were lying six feet beneath the wet earth, another tragic casualty of Apex’s grand design. She had no idea that the ghost she was celebrating was standing less than ten feet away, dissecting her every move, learning her rhythm and preparing to tear her world to shreds.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Once the Avengers moved back toward the inside of the compound, you walked near Bucky.

The urge of taking his hand intertwined your fingers. You wanted nothing more that hug his frame, cradling him in your hug whispering nothing but sweet words. He stopped abruptly once he heard Clara’s voice.

You saw her moving closer, her voice soft and gentle.

“If you need anything,” she began and moved closer to touch his arm. “Tell me.”

Bucky moved back as Clara’s touch was poison and walked back without saying a word.

You smiled seeing this.

The toxin wasn’t in Bucky’s blood anymore.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Once you were back in the farm, the low hum of a jet’s cloaking engine was the first clue of something different. A subtle vibration in your teeth before you even reached the tree line.

You slipped through the overgrown sunflower patch behind your nana’s porch. You were exhausted but aching and still tasting the bitter rain from the cemetery. As you rounded the corner of the farmhouse, the scent of fresh brew and roasted coffee hit you, accompanied by a presence that didn’t belong there.

Sitting on the porch glider beside your grandmother was T’Challa.

The Wakandian king and famous Black Panther.

He wasn’t wearing his black tight suit. He wore a heavy black sweater, his posture rigid with a grief you recognised all too well. When King T’Chaka had been taken in the bombing at the Vienna NATO summit, the world had fractured and nobody had felt that shatter deeper than T’Challa.

T’Chaka was his dad and previous kind of Wakanda.

What the public, and you, didn’t know, was that your nana and T’Chaka went back decades.

She had been an operative in her youth, an old ally from a time before global super-heroics, bound to the former king by a deep, unspoken respect.

Ever since Vienna, T’Challa had made a point to check on her whenever he crossed the ocean.

He was anchoring himself to the few people left who had known his father simply as a man, not just a king.

“You’re tracking mud on my porch,” your nana’s raspy voice broke the quiet. She sat wrapped in a knitted shawl, her sharp eyes cutting through the twilight directly to you.

T’Challa turned his head, his dark eyes widening slightly as he took you in. Battered, maybe emotionally exhausted, but very much breathing.

“Y/N,” he said softly, standing up with the quiet grace that always defined him. “The news reported…”

“The news told what they knew,” you replied, your voice rough.

You walked up the wooden steps, offering T’Challa a brief, weary nod of recognition. There was a mutual understanding in the air. Two people intimately familiar with loss, secrets, and the heavy price of wearing a mask.

“I asked him to come,” your nana said plainly, taking a slow sip from her mug. She looked between you and the young king. Her expression hardening into pure, unyielding resolve. “I told him my granddaughter was fighting a war in the dark, and that she needed armour fit for a ghost.”

T’Challa looked at you, his gaze shifting from surprise to a steady, resolute warmth. “My father spoke highly of your grandmother’s strength. When she called, I came. If Apex is your target, Y/N… Wakanda will ensure you do not strike them empty handed.”

T’Challa reached down to a sleek, obsidian case resting beside his boots. With a soft click, the latches released, revealing a refined suit laid out on dark velvet.

It wasn’t a Black Panther suit, but it carried the distinct, unmistakable craftsmanship of Wakanda.

Woven from lightweight vibranium weave. The suit was a deep, matte burgundy top engineered to absorb light and sound, blending into the shadows while offering near-impenetrable protection. Sleek kinetic distribution points lined the spine and joints, and the wrist gauntlets were custom fitted to hold your stealth tech and field equipment. Soft but tight white material around your legs, making you able to move and run with no problems.

“My sister designed it based on your combat metrics and your grandmother’s specifications,” T’Challa said, his voice low and steady as he gestured to the armour. “It will cloak you, protect you and allow you to strike without leaving a trace. No one will see you coming.”

Your nana leaned forward, resting her hands on her lap, her eyes locking onto yours with fierce pride.

You ran your fingers over the smooth, cool vibranium fabric, feeling the quiet hum of power beneath your touch.

The image of Bucky crying in the rain, broken on his knees, flashed in your mind, followed by Clara’s calculating smile as she tried to step into your shoes.

The grief was gone for now, replaced by a cold, sharp focus.

“Thank you, T’Challa,” you said softly, your grip tightening over the suit.

“Do not thank me yet,” T’Challa replied, offering a brief, supportive nod. “Save your thanks for when Apex is brought to justice. Go get your life back.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The hum of the jet died into the night sky, leaving only the rustle of the countryside cornfields and the rhythmic creak of the porch glider. T’Challa was gone, but the weight of the suit inside the case remained, resting heavily on the wooden floorboards between you and your grandmother.

You leaned back against the porch railing, running a tired hand through your damp hair, and looked at the woman sitting in the shawl.

“How did you know them, nana?” You asked softly, the quiet of the early night finally catching up to you. “I know T’Challa mentioned his dad spoke highly of you, but… T’Chaka was a king. Wakanda was invisible back then. How did a CIA agent woman wind up on speaking terms with Wakandian royalty?”

Your nana let out a dry wheezing laugh that turned into a soft sigh, her sharp eyes reflecting the dim porch light as she stared out into the dark fields.

“Back when I was your age, I wasn’t sitting on a porch watching corn grow, kiddo,” she said, her voice dropping into a low, gravelly cadence you rarely heard. “Before S.H.I.E.L.D. was even a word people threw around, there were covert intelligence networks operating out of North Africa. I was a field communications specialist for the resistance during the late seventies.”

She took a slow sip of her tea, setting the mug down on the small side table with a faint thud.

“There was an incident in ‘78, an illegal mercenary cell backed by some mercenary offshoots that tried to cross into the border regions near Wakanda to harvest raw vibranium,” she continued, her gaze turning distant. “I was embedded in a local radio station tracking their frequencies. T’Chaka was young back then, not long after taking the mantle. He was hunting the same cell. We crossed paths in the middle of a bad firefight in the jungle. I blew up a munitions convoy that was about to flank his unit, and he pulled me out of a burning jeep with a shattered hip.”

She patted her bad leg with a wry smile.

“We spent three days hiding out in a ruined outpost, patching each other up and keeping watch,” she said softly. “You learn everything you need to know about a man when you’re sharing a canteen and waiting out a death squad. T’Chaka was a proud man, but he was honourable to a fault. He swore a debt to me that day, and I swore to keep his secrets. We kept in touch through secure channels for forty years.”

Your nana looked up from the darkness, her eyes locking onto yours with fierce tenderness.

“When T’Chaka died in Vienna, I cried for three days,” she admitted quietly. “And when T’Challa called me afterward, I told him the same thing I told his father years ago… we protect our own. So when you told me you wanted to show up at your funeral, I didn’t hesitate. I called in the old favour. T’Challa didn’t just bring you a suit, Y/N. He brought it because he knew his father would have personally handed it to you himself.”

T’Challa before leaving gestured toward the open case just before he left, his voice ringing with a quiet, prophetic certainty.

“Put it on,” he told you, his dark eyes solemn as he looked down at the sleek vibranium weave. “Wear it every day. Train in it, sleep in it and make it a second skin. If you have to fight in the shadows, on the streets, or fly into space tomorrow… you will be ready.”

His words echoed in your mind as you stood alone on the farmhouse porch, the obsidian suit resting against your chest like a promise.

That suit was the absolute beginning of everything.

It was the turning point where you stopped being a hunted ghost hiding in the countryside and became something far more dangerous to Apex.

Every day after, you lived in that Wakandian armour.

You ran the muddy perimeter of the farm in it, calibrated your stealth systems through the freezing prairie nights and mastered every kinetic pulse stored within its fibres.

It adapted to your pulse, moulded to your frame and absorbed the weight of your grief until the suit didn’t feel like gear anymore. It felt like a weapon waiting to be unsheathed.

Apex believed they had buried you. They believed Bucky was broken, the Avengers were fractured, and the board was clear for them to take over. They had no idea what was coming back for them.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The night air was freezing, cutting through the darkness as you pushed your body to its absolute limits. Wearing the suit had become as natural as breathing, the lightweight weave shifting seamlessly with your stride as you ran past the tree line, kilometres away from your nana’s farm.

You weren’t trying to be a hero.

You weren’t training to be an executioner.

Then you heard it. A muffled scream bleeding out from behind a rusted grain silo near the edge of town.

Your instincts took over before your brain could register the detour. You activated the cloak mode turning into a shadow in the night air, and rounded the corner. A man had a woman pinned against the corrugated metal, his hand shoved violently over her mouth as he dragged her into the dark alley.

CRACK.

You didn’t even use fully your power.

You dropped your body mid-air, landing between them like a ghost materialised from thin air. A single, charged backhand sent the attacker flying five feet back, smashing into the gravel. He barely had time to register the sleek and matte armor staring down at him before a swift strike to the jaw knocked him cold.

The woman collapsed against the metal wall, sobbing. Her eyes wide with terror and awe as she stared at the silent, shadow draped figure standing over her.

“Run home,” you said, your voice modulated into a low, unrecognisable hum by the suit’s comms unit. “Lock your doors.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted into the night.

Standing alone in the quiet alley, looking down at your gloved hands as the energy faintly hummed beneath the suit, a dark realisation settled over you.

You weren’t just a ghost anymore. The world outside was still rotting, Apex was still pulling strings, and people were still getting hurt.

That night was the spark.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Over the next two weeks, while hunting down leads on Clara and Apex, you became a phantom in the night. A ruthless, nameless vigilante sweeping through the surrounding towns, dismantling human traffickers, low-level Apex couriers and street criminals before vanishing into thin air. The news called you simply the new vigilante in town.

It was during one of these late night runs, while perched on a high tension tower overlooking the perimeter of the Avengers Compound, that your dual life collided.

Through your suit’s long range optical zoom, you peered through the glass and concrete of the compound’s training facility.

Bucky was there.

It was three in the morning, but he wasn’t sleeping.

He was brutally hammering a heavy bag. His movements raw, uncoordinated and fuelled by pure, unadulterated agony. His flesh knuckles were bleeding, his hair matted with sweat, his face pale and hollowed out. Every strike looked like he was trying to beat his own grief into submission.

A few feet away, sitting on a bench with a tablet, was Clara.

She was playing her part perfectly, offering him a bottle of water, speaking with practiced, gentle sympathy. But through your enhanced optics, you caught the subtle, triumphant smirk she hid when Bucky turned his back to hit the bag again. She was feeding on his brokenness, slowly chipping away at his defences while he drowned in his own guilt.

Your hands clenched into tight fists, the suit glowed with a faint, golden charge.

You had become a vigilante to protect the helpless, but watching the woman who destroyed your life still trying to poison the man you loved made your blood run ice cold. You weren’t just going to stop Clara.

You were going to tear her world apart piece by piece, and Bucky would finally know the truth.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Another day, another peer into the Avenger’s life.

Steve and Sam spent the day running outside.

Tony and Bruce hid themself in the lab.

Wanda and Nat checked everything Clara did like two predators with they prey.

Clint was outside alone.

Clara tried so hard to get Bucky’s attention. You clearly saw one day, her spraying perfume on herself.

That perfume.

Your blood froze.

You watched her movements, following her steps through the compound. Once you saw Bucky rejecting her, again, you release a breathe held between your chest like a block.

The scent didn’t work on him anymore.

Bucky wandered in the compound alone, like a ghost.

Like me, you thought.

He moved into the corridor and looked miserable.

He slept even less that before. His bed almost untouched.

You watched him taking mission in mission.

The cruelest ones.

The mission that reduced a man into a puddle after the force and energy he had to use.

The following day, through the clear pane, you watched Wanda stride into the room like an impending storm. Her voice carry through the reinforced glass, thanks to your hyper enhanced hearing.

“Look at you!” Wanda’s voice echoed directly into your head, dripping with venom. “Sitting in the dark! Pitiful! Tragic! The broken soldier who couldn’t save his girl!”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You hovered motionless against the bruised sky, watching Bucky sit like a hollow shell on the leather sofa. He looked agonisingly diminished.

Unshaven, sunken eyed and his vibranium arm hanging dead at his side.

As Wanda tore into him, screaming about his weakness and Vault 04 and Clara, she didn’t just stare at Bucky. In her fierce, red-rimmed eyes, there was a sharp, calculating glance that flicked right toward the exact section of the exterior wall where you were hovering.

As she slammed her hands down onto the sofa armrest, venting her fury at Bucky, her eyes pierced right through the glass, looking straight at the space you occupied. It was like she felt your presence.

You stayed locked in that exact spot all day, refusing to move.

The sun dipped completely beneath the horizon, painting the sky in shades of purple and Warm orange. For hours, you watched Bucky through the glass.

He barely moved.

He didn’t eat.

He just sat in the dark, drowning in a sea of self-hatred that you had unknowingly condemned him to. Every second you spent watching him was a struggling form of self-torture. A silent battle raging inside you as your hand twitched over your wrist, begging you to drop the cloak and fly through the glass.

Late into the night, the scene shifted.

You followed Bucky’s slow, trek up to the secluded outer terrace. You drifted upward, rising effortlessly through the freezing night air positioning yourself high in the sky directly above the platform.

Down below, the biting wind whipped around Bucky and Wanda. Through your optical zoom eyes, you saw Bucky dropping suddenly to his knees on the cold concrete tiles. You watched his flesh hand grab the hem of Wanda’s jacket, his face lifted in a pathetic, desperate plea.

“Show me,” his voice cracked over your audio feed, raw and utterly shattered. “I want you to use your magic. I want you to go into my head and show me what I did to her in that vault.”

A choked gasp caught in your own throat.

No, Bucky… don’t, you pleaded silently hovering in the clouds above. Don’t do this to yourself.

You watched in absolute, helpless horror as Wanda slowly raised her hands, her fingers glowing with a soft, crimson mist. She touched his temples. The moment the connection landed, Bucky’s entire frame violently spasmed. Down on the terrace, he collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, retching painfully against the stone as the forced memories of Vault 04 and, presumably what he did in the guest room to you tore through his brain.

“God…” Bucky’s high, broken scream cut right through the howling wind, reaching you even up in the sky. He slammed his fist hard into the deck, cracking the concrete, beating his bloody flesh hand against the floor again and again. “God, no! No! What did I do?! What did I do to her?!”

Up in the safety of the clouds, hot tears finally spilled over your eyes, streaming down your face. You bit down on your lip so hard you tasted copper, your chest heaving with silent, violent sobs. It began rain more.

You were standing right above him, wrapped in the most impenetrable, high tech Wakandian armour, powered by the most advanced technology on Earth along with the solar and cosmic energy too, and yet you had never felt more completely powerless.

Down on the deck, Wanda stepped back, leaving Bucky alone in the dark. Bucky remained on his knees, his forehead pressed flat against the cold, wet concrete. The rain felt in heavy, relentless sheets, drumming against his hunched back and washing the blood from his bruised knuckles into the drain. You hovered directly over him in the downpour, tears obscuring your vision as you looked down at the man you loved. He was weeping into the storm, his shoulders shaking as he whispered your name into the freezing rain.

“I’m a monster…” his voice drifted up to you, a fragile, dying thread. “Even the sky misses you, doll…” he said looking at the non stopping rain.

You pressed a gloved hand to your face, right over your mouth, smothering the scream tearing at your lungs.

You wanted to descend more.

You wanted to drop out of the sky like a falling star, wrap your arms around his shivering frame, and press your face into his neck until he knew the truth.

I’m here, Bucky. I’m right here. It wasn’t you. It was never you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The quiet hum of your suit faded as your boots touched the muddy grass, but the moment your weight settled onto the earth, the sky violently answered the sheer, suffocating agony in your soul.

As if the atmosphere itself could no longer contain the weight of your heartbreak, the clouds split open in an absolute fury. A blinding flash of lightning ripped through the darkness, followed instantly by a deafening, bone rattling crack of thunder that shook the very ground beneath you.

A vicious, howling tempest erupted over the farm. A torrential downpour of rain that drummed against the fields like a war drum, the wind whipping the tall grass into a frantic, violent frenzy. Your nana was already on the porch, wrapped tight in her knitted shawl. Her hand gripping the railing so hard her knuckles were white.

The moment your silhouette emerged from the dark, her face shattered. She didn’t just see a soldier returning from a mission. She saw a hollow, broken shell of a girl who had watched the love of her life bleed out from the inside.

She saw your shoulders hitching violently. She saw the hot, unstoppable tears flooding down your cheeks, mixing with the rain on your suit. With a trembling hand, you hit the release seal on your neck. The suit hissed open and retracted, exposing your pale, rain drenched face to the biting cold. The sound that tore from your lungs wasn’t a normal cry. It was an inhuman, high pitched scream of pure grief, a sound so raw and shattered that it sounded like your soul was physically ripping in two.

“Oh, my sweet girl… no…” your nana gasped, her raspy voice breaking completely.

She didn’t care about the freezing mud soaking through her slippers or the brutal storm plastering her white hair to her face. She reached you in seconds, throwing her frail arms around your armoured frame under the rain.

You collapsed more right into the mud at her feet. The light but yet heavy suit sank into the earth as you buried your face into her wet shawl, clutching her like a drowning child. Your body shook with violent, terrifying spasms, your chest heaving as you tried to draw in air that felt like liquid glass in your throat.

“I saw him, nana!” You screamed into the roar of the wind, your voice cracking until it was nothing but a bloody, ragged whisper. “I stood up in the sky and watched him! He was on his knees… he was slamming his hands into the concrete until he bled, nana! He thinks he’s a monster! He thinks he pushed me, he thinks he bruised me, he thinks he killed me!”

You clawed at the mud beneath you, your gloves caked in dark earth as you sobbed so hard you began to retch.

“They destroyed him!” You shrieked into the storm, the rain whipping around you in blinding sheets as thunder boomed directly overhead. “He was begging Wanda to break his mind because he thinks he deserves it! He’s lying in the rain dying inside, and I couldn’t touch him! I couldn’t tell him I’m alive! I had to stand there and watch him scream my name!”

Your nana fell to her knees beside you in the mud, pulling your head tightly against her chest, her own tears streaming down her face and disappearing into the deluge. She rocked you wildly against her, her frail hands burying into your wet hair, holding you as if she were trying to physically keep your shattered body from scattering into the wind.

“I know, baby, I know,” she wept, her voice trembling against the roar of the thunder. “Let it out, my sweet girl… just let it out…”

You threw your head back into the driving rain, letting out a hollow, cry that echoed across the empty, storm drenched fields. The sky roared back in answer, the lightning illuminating your broken form as you sobbed until you had no air left in your lungs, utterly consumed by the unbearable weight of loving a man you were forced to haunt.

Your nana’s frail, cold hand cupped your cheek. Her calloused thumb brushing gently over your trembling skin to wipe away the flood of rain and burning tears.

“Look at me, my sweet girl,” she whispered, her voice a steady anchor in the middle of the violent storm. “Look at your nana.”

The moment her palm pressed more firmly against your face, an intense, unnatural surge of heat flared straight up your neck, crackling through your core like a live wire. It wasn’t kinetic energy from the suit. It was something far deeper. The physical manifestation of a soul pulled past its absolute breaking point, your body reacting to the unbearable weight of your grief, rage, and magic all collapsing in on themselves at once. A blinding, silver white glow flickered beneath your skin, racing up from your chest and spilling into your scalp.

Your nana’s sharp eyes widened in silent awe and heartbreak. Starting right from the roots at your forehead, the natural dark colour of your hair began to bleach away. Inch by inch, like ink dissolving in clear water, every single strand bled into a shocking, luminous snow white.

It cascaded rapidly down your neck and over your armoured shoulders, turning into a stark, striking silver that practically glowed under the flashes of lightning piercing the dark sky.

You didn’t feel pain, only a sudden terrifying clarity. The physical transformation washed over you like a freezing tide, draining the last lingering traces of your helplessness and locking your agony into something cold, ancient, and unbreakable. Your nana staggered back a step, looking at you not with fear, but with a quiet, solemn reverence.

“You feel it, don’t you?” She whispered, her voice barely carrying across the mist.

“I control it now, Nana,” you said. Your voice was no longer broken or shaky. It was smooth, steady and layered with a subtle resonant power that made the ground beneath your boots hum.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The next morning, the scent of coffee and fried eggs filled the warm kitchen. Your hair, now a shocking, permanent white, was pulled back loosely, falling over the collar of your clean sweater.

Your nana set a plate in front of you, her eyes lingering on your pale, composed face. For the first time in months, your hands weren’t shaking.

On the small counter TV, the morning news broadcast droned over a low-volume static before a breaking news banner flashed across the screen.

“…investigators are still on the scene in downtown following a baffling late night breach at a private biomedical research facility.”

The anchor reported, showing footage of flashing red lights and police tape surrounding a sleek, unmarked high-rise.

You slowly set your fork down, your eyes locking onto the screen.

“Authorities are baffled by the lack of forced entry,” the reporter continued. “Over a dozen high security guards were found incapacitated. Local police state that the witnesses recovered from the scene appear severely disoriented, describing their own actions as if they were operating ‘on autopilot’ during the breach.”

Your nana froze, her hand hovering over the coffee pot.

“Furthermore,” the anchor added, reading from an updated press release, “hazmat teams are currently investigating a sweet, distinct lilac fragrance lingering throughout the upper vault floors, despite no chemical leaks being detected…”

A dangerous, icy calm settled over your chest.

Apex.

They weren’t just hiding in the shadows anymore. They were actively harvesting tech or intel right under the authorities’ noses, using Clara’s signature neural gas to turn security teams into mindless puppets. The exact same synthetic lilac scent that had been used to fog Bucky’s mind and turn him into their unwilling weapon.

Your nana looked over at you, setting the coffee pot down with a heavy, decisive click. “They’re getting sloppy.”

“No,” you said, your voice smooth, low, and echoing with the dark resonance of your newly mastered power. “They’re getting comfortable. They think nobody’s left to track them.”

You stood up from the table, your silver hair catching the morning light.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Months of unrelenting, obsessive tracking led you straight across the globe to the scorched outskirts of Cairo.

Following the breadcrumbs of synthetic lilac traces, black-market chemical shipments and Apex’s secret logistics trails, you finally pinpointed their core operation. Out in the vast, empty expanse of the desert, miles away from any civil infrastructure, stood an old, crumbling stone structure.

A forgotten relic swallowed by sand dunes and heat haze.

To anyone else, it looked like an abandoned outpost. But your suit’s deep spectrum sensors immediately picked up high voltage power conduits buried deep beneath the earth. You fingers sparked with some tiny particles of electricity.

You breached the perimeter unseen, blending into the scorching midday light like a phantom. Inside the ruined stone walls, hidden behind a rotting wooden partition, stood a pristine, heavy duty steel elevator door completely out of place against the ancient brickwork.

You rested your palm on the panel and struck an hot flush of energy. The panel melted under your palm.

The heavy doors hissed open. The elevator descended into the dark for a long minute, dropping hundreds of feet into the subterranean bedrock.

When the doors finally slid apart, the sheer scale of the facility left you paralysed.

It was a cavernous, clinical vault stretching into the darkness, lit only by the harsh, humming icy blue glow of industrial strip lights. Arranged in two endless, terrifyingly queues were tons of metal restraint chairs. It wasn’t the exact same design as the chair used to strip Bucky of his memories, but they used the same concept.

Each chair was hooked up to a massive glass reservoir mounted directly behind it. Inside the chambers, a thick, viscous fluid bubbled rhythmically under pressure, sending pale purple vapours coiling up through the clear feeding tubes.

“That’s not water…” you mumbled to yourself, your voice echoing hollowly in the vast, sterile chamber.

You stepped closer, reaching out a gloved hand to touch the reinforced glass of the nearest reservoir. Through your suit’s chemical analyser, the readouts flashed in rapid succession on your visor, confirming your absolute worst nightmare.

It wasn’t water.

It was the concentrated raw neural inhibitor serum. The exact base ingredient for the synthetic lilac gas.

You did know that Apex wasn’t just planning to control a few key targets or corrupt the Avengers from within.

They were building an assembly line. They had constructed an underground factory designed to brainwash, condition and control thousands of people at once, turning an entire army into mindless obedient ghosts.

You blinked, shaking your head as you re-read the decrypted logs on the glowing console. You corrected your assumption instantly.

Clara wasn’t the test subject.

She wasn’t a walking pathogen or Subject Zero.

She was far worse.

She was the architect of Apex.

You took a sharp, steadying breath, leaning forward as the cold, hard reality of the last months settled over you.

Clara was a high-level Apex operative, working directly with their scientists to design and deploy this horror.

She was the handler who had voluntarily pumped the synthetic lilac gas through the vents into Bucky’s quarters, meticulously measuring the dosage to break his mind while keeping herself entirely immune. She wasn’t a victim or a prototype. She was a cold, calculating mastermind actively setting up the board to unleash this biological virus upon the world.

A dark, vicious clarity settled in your chest as you stared at the endless rows of chairs. Clara was positioning herself right at the heart of the Avengers, waiting for the mass production phase in this Cairo facility to wrap up so Apex could launch the initial injection wave.

She was going to bring the first needle straight to Bucky and the team.

Your gloved fingers clamped around the edge of the control console. You downloaded every scrap of data. The chemical formulas, the facility blueprints and the encrypted comms logs directly linking Clara to the Cairo operation straight into your suit’s drive.

You had the proof.

You had the location.

Most importantly, you had the raw power to burn this place to ash.

“Clara,” you whispered into the silent, sterile vault, your white hair catching the harsh blue light as a lethal smile touched your lips. “Your game is over.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The faint clack of boots against polished concrete shattered the heavy silence of the subterranean vault. Your optics instantly adjusted to the movement in the dark. A heavily armed Apex guard emerged from the far access corridor, his assault rifle raised, his visor sweeping the rows of bubbling glass reservoirs. You didn’t hesitate.

Before the guard could even raise his comms to sound the alarm, you dropped your stealth field. The air around you rippled as you moved with terrifying, silent speed. The air slid on the vibranium absorbing every micro second of sound, closing a fifty foot gap in the blink of an eye.

You materialised directly in his blind spot.

His eyes widened behind his visor as he caught the sudden flash of white hair, but it was already too late.

You grabbed the barrel of his rifle with your gloved left hand, wrenching it upward while your right palm struck him squarely in the chest. A targeted, silent pulse of stored kinetic energy blasted directly through his tactical vest, crushing his sternum instantly and shattering his ribs into his heart.

The guard went completely limp before he could even let out a gasp.

You caught his falling body effortlessly, lowering him to the cold concrete without making a single sound. As his rifle clattered harmlessly against your boots, you looked down at his lifeless form with cold, unyielding detachment.

Leaving the body hidden between the rows of restraint chairs, you set your suit’s internal drive to begin overloading the facility’s power conduits. It was time to erase this place from the face of the earth and then head back for Clara.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The soft, erratic patter of tiny bare feet echoed down the sterile corridor, entirely distinct from the heavy tread of an Apex guard.

Your head snapped toward the noise, your hair sweeping over your shoulders as you dropped into a low, combat stance. Your gloves charging with kinetic force but the lethal energy in your hands instantly vanished as two small, trembling figures stumbled out from behind the shadow of a massive glass reservoir.

It was a boy, no older than nine or ten, and his little sister, who couldn’t have been more than six.

They wore oversized, coarse linen smocks stamped with black Apex tracking numbers. The boy was shivering violently, his arms thrown out protectively as he shoved his sister behind him, placing his frail body between you and her. His wide, dark eyes were hollowed out, carrying a heavy, haunting silence born of pure, unspeakable trauma. His jaw worked, his throat bobbing as he tried to form a warning or a plea, but no sound came out. The little girl clung tightly to his waist, hiding her face against his back, her tiny frame shaking with quiet, rhythmic sobs.

They were two of the human vectors. The children Apex apparently intended to inject and send out to spread the silent, lilac-scented poison.

The icy, killer instinct that had guided you through Cairo dissolved into a sharp, painful ache in your chest. You hit the quick release seal on your collar, allowing the mask to retract, revealing your face to the harsh blue light of the vault.

“Hey…” you whispered softly, your voice dropping into a low, soothing cadence that carried gently across the cold concrete. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

You slowly dropped down onto one knee, bringing yourself down to their level so you didn’t tower over them like the guards had.

The boy didn’t retreat, but his posture remained rigid, his small knuckles white as he kept his sister shielded. He stared at your face, his eyes darting frantically to the dead guard tucked behind the console, then back to your luminous, silver-white hair. He gave a sharp, emphatic shake of his head, pointing a frantic finger toward the main corridor, his mouth opening in a silent, desperate go. He was trying to warn you. He thought more guards were coming.

“I know,” you said gently, your eyes softening as you read his silent language. “I know there are more of them. But I’m not leaving without you two. Look at me… you don’t have to be scared anymore.”

You extended your gloved hand, turning your palm upward and completely open. With a subtle flick of your intent, the harsh vibranium weave softened, glowing with a faint, warm and amber ambient light that cut through the sterile gloom of the room.

The little girl peeked out from behind her brother’s back, her tear-streaked face smudged with dirt. She stared at the warm light in your hand, her swollen, reddened eyes wide with caution.

“Are you… are you one of the monsters?” she whimpered, her tiny voice trembling, echoing faintly off the rows of metal chairs. “They said the people with the needles were going to make us sleep.”

“No, sweetheart,” you replied softly, keeping your hand steady, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m the person who’s here to destroy the needles. Nobody is ever going to make you sleep again. Nobody is ever going to hurt your brother again.”

The boy looked down at your open hand, then up into your eyes. He searched your face for any trace of the cold, mechanical cruelty of the doctors who had kept him in the dark. He found only fierce, unyielding warmth.

He swallowed hard, a tiny ragged breath escaping his nose. He didn’t speak, he couldn’t maybe, but he slowly lowered his protective arms. He reached back, gently taking his little sister’s small hand, and pulled her out from behind him. He took one step forward, then another. His bare feet cold against the concrete, until he reached out and placed his bruised, trembling hand directly into yours.

The moment his skin touched the warm light of your glove, a long, shivering sigh tore from his small chest, and his head slumped forward against your knee, his quiet endurance finally giving way to relief.

“You’re so brave,” you murmured, wrapping your arm gently around his shoulders and pulling both of them close against your armoured chest. “You did such a good job keeping her safe. But it’s my turn now. Okay?”

The boy gave a single, firm nod against your shoulder, his fingers gripping the edge of your chest plate like a lifeline.

“What’s your name, little one?” You asked the girl, smoothing down her messy hair with your free hand.

“Maya,” she whispered, leaning into your side, her small hand clutching her brother’s shirt. “And he’s Leo. I think he lost his voice when the bad men took our home. He doesn’t talk anymore.”

“That’s okay, Maya,” you said, looking at Leo as he lifted his head to look at you, his silent eyes shining with a profound, unspoken trust. “Leo doesn’t need to say a word. I hear him loud and clear.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You sat on the concrete. Your legs protecting the kids. They were now calm and relaxed. Before the stealth field could fully engage, Leo tugged hard on the edge of your leg plate.

He tapped your shoulder frantically, then held up his small hand, raising two trembling fingers right in front of your eyes. He pointed back toward the dark, unlit rear section of the subterranean vault.

“What’s two?” You asked, the suit’s comms modulating your voice into a gentle, reassuring tone. “Leo, what do you mean?”

Maya shifted in your arm, her tiny fingers tightening around your neck as she looked over at her brother.

“There are two more,” Maya explained, her small voice trembling as she pointed toward the shadows. “Andrew and Rani. Cold rooms at the very back… Andrew tried to fight the guards.”

She leaned closer to your face, her eyes wide with earnest worry. “Andrew big… he’s fifteen, and he always protects us when the doctors come. Rani is twelve… he was sick yesterday, so they moved him away from the chairs.”

Leo gave a sharp, definitive nod, his dark eyes pleading with you. He refused to step any farther toward the exit, his small body locking up until he knew his friends weren’t being abandoned to the flames.

Your heart ached for the fierce loyalty these children carried in the middle of a nightmare.

“Nobody gets left behind,” you said, your voice ringing with absolute certainty. You gently set Maya back down on her feet next to Leo, holding both of their hands. “Leo, show me where the cold rooms are.”

Leo didn’t waste a second. He gripped your gloved hand and took off down the dark side corridor, leading you deeper into the facility toward the trapped boys. Leo led you swiftly down the damp, rusted corridor, stopping in front of a heavy reinforced steel door marked with a stark biohazard symbol.

You relied on the brute physical force. You slammed your foot flat against the electronic lock, channeling a concentrated pulse of energy straight into the wiring. The panel sparked violently, dying with a loud pop, and the heavy door hissed as the magnetic seal broke.

You threw the door open. Inside the freezing, concrete cell sat two boys huddled together on a bare bench.

Andrew, a tall, lean fifteen-year-old with bruised knuckles and a fierce, defensive glare, instantly stood up, throwing his body in front of twelve-year-old Rani. “Stay back!” Andrew yelled, his voice cracking with exhaustion and fear.

“Andrew, it’s okay!” Maya cried, running past you into the room. “She’s helping us!”

Andrew froze, looking from Maya to your white hair and the very technical suit.

The defensive line in his shoulders softened, but your eyes immediately dropped to Rani. The younger boy was curled on the bench, deathly pale, clutching his stomach where a makeshift rag was dark with fresh, pooling blood.

“He tried to run earlier,” Andrew said, his voice dropping into a desperate tremble. “A guard hit him with a blade. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it won’t…”

You dropped to your knees beside Rani, setting your gloves aside to expose your bare hands. “Hold still, Rani,” you whispered softly. “Oh my god… what am I gonna do?”

The moment your fingertips lightly touched the edges of the jagged wound on his stomach, the white hair framing your face flared with a brilliant, silver radiance. You felt the raw, ambient power of your newly mastered abilities surge through your veins. Not as a weapon of destruction, but as a warm, flowing tide.

A soft, luminescent light bled from your hands directly into Rani’s skin.

Rani gasped, his eyes widening in shock as the burning pain instantly vanished. Beneath your palms, the deep laceration began to pull together, the torn flesh and skin knitting back seamlessly in seconds, leaving behind nothing but smooth, unblemished skin.

Andrew stared in absolute, silent awe, while Leo smiled for the first time, giving a proud nod toward his sister.

Rani sat up slowly, touching his completely healed stomach. “How… how did you do that? And who are you”

The lingering silver glow around your fingers slowly faded as you stood up, flexing your hands. You looked down at your palms, just as stunned as the kids staring up at you.

“Kid,” you began, offering a faint, self-deprecating smile. “I really don’t know.”

Andrew blinked, looking from Rani’s unblemished skin to the white locks falling over your shoulders. “You… you didn’t know you could do that?”

“I knew I have powers,” you murmured softly, engaging your gauntlets with a soft clack. “I guess I’m still discovering what comes after it.”

You didn’t have time to ponder the miraculous turn of events. High above the subterranean vault, deep within the facility’s central processing unit, the internal counter hit critical mass. The overhead strip lights flickered erratically, buzzing with a sharp, high-pitched whine as the power conduits began to overload.

“We have to move. Now,” you said, your voice shifting back to absolute, authoritative command.

You scooped Maya into your left arm and held out your right hand to Rani, who took it without a second thought, his strength completely restored. Andrew took a protective stance right beside Leo, keeping the younger boy close to his hip.

“Stay tight to me,” you instructed, looking each of them in the eye. “No matter what you hear, no matter how loud it gets, do not let go.”

With a swift fluid motion, you engaged the suit’s stealth field. The air around the five of you rippled violently as light bent around your figures, enveloping all of you in an invisible, sound dampening bubble.

The kids, except Leo, yelled happily.

You moved like a wraith through the dark, winding corridors of the Apex facility. Down the main vault, the massive glass reservoirs containing the bubbling liquid began to crack under the rising pressure, toxic gas hissing against the sealed glass. The overloaded conduits sparked, setting off secondary explosions in the power grid behind you.

You reached the pristine steel elevator just as the lower level began to cave in. Throwing your palm against the manual override, you forced the doors open and ushered the children inside. The heavy car shot upward, ascending hundreds of feet through the bedrock while the subterranean nightmare burned away into ash below.

When the elevator doors finally hissed open at the top, the harsh, blinding heat of the Egyptian desert struck you like a physical wall.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Before stepping out, you heard some strange sounds.

People were moving toward you.

Then, the heavy, rhythmic thud of tactical boots echoed from the end of the hall.

“Behind those barrels! Right now!” You commanded in a sharp whisper, pointing to a stack of industrial oil drums tucked into a shadowed alcove.

Andrew immediately grabbed Maya and Leo, shoving them behind the thick steel cylinders, while Rani crouched low right beside them.

“Stay quiet and don’t come out,” you ordered, stepping squarely into the centre of the narrow hallway just as the heavy doors at the far end burst open.

Ten Apex operatives stormed the corridor, clad in dark heavy plated kinetic armour and carrying high caliber tactical rifles.

They weren’t standard guards, these must have been Clara’s elite strike force.

You could have channeled the energy humming wildly beneath your skin and wiped the entire corridor clean in a single kinetic blast. But in a cramped, unstable bunker full of explosive gas lines and scared kids, using your raw power was too dangerous.

Instead, you cracked your knuckles, dropped into a low stance and relied on the brutal, hard earned hand-to-hand combat muscle memory of your past.

The first two men lunged with stun batons. You ducked beneath the first swing, drove a brutal elbow straight into his sternum, grabbed his tactical vest and threw him headfirst into his partner, knocking them both hard against the concrete wall.

“To your left! On the pipe!” Andrew’s young, frantic voice yelled out from behind the barrels.

Without hesitation, you ducked. A heavy titanium visor swung violently through the air where your head had been a second prior. You kicked the operative’s knee backward with a sickening snap, grabbed his wrist and slammed his helmet straight down into your knee, dropping him instantly.

“Behind you! Two coming!” Andrew shouted again, acting as your eyes in the chaotic darkness.

You spun on your heel, catching a shock baton on your forearm armour. You twisted the guard’s arm behind his back, delivered a double palm strike to his chest and swept the legs out from the sixth man charging with a riot shield.

Fists, boots, leverage and raw speed. You dismantled Clara’s elite guard piece by piece in the tight hallway.

“Last three! One’s going high!” Andrew’s warning rang out.

You vaulted off the wall, using a overhead pipe for leverage to land a flying double knee directly into the seventh man’s chest, dropping him like a stone. You grabbed the eighth operative by his collar, tossing him into the ninth and finished the tenth with a spinning back kick that launched him ten feet back down the corridor, unconscious before he even hit the floor.

Silence fell back over the smoky hallway, broken only by your heavy, steady breathing.

You turned back toward the barrels, wiping a smear of soot and someone’s blood from your jaw, and offered a breathy smile to the four pairs of wide, awestruck eyes staring out from the dark.

“Good call on the left, Andrew,” you panted, waving them forward. “Let’s go home.”

You stepped out of the crumbling stone ruin and into the vast expanse of open sand. High above, the midday sun blazed in a clear blue sky, casting golden light over the dunes.

Behind you, deep beneath the earth, a muffled tremendous thud shook the ground. Dust and sand billowed up from the elevator shaft as the entire underground facility collapsed in on itself, crushing the queues of metal chairs, the chemical reservoirs and Apex’s twisted legacy into a buried grave.

You dropped the stealth field.

The bright sunlight caught your white hair, making it gleam like spun silver against the dark suit.

Maya let out a tiny, breathless gasp, shielding her eyes as she looked out over the endless golden sand. Beside her, Leo took a deep, shaky breath of the dry desert air. His first breath of freedom in months. Andrew looked back at the collapsing ruin, a heavy cathartic sigh escaping his chest as he realized the nightmare was truly over. Rani simply stayed there shocked.

Maya’s small hand tightened on your wrist. Andrew looked at you with his chin trembling, the fierce defensive wall he built to protect the younger kids finally crumbling into dust. Rani wiped a warm tear from his cheek, while silent little Leo just stared up into your face, his eyes shining with a reverence that went far beyond relief.

“Who are you?” Andrew asked, his voice cracking down the middle, hovering right on the verge of sobbing.

“Are you a superhero?” Maya whimpered softly, a tear spilling over her lashes. “Or… or are you a guardian angel?”

You looked down at the four torn, bruised children, feeling the terrifying, beautiful weight of what you had just accomplished. You hit the quick release on your collar once more, letting the heavy combat helmet fully retract into the suit, exposing your bare face, your dark eyes, and the lingering, soft warmth of your humanity.

You dropped back down onto one knee in the soft sand, bringing yourself right to their eye level.

“I’m not an angel,” you said, your voice thick with emotion, yet smooth and steady as the desert wind. “And I’m not a superhero… even if technically I am…”

You reached out, gently pulling Leo and Maya into your left arm, while your right hand rested on Andrew’s tense shoulder, bringing Rani close into the embrace.

“I’m mostly someone who lost everything to the same people who tried to steal you,” you whispered, looking each of them dead in the eye so they would never forget it. “I’m the person who is going to make sure you get your lives back. I’m your shield now.”

Andrew choked back a sob, burying his face into your shoulder right alongside Leo. Maya wrapped her tiny arms around your neck, weeping softly into your skin, while Rani clung to your arm as if holding onto the sun itself.

You held them tight in the middle of the desert, your white hair spilling over their small shoulders, keeping them safe, warm, and whole while the shadows of Apex burned away behind you.

Andrew’s voice trailed off into the dry desert air, his eyes fixed on the sand beneath his bare feet. “Now?” he asked softly, swallowing hard. “How can we get back to…?”

He stopped himself. The word home caught like a lump in his throat. He didn’t have a house anymore. None of them did. Apex had erased their pasts long before locking them in that subterranean tomb.

You looked at Andrew’s bowed head, then at Maya, Leo and Rani clutching your suit.

They needed safety.

They needed real security.

They couldn’t fly in the sky like you.

You looked up into the vast blue sky, a faint nostalgic smile touching your lips as you thought of the brilliant, royal engineer who had crafted your armour and gifted you access to their finest tech.

“God, I’d like T’Challa’s jet right now…” you murmured into the hot wind.

It wasn’t magic. It was just the global satellite comms net embedded deep within your Wakandian suit’s interface. The moment your voice authorisation and priority clearance pinged the high altitude stealth transport cruising in sub-orbit, the automated Royal Guard shuttle locked onto your coordinates.

In less than five minutes, the air above the dunes began to warp and shimmer.

A low hum vibrated deep through the desert sand, so smooth and pitch-perfect it felt like a heartbeat. The heat haze parted as a massive, obsidian jet descended out of thin air. Its sweeping, almost panther like silhouette gleamed with subtle, blocking out the scorching sun and casting a cool, protective shadow over all five of you.

The heavy hydraulic ramp lowered with a soft, satisfying hiss, revealing a climate controlled and luxurious interior equipped with soft leather seating, medical bays, and full defence grids.

The children gasped, stepping back in absolute shock.

Maya’s jaw dropped, while Andrew stared at the royal vessel as if a starship had just landed in front of him. Even silent Leo’s eyes lit up like lanterns, his mouth forming a tiny ‘O’.

“Is… is that for us?” Rani breathed, looking up at you in disbelief.

“It is,” you said, resting a hand gently on Andrew’s shoulder and nudging him forward with a warm grin. “Told you I was taking you home.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The smooth, silent hum of the Royal Jet cut effortlessly through the sky as it soared high above the clouds, carrying you and the children toward the quiet farmlands of home.

Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was soft and peaceful. L

Maya, Leo, and Rani were curled up under plush, heavy blankets in the back, sleeping deeply for the first time in months. Andrew sat nearby, watching over them with a plate of fresh food, his face finally devoid of panic.

You stood near the central holographic console at the front of the jet. A life-sized blue hologram of T’Challa flickered to life.

“I see the suit’s automated sub-orbital response unit served you well, my friend,” T’Challa said, his rich voice warm with genuine affection and respect. He glanced past you toward the sleeping children, a gentle smile softening his features. “And it seems you have put my technology to its absolute highest purpose.”

“I spoke into the suit’s comms, and the shuttle was here in under five minutes,” you said softly, looking at your gloved hands. “I didn’t even have to manually dial a frequency.”

“Because the suit is no longer just armour you wear. It is attuned directly to you,” T’Challa explained, leaning forward slightly in the projection. “When Shuri engineered the weave, she integrated a direct neural interface comms link tuned to your biometric signature. It monitors your heart rate, your brainwaves, and your vocal cadence.”

He pointed toward the collar seal on your suit.

“You do not need to press buttons or rely on an artificial intelligence to interpret your commands,” T’Challa continued. “When your intent reaches a certain threshold of certainty, the comms array instantly accesses the global Wakandian satellite grid. When you called for the jet, your neural impulse bypassed every manual protocol and summoned the nearest Royal Guard vessel on high-altitude standby.”

He paused, his dark eyes looking at you with deep, solemn reverence through the holographic light.

“Shuri built the tech, but it is your strength and your newly awakened power that commands it,” T’Challa said softly. “The network answers to you, wherever you are in the world. You are never truly alone out there.”

“Thank you, T’Challa,” you murmured, a genuine sense of peace washing over your chest. “For everything.”

“Get those children to safety,” T’Challa replied with a firm, royal nod. “And when you are ready to bring down Apex and Clara once and for all, Wakanda stands with you.”

The hologram faded into soft blue sparks, leaving you alone in the quiet cabin as the jet descended through the clouds, bringing you back to the farmlands, your nana, and the safety of home.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The Royal Jet touched down with absolute, ghost like silence right in the middle of the back pasture, its sleek obsidian hull completely invisible to the outside world under its optical cloak.

Out on the porch, nana stood holding a cup of tea.

Calm, unbothered and quiet. T’Challa of course told her.

Your hair caught the soft afternoon light reflecting the light, as the children still sleepy covered their eyes. Held tightly in your left arm was Maya, her head resting sleepily on your shoulder. Rani held your right hand, while Andrew and Leo walked close beside you. Their eyes now wide as they took in the endless green fields and the warm, weathered farmhouse.

Your nana rested the cup on the table. She scrambled down the porch steps.

“Oh, my sweet girl…” she breathed, stopping short as she looked at you, then at the four small, bruised faces looking back at her. Her eyes filled with instant, fierce grandmotherly warmth. “What on earth… who are these precious angels? T’Challa called me.”

“They’re safe now, Nana,” you said softly, your voice carrying a deep, unshakable calm. “Apex had them in Cairo. But it’s over. The facility is gone.”

Andrew stepped forward slightly, his protective instincts kicking in, but your nana didn’t hesitate. She walked right past you and wrapped her arms around Andrew, pulling him into a tight, warm hug that caught the teenager completely off guard. He froze for a second, then melted against her, burying his face in her shoulder as months of sheer terror washed out of him.

“You’re home now, son,” your nana murmured, rubbing his back before turning to pull Leo, Rani and Maya into her arms. “All of you. Come inside. I’ve got food on the stove, and there are plenty of blankets.”

Leo looked up at you, his silent dark eyes brimming with tears, before reaching out and taking your nana’s hand. As she led the four children toward the porch, clucking over them like a mother hen, you stood in the quiet pasture, watching them cross the threshold into safety.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

For the first time in months, the farm felt like a fortress. You turned your eyes toward the northern horizon, your suit’s comms humming softly against your skin. The kids were safe.

Your nana was home.

Now, nothing stood between you and Clara.

The quiet chatter of the kitchen was filled with the rhythmic sound of silverware scraping against ceramic plates.

After waiting patiently for one another to take turns in the long overdue hot shower, the four children sat lined up at the long wooden dining table, dressed in soft yet oversized sweaters and flannel pants your nana had pulled from the wardrobe with your old clothes from your infancy.

The moment the giant bowl of hot stew, thick slices of buttered bread, and fresh milk hit the table, their quiet politeness vanished into pure, ravenous hunger.

Andrew ate with rapid, defensive speed, barely pausing to chew before reaching for another roll, while Rani was practically wearing his bowl on his head, slumping over the table with a grin as he ladled warm broth into his mouth. Even little Maya had soup smudged across her nose giggling softly whenever Leo, sitting right beside her, stuffed an impossibly large piece of potato into his cheek like a squirrel, his eyes shining with silent, unbothered delight.

They ate with complete gusto, filling the warm room with the simple, beautiful noise of life.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching them with a quiet, intense fascination. Beside you, nana rested her elbows on the wood. A soft, tearful smile gracing her wrinkled face as she wiped a stray tear from her cheek.

“Look at them,” your nana whispered softly to you, her voice thick with emotion. “They were starving, poor things. Not just for food… for this. For a home.”

“They’re safe now, Nana,” you murmured back.

As if feeling your gaze, Leo paused, setting his spoon down. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, looked across the table at you and your nana, and offered a soft, genuine smile. The very first real smile you had seen on his face since pulling him out of that dark subterranean vault.

He didn’t need to speak a word. The warmth returning to the room said everything.

The cool evening breeze rolled across the open fields, rustling the tall grass around the dark farmhouse.

You pushed the screen door open with a soft click, stepping onto the wooden porch. Andrew was sitting on the top step, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, staring out into the pitch black horizon where the stars stretched endlessly overhead.

“It’s cold,” you said softly, dropping a thick, wool blanket over his shoulders.

“It’s warmer than there…” Andrew muttered, his voice barely louder than the night wind. He grabbed the edges of the blanket, pulling it tightly around his too small frame, but he didn’t move away.

You sat down on the step beside him, resting your elbows on your knees. Up close, without the immediate adrenaline of the escape. He just looked like what he was, a fifteen-year-old kid who had been forced to grow up way too fast.

“You don’t have to keep watch anymore, Andrew,” you told him gently, looking out toward the dark pasture. “My suit’s perimeter sensors are active. Nothing is getting within ten miles of this house without me knowing. You can rest.”

Andrew swallowed hard, his knuckles turning white against the wool. “I can’t sleep,” he whispered, staring down at his bare feet. “Every time I close my eyes, I still hear those glass chambers. I hear the guards. I kept thinking… if I went to sleep, I’d wake up back in that cell and Rani would still be…”

He choked on the sentence, wiping a sudden tear from his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Rani is fine,” you reminded him, your voice steady and grounding. “He’s sleeping like a rock next to Leo.”

“You healed him,” Andrew said, turning his head to look at you, his eyes wide and searching in the moonlight. “I saw it. You just… touched him, and it went away.”

“I did,” you acknowledged softly, looking at your own hands. “And I’m going to make sure the people who did this to all of you pay for every single second you lost.”

Andrew looked out into the dark again, letting out a long, shuddering breath. “What happens now?”

“Now, you live,” you said, resting a firm, warm hand on his shoulder. “Nana is going to take care of you, Maya, Leo, and Rani. You get to eat real food, sleep in a real bed, and just be a kid again. You protected those kids, Andrew. You brought them this far. But you can hand the shield over to me now.”

A tear slipped down his face, followed by a quiet, ragged breath as months of crushing responsibility finally slid off his young shoulders. He nodded slowly, leaning his head against your shoulder for just a second before pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

“And you?” Andrew asked, turning his head slightly, his dark eyes fixing onto yours with a sudden, sharp intensity.

“Me what?”

“Are you gonna take care of us?” His voice wavered, thin and fragile in the crisp night air, carrying the full, desperate weight of a boy who had been abandoned by the world too many times to trust a fleeting promise.

You looked right into his eyes, not flinching, not looking away.

“I’m staying,” you said, your voice ringing clear, grounded and absolute across the quiet porch. “Forever.”

Andrew stared at you, searching every line of your face, looking for the telltale twitch of hesitation, the polite softening of a temporary lie, or the gentle pity of someone making a promise they intended to hand off to someone else. He found none of it.

In your eyes, reflected beneath the moonlight and the faint, silver sheen of your hair, he saw an ironclad truth. You weren’t an operative dropping them off at a safe house. You weren’t a soldier completing a mission before heading back to the front lines. You were building a wall around this farm, and you were going to stand on it for as long as they needed you.

A quiet shudder ran through Andrew’s frame. The last lingering knot of tension in his jaw completely dissolved.

He didn’t say another word. He just slowly leaned sideways, resting his heavy head against your arm, letting the warm wool blanket drag in the porch dust as his eyelids finally began to droop. For the first time in fifteen years, he knew he didn’t have to keep watch anymore.

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Weeks bled seamlessly into a quiet, peaceful rhythm.

The nightmare of Cairo receded like a bad dream, replaced by the honest, grounding routine of life on the farm. Before long, it felt as though the four children had always been there, as if the universe had simply rearranged itself to fill the old farmhouse with noise, warmth and life.

Andrew threw himself into the heavy work with quiet pride, waking up at dawn to help your nana mend fences, tend to the livestock, and chop firewood for the coming autumn. His hands grew calloused and strong, but the sharp, defensive tension in his shoulders vanished entirely.

Rani became your nana’s shadow in the kitchen, completely fascinated by cooking. He helped her bake bread, chop vegetables and scrub dishes, laughing openly as she fussed over him and fed him sweet off-cuts of pie crust.

Maya and Leo practically ran wild through the endless, golden pastures. Maya’s giggles echoed across the creek every afternoon as she chased barn cats, while Leo, still silent but entirely at peace, spent hours sitting under the giant oak tree, drawing intricate beautiful pictures in a sketchbook you had bought him.

And you were the anchor that held it all together.

You worked the land alongside Andrew, trained the kids in basic self-defence so they would never feel helpless again, and used your subtle abilities to keep the perimeter completely invisible to the outside world.

Every evening, after a massive home cooked dinner, all six of you would gather on the porch as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery shades of gold and violet.

As you watched Leo hand a freshly drawn picture of the farmhouse to your nana, with Maya fast asleep in your lap and Andrew leaning peacefully against the porch railing, a deep, unbreakable sense of belonging filled your chest. You had given them a home and without even realising it, they had healed yours.

END OF THE FLASHBACK

The heavy scent of lilies from your own funeral had taken months to fade from your skin.

You stood at the tree line of the cemetery two years ago, shrouded in you stealth suit while the rain drenched the black umbrellas below. You watched Steve hold a shattered silent Bucky by the arm as a polished mahogany and empty casket, save for a few weighted sandbags and a burned piece of her old uniform, was lowered into the cold ground.

That afternoon, you buried your name, your past, and any right to a normal life. You walked away as a ghost, convinced that your absolute isolation was the only currency that could buy Clara’s destruction.

The farm became your sanctuary and your asylum.

Late at night, while nana and the children slept peacefully downstairs, the rustic wooden beams were illuminated by the harsh, ice blue glow of stolen Stark tech servers, satellite uplinks and high-frequency spectral scanners.

You spent seven hundred and thirty days obsessively studying Clara.

You mapped out Clara’s public life down to the second.

You memorised the exact cadence of Clara’s heels clicking through corporate galas in Geneva, her encrypted arrivals at private airstrips in London and her hollow speeches on medical innovation at summits in Tokyo. You built a massive, floating holographic web connecting every shell corporation, offshore bank account, and dark-web logistics network even tangentially tied to Apex’s public facade.

You became a spectre in the dark, hunting for a single thread to pull.

During the Marseilles Operation, you spent three weeks perched atop a cold, rain slicked warehouse near the docks, intercepting high grade medical transport crates marked for Apex. When you finally bypassed the security locks, the crates contained nothing but sterile saline. The real shipment had been rerouted via a blind civilian courier six hours prior.

In the Berlin break in, you slipped into a high security data centre three stories underground, your invisible vibranium suit bending light around yourself as you bypassed laser grids. The moment your gauntlet touched the terminal to download Clara’s personal logs, the server stack melted into a pool of thermal slag, burning the data before a single byte could be extracted.

In Singapore, you rename the operation as “Dead drop”.

You tracked a high ranking Apex logistics director to a remote safe house, only to watch from the shadows as the building detonated from the inside out. Clara had scrubbed the entire branch just for being five minutes late on a check-in protocol.

Apex didn’t operate like a normal syndicate. They made HYDRA looking like a teenager gang with no experience or without a pulse. Their internal comms ran on closed loop quantum servers that purged and rewrote their own architecture every ninety seconds. They hired contractors who were kept completely in the dark, using dead drops, masked voices, and automated payouts.

When you dragged Andrew, Rani, Maya and Leo out of that black site in Cairo, you were certain the nightmare was ending, or at least closer to the end.

You thought pulling those kids from the dark would yield the key to Clara’s front door but trauma had locked their memories, and Clara had instantly cauterised the wound, burning the Cairo site to ash before the dust from the rescue had even settled.

Standing in the centre of the farm at three in the morning, you stared at the glowing holographic map. Thousands of red nodes hovered over the globe each one a raid, a hack, a tracking sequence or an interrogation.

Every single one was a dead end.

The system had no breaches.

Clara had built a fortress of absolute paranoia, leaving no rogue agents to bribe, no unencrypted frequencies to tap and no paper trails to follow.

You lowered her arms, letting the holographic projection vanish into the shadows of the rafters. You looked at your bare hands, watching the pale silver light of your magic flicker unsteadily over your knuckles. A power you couldn’t fully control, while fighting a war you couldn’t seem to win.

Two long years of living as a corpse.

Two years of letting Bucky drown in his own grief with Clara remained completely untouchable.

It was true that finding the kids in Cairo had given you a sudden, desperate surge of hope. You had truly believed that breaking open that vault would be the thread that unraveled the whole spool, that one of the children might remember a supply route, a coordinator’s name or a set of coordinates.

But trauma has a way of locking doors and throwing away the key.

When you tried to gently piecemeal information together over those two long years at the farm, the yield was tragically thin.

Maya only remembered the smell of cold metal and the lilac-scented poison.

Rani remembered being shoved into dark trucks with blacked out windows.

Andrew had spent every second focused on keeping the younger ones alive, unable to register the logistics around them.

And Leo…

Leo remained silently locked behind his own trauma, his drawings showing only dark rooms and shadow figures without a single landmark or face to go on.

Every time time you managed to sever a tentacle in silence, the head pulled back into total obscurity. It wasn’t their fault.

They knew someone was hunting them, someone who left their facilities in silent ash. So they went deeper underground, changing frequencies, burning paper trails and using dead-drop proxies.

Sitting on the porch late at night while the farm slept peacefully below, you stared at the giant holographic map projecting from your suit’s console. Red nodes hovered over Cairo, Berlin, and Singapore.

They were all cold leads.

All dead ends.

You flexed your gloved hand, watching the warm light of your healing power flicker faintly beneath your skin before fading into the dark.

You gave the children a life.

You had built them a sanctuary.

But as long as Apex pulled the strings from the shadows, true safety was an illusion and the trail was growing colder by the day.

The heavy silence of the night was broken only by the sharp, metallic thud of a gauntlet slamming against a wooden workbench.

The holographic map flickered violently and died, leaving you in the cold, dusty gloom of the night. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your palms against the edge of the table as your breathing came in ragged, shallow gasps.

It wasn’t just the cold leads.

It wasn’t just Apex playing hide-and-seek in the shadows.

It was Bucky.

Two years of living like a dead person meant two years of staying away from him.

Two years of keeping yourself hidden in the dark, unable to reach out, unable to hold him, unable to tell him that you were still breathing. The agonising ache of missing him was a constant, dull thrum beneath your ribs that never went away. A phantom pain that metastasised into erratic, unpredictable bursts of sheer, raw instability.

Your newly awakened power hummed unsteadily in your veins, reacting to your turbulent emotions. Sometimes your white hair would faint flare with silver light when you didn’t mean it to, sometimes your strength pulsed too hard, snapping tools in half or cracking concrete without warning.

And worst of all, the children were starting to take the brunt of it.

You snapped over the smallest things. When Rani accidentally spilled a glass of milk at dinner, you didn’t just clean it up. You barked at him so sharply, your voice ringing with cold, lethal authority, that the boy flinched and ducked his head, looking at you like you were one of the Apex guards.

When Andrew dropped a stack of firewood on the porch with a loud crash, your suit’s gauntlets had instinctively deployed with a violent, terrifying clack. Your eyes flashing with a predatory edge that made the teenager instantly back away, holding his hands up in surrender.

Even little Leo had retreated. Yesterday, when you gruffly snatched a sketchbook out of his hand to see if he had drawn anything useful about Apex, he had flinched, pulling his small body into a tight ball and refusing to look you in the eye for the rest of the night.

Standing alone in the dark, the realisation hit you like a physical blow.

You were supposed to be their shield.

You were supposed to be their safe harbour but the grief, the isolation, and the void where Bucky belonged were slowly turning you into a storm that was threatening to tear down the very house you had built for them.

You slumped back against the wooden support beam, burying your face in your hands as a single, painful tear cut through the dirt on your cheek. You were losing your grip, and the kids were terrified of the ghost keeping them safe.

The sight of him was always a beautiful torture.

Bucky sat on the edge of the apartment roof, his legs dangling over the brick ledge, staring out into the neon lit of New York City. In left hand, he held a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey by the neck. His shoulders were slouched, weighed down by the quiet, crushing grief that two years of believing you were dead had carved into his bones.

It was the breaking point, not just for your resolve, but for the unbearable tension that had been boiling inside you at the farm.

You descended silently from the low-hanging clouds, floating down on the suit’s thrusters like a phantom. You took your position in the branches of the massive, leafy oak tree that overhung the roof. The exact same hidden vantage point you had used at least once a week for the last two years.

Before you could step fully into the moonlight, the distant sound of heavy footsteps on the roof’s fire escape froze you in the shadow of the oak tree.

“Bucky,” Steve said softly, his voice carrying over the low hum of the city. He walked slowly toward the ledge, stopping a few feet away from where Bucky sat with the whiskey bottle hanging from his fingers.

“She’s gone, pal.” Steve tried to explain.

You watched it all happen in a distorted slow motion from the dark canopy of the oak tree.

Before Steve could react, Bucky let the bottle crash on the ground.

“NO! BUCK!” Steve yelled.

You wanted to run to him. You wanted to scream his name, to heal him, to let Steve see you, to end the two years of unbearable lies right here in the mud.

No.

The brutal reality hit you like a physical blow. If you revealed yourself now, if Apex found out you were alive, the farm would burn. The four still traumatised kids sitting at your nana’s table would be hunted down and dragged back into the dark.

You fought the desperate urge with everything you had, digging your boots into the wood until the branch cracked beneath you. Tears streamed hot and fast down your cheeks, instantly washed away by the freezing rain, as you forced your glowing hands back into your gauntlets.

Down in the courtyard, Steve vaulted over the ledge, sliding through the muddy grass on his knees.

“Med-bay! I need a trauma team in the courtyard NOW!” Steve screamed into his comms, his voice cracking with sheer terror as he frantically checked Bucky’s pulse, supporting his friend’s shattered frame. “Hold on, Buck! Stay with me, buddy!”

“Why won’t it just… stop…” Bucky rasped.

You landed with absolute, ghost like silence on the ground. Your suit’s field dissolving like smoke. You finally let out the breath you had been holding since the roof.

In the med bay, the heavy door was locked from the outside. The doctors and Steve just left, satisfied for the moment that the super soldier serum was slowly, excruciatingly piecing his shattered body back together.

Bucky lay on the white hospital bed, hooked to vitals monitors that beeped in a slow, erratic rhythm. His metal arm rested uselessly at his side, his left shoulder bandaged heavily as he felt on his metal arm and his pale face was bruised, cut and shadowed by pure exhaustion.

You stepped closer, the soft thump of your boots making no sound against the linoleum.

He kept sleeping as even his super hearing wasn’t able to hear or catch your movements. You walked toward his bed and lightly caress his cheek.

He was still the most handsome guy ever, but every time you looked at him you saw how he was with Clara.

Hesitating, you caressed even his forehead and then left a light kiss on his skin. He smiled in his sleep, as he knew you were there.

Once your ears detected someone’s footsteps, Clara’s footsteps, you jumped out and got back to the farm.

Down in the damp courtyard, long after Steve’s yells had faded into the interior halls of the compound, Natasha and Wanda lingered near the edge of the crater.

Rain pooled in the crushed earth where Bucky had fallen, reflecting the harsh floodlights of the perimeter.

Natasha stood with her hands buried deep in the pockets of her jacket, her sharp eyes scanning the high canopy of the oak tree, then dropping down to the mud.

“Do you think Y/N is alive?” Nat asked softly, her voice carrying a rare, quiet weight over the falling rain. She looked back up at the high branches, her brow furrowed in deep calculation. “Do you think she let Fury see her?”

Wanda stepped up beside her, the red glow of her chaos magic pulsing faintly around her fingertips as she stretched her perception into the surrounding night air. She didn’t trace energy constructs nor she searched for residual intent, for the familiar, distinct impression of a soul that vanished two years ago.

“Fury sees what he is permitted to see,” Wanda murmured, her eyes fixed on the exact spot on the tree branch where the bark had cracked under your weight. “If she is out there… if she stayed hidden from him, it is because she had to.”

Wanda lowered her hands, the red light fading into the dark as she turned her gaze toward the window of the med-bay high above them. The exact window where, just moments ago, a silver light had flickered briefly behind the blinds.

“She isn’t dead, Nat,” Wanda whispered, a sad, knowing smile touching her lips. “Bucky wasn’t crazy. The wind didn’t carry a ghost tonight. It carried her.”

The flight back to the farm was a blur of silent tears and roaring engines. The guilt of leaving Bucky back in that hospital room, healing but utterly shattered by your immediate disappearance tore through your chest like a physical blade.

As you landed on the dark pasture, the sky above the farm was already dark.

A massive late summer storm was rolling in off the plains, the wind whipping through the tall grass with a violent, howling rage.

You walked out into the middle of the open field, collapsing onto your knees in the dirt.

The dam broke.

The secret you had kept for two years.

The fear of Apex.

The longing for Bucky and the crushing weight of being everyone’s shield, finally shattered you completely.

You threw your head back and sobbed, your raw, desperate cries swallowed by the thunder rolling overhead.

The storm above reacted to the tempest inside you. The wind roared, lighting up the sky in violent flashes of violet and silver, reflecting the wild, uncontrolled energy surging from your skin.

From the safety of the farmhouse porch, your nana, Andrew, Rani, Maya and Leo stood clustered together, watching you through the driving rain.

Maya clutched your nana’s apron, her big eyes wide with worry. “Nana… why is she crying like that?”

Andrew stared out into the dark field, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

For two years, he had seen you as an unshakeable force the hero who pulled them out of hell, the warrior who never flinched. Seeing you broken in the dirt made him realise just how much heavy armour you had been wearing to keep them safe.

You didn’t yelled at them because you wanted. You yelled because you had to.

Too much anger in you.

The love for Bucky still lingering inside your body, your soul and your heart.

You found yourself sometimes hating Bucky, the same way you loving him.

The feeling for him were always there but the image of him getting close to Clara still haunting you.

Without a word, Andrew stepped off the wooden porch into the pouring rain.

“Andrew, wait!” Rani called out, but he didn’t hesitate too. Rani took a deep breath and ran right after him. Maya and Leo exchanged a quick glance, grabbed each other’s hands, and scrambled down the steps into the storm.

Your nana didn’t stop them. She just pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her heart aching as she watched her now new four grand babies march out into the tempest to hold you.

You didn’t hear them approaching through the howl of the wind until four pairs of arms suddenly wrapped around you.

Andrew pulled you tightly into a headlock, burying his face against your neck. Rani threw his arms around your waist, while Maya and Leo pressed themselves into your chest, soaking wet and shivering, holding onto you with everything they had.

“We’ve got you,” Andrew yelled over the thunder, his voice fiercely determined. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore! We’re not letting you go!”

The silver light in the sky flaring wildly around your hands slowly softened into a warm, gentle pulse. You pulled all four of them into your lap, burying your face in Andrew’s shoulder. Your sobs finally softening as their quiet, unwavering love grounded the storm inside your heart.

Even though your body didn’t burn energy like a normal human, the power thrumming beneath your skin keeping physical exhaustion at bay. The mental drain was absolute devastating.

The quiet violence of the night before, the memory of Bucky’s shattered body and the crushing weight of two years of dead ends had finally paralysed you.

You spent the entire morning after staring at the pine paneled ceiling of your bedroom, wrapped in a heavy quilt, completely unmoving.

Around noon, the door creaked open. Nana came in first, carrying a steaming mug of black tea, followed closely by Andrew, who was wiping grease from his hands with a old rag after working on the tractor.

“Up,” Nana said gently, setting the mug down on the nightstand. She didn’t use her stern voice, just that quiet, unyielding tone that left zero room for argument. “You’ve spent two years running through shadows, little girl. Your mind is eating your body alive.”

“I’m fine, Nana,” you rasped, your voice thick from disuse. You pulled the blanket higher. “Just resting.”

“You look like a ghost,” Andrew chimed in, leaning against the doorframe, his dark eyes filled with a steady, protective concern. “And not the cool kind that hunts bad guys. You look like you’re fading into the bed.”

“Andrew…”

“No, he’s right,” nana interrupted, tossing your running shoes onto the foot of the bed with a soft thud. “The sky cleared up after last night’s storm. The air is fresh. You are going out into that field, and you are going to run until your lungs remember how to breathe real air, not server dust.”

Andrew offered a small, rare smirk, crossing his arms. “I’ll keep watch on the perimeter while you’re out. Maya and Leo are drawing down in the kitchen. We’ve got it covered for an hour. Go.”

You looked between the two of them, nana with her hands on her hips and Andrew standing tall, ready to take the shift, and realised you weren’t going to win.

Ten minutes later, you stepped out onto the porch. The crisp afternoon air hit your face, smelling of damp earth, sweet rain and open prairie. You laced up your shoes, took a deep, shuddering breath and hit the grass.

You didn’t use the suit, and you didn’t use your thrusters. You just ran.

You remember while running how you did with Bucky.

The afternoon sun was beating down on the winding dirt trails behind the compound, baking the pine needles and filling the air with the sharp scent of sap and summer heat.

“You’re slacking, Y/N!” Bucky called out over his shoulder, his long dark hair tied back in a messy bun, his grey tank top thoroughly soaked with sweat. He was barely breathing hard, his long, heavy strides making the super soldier pace look like an effortless stroll through the woods.

“I am… a regular… human!” You gasped out between ragged, desperate breaths, your chest burning as your feet pounded heavily against the gravel ten paces behind him. “Some of us… don’t have… super soldier serum… in our veins, Barnes!”

“You said you wanted to build endurance!” Bucky laughed, a rare, breathtaking sound that rumbled deep in his chest. He didn’t slow down, but he did drop into a backward jog, looking at you with a sly, teasing smirk. “Come on! Give me three more miles!”

“I am going to throw… a rock at your head!”

You pushed yourself to sprint, trying to close the gap, but your rubbery legs betrayed you. Your boot caught the raised, stubborn root of an ancient oak tree.

You went flying forward with zero grace.

Bucky’s quick reflexes kicked in instantly. He spun around to catch you, but your movements was too fast, and his feet were slipping on the loose gravel. Instead of a smooth, hero-worthy catch, his sweat-slicked chest collided directly into you like a freight train.

With a loud thud and a sharp yell, both of you went tumbling off the trail, rolling down the grassy embankment in a chaotic tangle of limbs, sweat, and pine needles.

When the dust finally settled, you were flat on your back in the cool grass, staring up at the canopy of trees, completely winded. Bucky was sprawled awkwardly over your side, his metal arm pinned beneath him and his sweat-soaked hair plastered to his forehead.

He lifted his head, panting heavily, his blue eyes wide with concern until he took a good look at your dramatic, sprawled-out frame and the single pine cone sitting squarely on top of your forehead.

A sharp, uncontrollable snort escaped his nose.

“Don’t you laugh,” you wheezed, pointing a trembling finger at his nose. “You literally knocked me over with pure, unadulterated body sweat and brute force.”

Bucky buried his face in the crook of your neck, his shoulders shaking as he collapsed against you, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “I tried to catch you!” He protested, his voice muffled against your collarbone, sending a warm, breathless vibration straight through your chest.

“You’re heavy, Barnes,” you groaned, though a helpless, affectionate grin broke through your exhaustion as you reached up, running your fingers through his damp hair. “And you smell like a gym locker.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky murmured softly, his laughter fading into a quiet, contented sigh as he rested his chin on your chest, looking up at you with those deep, intensely fond eyes. “Rest for five minutes. Then we walk back.”

“Ten minutes,” you bargained, closing your eyes and leaning your head back into the grass. “And you’re carrying me the last half-mile.”

“Deal.” He said, kissing you.

Now, running at full speed without breaking a sweat, you felt the cold irony of it. A bitter, watery laugh broke through your tears as you remembered his breathless smirk and the weight of him collapsing into the grass, missing the simple human fragility that had once brought you so close to him. You remembered his lips on yours.

Your boots pounded against the dirt track that lined the edge of the property.

The sudden, unnatural quiet hit you before you even crossed the threshold.

The front door was propped wide open, swinging lazily in the autumn breeze with a low, rhythmic creak. The usual sounds of the afternoon, Maya’s bright laughter, the scraping of kitchen chairs and the radio Nana kept playing on the counter were completely gone.

You vaulted onto the wooden porch, your boots heavy against the floorboards as you burst into the entryway.

“Nana?”

Your voice caught in your throat.

She was lying face down near the hallway table.

No blood.

No signs of a struggle.

No broken glass or overturned furniture.

Just her still, fragile frame sprawled across the rug, her hair pinned neatly behind her head, looking as though she had simply collapsed mid-step.

“Nana!” You dropped to your knees, your heart slamming against your ribs like a trapped bird. You flipped her over gently, your fingers flying to her neck. Her skin was warm, and her pulse was steady and deep. A little slow and heavy, but banging as if she had been put into a sudden coma.

A chilling realisation washed over you, freezing the blood in your veins.

You stood up violently, your boots skidding on the floorboards as your eyes darted around the empty living room. The sketchbook Leo had been using lay open on the coffee table, a red crayon rolling slowly off the edge and dropping onto the carpet.

“Andrew?!” You screamed. Your voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated terror. “Rani! Maya! Leo!”

Silence answered you.

Cold, suffocating silence.

You bolted down the hallway, kicking open the bedroom doors one by one. The beds were empty. The closets were untouched. In the back kitchen, the back door hung wide off its hinges, the electronic security latch cleanly melted through with military grade thermite.

They hadn’t bypassed your perimeter sensors.

They hadn’t tried to hack your tech. They hadn’t used an aerosolised nerve agent but they swept the house in under two minutes.

How?

You stood in the middle of the empty kitchen, your hands trembling so violently that silver sparks began to leap wildly across your knuckles. The children were gone. The sanctuary was broken.

And on the kitchen table, pinned beneath a single, heavy glass salt shaker, was a sleek, black metallic drive stamped with the unmistakable emblem of Apex

You rushed back to the hallway as a soft groan broke the quiet.

Nana was stirring, her eyelids fluttering as she slowly tried to push herself up from the floor. You dropped beside her immediately, supporting her head and shoulders, letting your warm silver power flow gently into her frame to flush out the lingering trace of the nerve agent.

“Nana, don’t try to move too fast,” you urged, your voice thick with panic.

She coughed, gasping for air as the haze cleared from her eyes. The moment her gaze locked onto yours, tears welled up in her wrinkled eyes, and her hands gripped your forearms with a desperate, trembling strength.

“They took them,” she rasped, her voice breaking. “Oh, sweet child… they took them.”

“How?” You asked, tears spilling down your face. “How did they get inside?”

“It was so fast,” Nana whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek as the guilt crushed her. “I heard a soft hiss near the back door. By the time I turned around, Andrew was already fighting them. He tried so hard… he picked up a chair, he fought like a lion to keep them away from Maya and Leo. But there were too many and Rani tried to punch them… you really should have seen them…”

She shook her head, her breath ragged.

“Four of them… dressed in black, tactical gear. They didn’t even use guns. They had shock batons and gas canisters. Rani tried to hide the little ones under the table…” She squeezed her eyes shut, a sob tearing from her throat. “I tried to reach the counter… I tried to grab the iron skillet… anything but one of them hit me with a spray and my legs just gave out. I couldn’t stop them. I was completely outnumbered and I just watched them drag my babies out into the yard…”

“It’s not your fault, Nana,” you said, pulling her into a tight, protective embrace while your mind raced, hot and lethal. “It’s not your fault.”

You looked past her shoulder toward the kitchen table where the sleek black Apex drive sat pinned under the glass.

They hadn’t just raided the house.

They had lured you away.

They knew you were running.

They knew you had left the farm unprotected for an hour.

They had struck with terrifying precision.

Clara was done playing hide-and-seek in the dark, and she just used the children to pull you right out into the light.

The familiar smell of aged leather and stale rain settled over you as you slipped through the kitchen window of the Brooklyn apartment.

You didn’t break the glass and you didn’t force the frame. A single thread of silver energy melted the deadbolt’s internal mechanism with surgical precision, allowing the window to glide up without a sound. You stepped inside, your suit absorbing the ambient shadows of the dark room, and let the window drop shut behind you.

You knew this safehouse well.

It was the off grid apartment Nick Fury used when he needed to slip entirely off the grid.

No high tech AI sweeps, no complex security grids. Just a dead-bolted door, heavy curtains and a single worn armchair in the corner.

You didn’t turn on the lights. You sank into the high-backed leather chair, pulling off your gauntlets and letting your tired hands rest in your lap.

Two hours passed in total silence.

At 2:14 AM, the subtle sound of a key fitting into the front door lock cut through the dark. The door creaked open and Fury stepped inside, immediately catching the shift in the room’s atmosphere.

His posture tensed slightly, his hand hovering near his jacket out of pure muscle memory.

“You’re losing your reaction time, Nick,” you offered gently from the shadows, your voice quiet, devoid of any venom.

Fury paused.

Instead of drawing a weapon, he reached out and flicked the wall switch.

The soft, warm light of a single floor lamp lit up the room.

Fury’s single eye widened. He froze, his jaw loosening as he stared at you sitting in his chair, your now new white hair catching the ambient light, your pale face free of the stealth field for the first time in front of him.

A heavy breath escaped his chest, transforming into a slow, rare smile that softened the hard lines of his face. He pulled his hand completely away from his jacket and stepped into the apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“I’ll be damned,” Fury said, his voice deep and warm, thick with genuine relief. “I knew those reports were missing something. Look at you… alive and kicking.”

He walked over, pulling up a wooden dining chair to sit directly across from you. He reached out, placing a heavy, reassuring hand on your knee.

“Bucky spent two years staring at the sky, kid.” Fury said weirdly softly, his eye searching yours with quiet sympathy. “Steve almost lost his mind trying to keep him anchored. But I knew if anyone was smart enough to stay under the radar after an Apex hit, it was you. I’m glad you’re back, Y/N.”

Your chest tightened, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the unexpected warmth in his voice. You leaned forward, placing your hand over his.

“I need your help, Nick,” you rasped, the shaky composure you had maintained all night finally fracturing. “Apex took the kids… my kid. Clara cleared out my farm four hours ago. I spent two years trying to break her system from the outside to keep everyone safe, but I hit a brick wall. They have Andrew, Rani, Maya, and Leo.”

Fury’s warm expression instantly shifted into one of grim, resolute focus. He didn’t ask for explanations, he just nodded squeezing your knee once before standing up and walking toward the concealed wall safe near his desk.

He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied your face. The grim focus in his single eye softened just a fraction, replaced by genuine curiosity.

“Start from the beginning,” he said quietly. “Who are the kids, Y/N?”

You looked down at your lap taking a long, steadying breath.

“They’re the ones Apex left behind,” you said, your voice thick with quiet emotion. “Two years ago, when I pulled myself out of the rubble in Prague, I found out about some… anomalies. Clara’s intentions were clear, she wanted nothing more than my death…”

You paused, on the verge of tears.

“When she injected me, she must have thought about her victory only but…”

“But?” Fury asked.

“I don’t know,” you sat better. “Why making the building explode? I was already dead for what was worth…”

“Are you suggesting,” Fury paused too. “Are you suggesting that the explosion was made after as plan B?”

You nodded. Fury slunched himself on the chair.

“Keep going,” he encouuraged you.

“I found a site hidden three levels beneath the main facility in Cairo. Apex was using it for their experiments… testing human. Andrew, Rani, Maya, and Leo were the only survivors in that vault.”

You looked back up at Fury, your silver-white hair falling past your shoulders.

“Andrew is seventeen now, he fought like hell to protect the little ones when Apex hit the farm today,” you continued, a soft proud smile flickering across your lips despite the pain. “Rani is fourteen, smart as a whip, and fiercely protective of his younger siblings. And Maya and Leo are just eight and eleven. When I blew the facility to cover my escape, I couldn’t just leave them in the dark to die. I took them.”

Fury listened intently, his expression unreadable as you laid it all out.

“For two years, Nana and I kept them hidden on a quiet farm,” you explained, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I raised them. I built them a life… but Clara never stopped hunting them down. I kept my distance from you, from Steve, from Bucky… because I thought if I stayed a ghost, Apex would never trace those children back to me.”

Fury let out a slow, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck as the full scope of your sacrifice finally clicked into place.

“Four kids hiding in plain sight while you fought a silent war,” Fury muttered, shaking his head with grim respect.

He stood up, walking back over to his desk and grabbing his encrypted comms device.

“They aren’t just Clara’s test subjects anymore,” Fury said firmly, his thumb hovering over the dial. “They’re family. And Apex just made the biggest mistake of their lives touching them.”

He shifted on the chair and then took out his phone. “Wake them up and come here.” He order to Hill on the phone. He stood and circled the table, taking the whiskey bottle and two glasses. He served two drinks and passed one of the glasses to you. You picked it and looked at the brown liquid inside.

Ten minutes later, you heard the door opened.

“Nick, if this isn’t about the satellite anomaly in Berlin, I am turning around and going back to-”

Natasha’s voice cut off mid complaint as she pushed past Maria Hill and stepped across the threshold into the dimly lit living room. Wanda came up right behind her, rubbing her eyes with a quiet, exhausted groan. “It is three in the morning, Fury. Whatever it is, it could have waited until-”

Both of them froze instantly.

The low, warm light of the single floor lamp illuminated you sitting in the high-backed leather chair, your white hair loose, the faint glow of your energy humming quietly beneath your knuckles.

The silence in the room stretched so tight it felt ready to snap.

Natasha took a half-step back, her posture locking up as her sharp, calculated composure cracked completely. Her jaw slackened, her eyes darting over you.

Wanda’s breath hitched in a sharp, painful gasp. The faint scarlet magic that had been lazily lingering at her fingertips flared brightly for a fraction of a second before dying out as her hands began to tremble.

Tears immediately welled in her dark eyes, reflecting the dim lamplight.

“Y/N…?” Wanda whispered, her voice barely a thread in the quiet room.

You didn’t move from the chair, but a small, heartbreaking smile touched your lips, your own eyes filling with tears as you looked at the two women you had forced yourself to abandon two years ago.

“Hey, Nat,” you rasped, your voice thick and raw. “Hey, Wanda.”

Natasha let out a ragged, disbelieving laugh, running a hand over her face before stepping forward, her eyes never leaving yours. “You absolute bastard… you’re alive.”

The dam completely broke.

You barely had time to stand up before Natasha bridged the gap between you in two long strides, throwing her arms around your neck with a force that knocked the breath right out of your lungs.

Wanda was right behind her, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist and burying her face into your chest, her body shaking with violent, silent sobs.

You wrapped your arms around both of them, pulling them as close as humanly possible, your hands tangling in their hair.

“You’re here… you’re really here,” Wanda sobbed against your uniform, her red magic humming softly, not in defense, but wrapping around all three of you like a warm blanket of pure relief.

Natasha didn’t say a word. The usually unshakeable Black Widow just held onto the back of your jacket with a white knuckled grip, her warm tears soaking through the fabric at your shoulder. Every ounce of her professional composure was gone, replaced by the raw, agonizing joy of holding a sister she thought she had lost to the grave.

You pressed your forehead against Natasha’s shoulder, crying freely as two years of isolation, fear, and secrecy finally melted away.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking into quiet rasps. “I’m so sorry… I had to keep you safe… I’m so sorry…”

“Shut up,” Nat whispered, her voice thick and choked with emotion as she squeezed you tighter. “Just shut up. You’re alive.”

Across the room, Fury stood quietly by his desk, leaning his heavy frame against the wood and watching the three of you with a soft, solemn look in his single eye, letting the quiet storm of your reunion wash through the apartment. Once the heavy sob-racked breathing quieted, the three of you pulled back just enough to breathe, though neither Nat nor Wanda let go of your hands. Fury pushed a chair out for you, and you sat down in the center of the room with your sisters anchored to your sides.

You took a deep, shuddering breath and laid out the last two years. Every agonizing detail. The room fell into an absolute, breathless silence.

Natasha closed her eyes, letting out a long, ragged exhale as she finally understood the torture you had put yourself through. Living as a ghost, watching the people you loved bleed from afar, all to protect four innocent lives.

“She found the farm four hours ago,” you finished, your voice turning cold and resolute. “She used an aerosol nerve agent and swept the house. She took Andrew, Rani, Maya, and Leo. And now I’m done hiding.”

Wanda wiped the moisture from her cheeks, her red-rimmed eyes searching yours with a mix of fierce protectiveness and deep curiosity.

“Andrew, Rani, Maya, and Leo…” Wanda repeated softly, the names tasting entirely new on her tongue. She leaned closer, her fingers still securely woven through yours. “You kept them safe for two years, Y/N. Who are they?”

You squeezed her hand, letting out a shaky exhale as a soft, bittersweet warmth touched your expression. “They were the forgotten ones,” you said quietly. “Apex was using them.”

Natasha let out a low, venomous curse under her breath, her green eyes darkening.

“Andrew is the eldest,” you explained, your voice steadying as you spoke about them. He’s brave, fiercely stubborn, and today… today he tried to fight off tactical operatives with a wooden chair just to protect the others.”

A soft, proud smile broke through your tears as you looked at Wanda.

“Rani is the quiet thinker. Brilliant, observant, always keeping an eye on the perimeter with Andrew. And Maya and Leo are the little ones. They were so young when Apex took them that they barely remembered what grass felt like under their feet.

For two years, Nana gave us all a home, hot meals, and bedtime stories. And I gave them a life where nobody was pulling their blood or measuring their pulse.” You looked between Wanda and Natasha, your eyes burning with a sudden, lethal clarity. “They aren’t just Clara’s former test subjects,” you said, your voice dropping into an iron-clad promise. “They are my family. They are the only reason I survived in the shadow for so long, and I will tear down every wall Apex has built to bring them back.”

Wanda’s scarlet magic flickered around her hands again, but this time it was hot, steady, and sharp. A grim, dangerous understanding settled over her face.

“Then we tear them down together,” Wanda said softly. “They took your family, Y/N. They have no idea what they just unleashed.”

You took a sharp, steadying breath, leaning forward as the cold, hard reality of the last two years settled over the small apartment.

“When I first went underground, I thought Clara was just like me,” you confessed, your voice dropping into a quiet, icy register.

“I spent months tracking her movements under the assumption that she was subject zero maybe…” you looked down. “The very first successful prototype Apex had managed to build. I thought she was a victim who had clawed her way to the top of the chain, trapped in their system just like the rest of us.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes, instantly catching the shift in your tone. “What changed?”

“Except the absolute hate for that woman… the Berlin facility,” you said, your fingers tightening around Wanda’s hand. “Six months ago, I managed to tap into a secondary bio data feed before their servers melted. I wasn’t looking at a patient file or a subject log. I was looking at patent applications and neural architecture blueprints.”

You looked up, meeting Fury’s unblinking, singleeyed stare.

“She didn’t inherit Apex, Nick. She built it,” you revealed, the cold truth hanging heavy in the dim room.

“Every procedure, every kinetic stabilization trial, every cage they put those children in… it wasn’t some shadowy board of directors giving the orders. Clara isn’t their weapon. She is the architect. She designed the dark energy conversion process from scratch. She is Apex.”

Wanda let out a low, breathy exhale, her scarlet magic pulsing with a dangerous, violent heat around her knuckles.

“She played the corporate victim to the public, hiding behind philanthropy and medical research,” you continued, your eyes glowing with a cold, pale silver light.

“While I was wasting two years hunting for a master puller behind the curtain, the string-puller was sitting right in front of me, watching me bleed. She isn’t just trying to recapture test subjects anymore. She wants her living blueprints back.”

Fury held up a broad hand, instantly catching the rising tension in the room and waving it down before it could take root.

“I’m not questioning your word, kid,” Fury said gently, his deep voice softening as he stepped away from the desk. “Are you sure she’s the head of the snake?”

You looked down at your hands, the pale silver glow beneath your skin pulsing in a slow, lethal rhythm. “Because of the kids,” you said nodding softly. Your voice cutting through the heavy silence of the apartment.

Wanda and Natasha both shifted, their eyes fixed on you as you looked up to meet Fury’s unblinking stare.

“When I first asked Andrew, he couldn’t remember,” you continued, the memories burning hot behind your eyes.

“When he finally did, he didn’t describe masked scientists or nameless guards. He described a woman. A woman with dark, immaculately styled hair, tailored suits, and zero expression in her eyes.” You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, your gaze locked onto Fury’s.

“Rani remembered her too,” you said, your tone dropping into an icy register. “He remembered her sitting on the other side of the glass, drinking coffee while they calibrated the dark energy levels. She wasn’t taking orders from a comms earpiece.” You swallowed hard, your knuckles turning white as you remembered the sheer terror on the children’s faces.

“She was the one giving them. Maya and Leo were too young to remember her name, but when I accidentally brought up a news broadcast six months ago and Clara’s face flashed on the screen…” You paused again. “Leo hid under the table for four hours,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Maya threw up. They didn’t fear the Apex guards, Nick. They feared her. The children didn’t know corporate titles, but they knew who owned the cage. Clara isn’t taking orders from anyone above her.”

The tension in the tiny apartment finally broke, replaced by a quiet, lethal resolve.

For two long years, you had fought in the dark alone, exhausted, and weighed down by the terrifying burden of keeping four innocent lives hidden from a monster. Now, sitting between Wanda and Natasha with Fury standing guard at your back, the suffocating weight on your chest finally eased. You were no longer a ghost running through the shadow.

You took a deep, steadying breath, your pale silver light flaring to life beneath your skin, brighter and stronger than it had ever been. Clara had taken your home, and she had taken your children. But she had made one fatal mistake. She had forced you out of hiding, right back into the arms of the family that loved you.

“Get your gear,” you said, your voice cold, steady, and sharp as broken glass. “We’re bringing my kids home.”

“Your kids?” He asked, his voice cracking, completely shocked.

You froze.

Bucky took one slow, staggering step forward, his eyes searching your face as if trying to prove to his own mind that you weren’t another phantom.

“Y/N…?” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

Two years had passed since the world officially logged your name under deceased.

To the Avengers, to the news networks and to Apex, you were a ghost. A memory burned away in the fires of your past. Living as a dead person was the only way to operate.

The moment a vigilante shows their face, they leave a trail. So, unlike the flashy heroes in New York or the armoured legends in the sky, you struck from absolute silence and vanished back into the dark. You became a ghost with snow white hair and a suit of invisible vibranium.

FLASHBACK

You stood erect in the centre of the smoking crater, your hair fanning out as golden light radiated from your palms and fiery sparks shot from your fingertips. You noticed how the ends of your hair were almost white. A silent smile curled your lips, as the power within you vibrated in perfect harmony with your unwavering will.

The ground beneath the rubble of Vault 04 didn’t simply shattered, but begun to liquefy under the effect of pure and uncontrolled force.

It was a matter of minutes.

Beneath the suffocating weight of hundred tons of shattered steel and reinforced concrete, your body was shattered but your mind remained frighteningly clear. The liquid Clara injected into your neck, the chemical cocktail she believed would kill you, did not annihilate you. Instead, it bonded violently to your cellular structure, acting like a volatile catalyst that released an ancient dormant cosmic potential.

In the dark tomb, your heart didn’t stop. It accelerated, taking on an entirely new rhythm. A terrifying acoustic frequency that vibrated through the earth like a localised earthquake.

Thump.

The dust on the shattered concrete blocks danced.

Thump.

The temperature inside the collapsed crypt shot from zero to thousands of degrees in a fraction of a second.

Thump.

The synthetic toxin in your veins dissolved, replaced by a fire. The colour of liquid gold that stitched your shattered spine, mended your fractured ribs and flooded through every cell in your body with the kinetic density of a dying star was visible now under your skin.

Thump.

And then, your newly heightened senses awakened. Through five hundred tons of solid rock, your hearing expanded cutting through the chaos above you. You heard the roar of the jet’s engines tearing through the night sky.

Bucky.

His heart beat with a terrifying irregular rhythm, trembling wildly and dangerously weak. You could feel the fluid filling his lungs, the faint nauseating crackle of his internal trauma and the agonising sobs of the crew rushing his severely injured and battered body on the jet.

The realisation hit your soul like a punch in the gut. He was dying. They thought you were dead and Bucky had been torn to pieces trying to save you. Your eyes widened. They were no longer human.

You felt them burning for a second, just as you had two hot stones in your head. They burned with a blinding, terrifying mixture of energy.

A low, resonant rumble formed in your throat. It wasn’t a cry of pain. It was a frequency. A scream imbued with raw authority, piercing the silence beneath the earth.

The acoustic shockwave erupted first from your chest, pulverising the solid rock trapped above you into microscopic dust in a single, terrifying blast.

Then came the solar flare. A dazzling column of golden light and crimson energy erupted straight through your chest, tearing the collapsed vault like paper, shooting miles into the sky and ripping apart the thunderclouds above the ruins.

Gravity completely lost its grip on you.

You floated upward through the ascending column of fire. Your feet hovering inches above the hole of the newly formed crater as you stood upright. Your hair fanned out around your head like a halo of living solar flames, leaving fiery sparks from your fingertips that hissed as they touched the air. The atmospheric pressure for miles around the place dropped to zero, the sheer force of your presence bending the atmosphere to your will.

You looked down at your hands. A golden light emanated from your palms, vibrating with a power that seemed limitless.

Invincible, audible and quite utterly divine. Overhead, the same faint hum of the jet engines faded into the distance, carrying away the man you loved.

The lingering smoke drifted away, revealing the crater you caused. It was a circular sheet of smooth concrete created by the sheer, ungodly heat of your awakening. You slowly brought your hands down, the golden light pulsing beneath your skin settling into a steady, radiant hum. As the blinding glare faded, you looked down at yourself.

Your tactical suit was completely destroyed. The explosive thermal energy that stitched your broken body back together, burned the fabric away. Threads hung in singed, blackened wisps around your hips and torso. The reinforced plates melted and shattered into useless ash. The suit was torn to shreds, leaving you standing exposed in the centre of the smoking crater. Yet there was nothing fragile or exposed about you.

It wasn’t a moment of vulnerability or shame. Like a hero emerging transformed from an apocalyptic fire, your bare skin glowed with a soft ethereal golden hue laced with veins of energy that protected you far better than any man made armour ever could. The freezing night air brushed against your skin, but you didn’t feel the cold as the solar fire inside you kept your body at a perfect, blazing warmth. You stepped out of the crater slowly. Your bare feet making no sound against the hot surface.

In a dark, half collapsed space, your enhanced eyes caught a pile of heavy dark fabric lying beneath a fallen concrete beam. You pulled the material from the dust, shaking it clean. A sudden subtle heat radiated from your hands, instantly burning away the decades of grime and mould until the fabric was soft, clean and warm.

With practiced effortless grace, you wrapped the long sheet of dark fabric around your body. You draped it securely over your shoulders and wrapped it tightly around your waist and torso, binding it into a simple, hooded cloak-like garment. It fell to your ankles, dark and understated, contrasting starkly with the soft clear skin. You pulled the oversized hood up over your head, casting your glowing eyes in shadow.

Fully covered, you turned back toward the dark sky. The fabric billowed around you in the night breeze like a mantle of shadow, completely obscuring the godlike power beneath it.

It was time to move.

Stepping out of the ruined facility, the cool night air brushed against the dark, wrapped fabric of your makeshift cloak. Your mind was a chaotic storm. The echo of Bucky’s weakening heartbeat still ringing in your ears.

Driven by sheer and human desperation, you broke into a fast stride. Your feet moved swiftly across the rocky, uneven terrain of the ground, your heart racing as you tried to figure out how to cover thousands of miles to reach him. Then, you froze mid step.

The dark fabric of your cloak fluttered softly around your ankles, but your bare feet weren’t touching the dirt anymore. You looked down.

The gravel crushed stone along with the muddy earth didn’t touch your skin. You were hovering a full two inches above it all. The heavy pull of gravity that had tethered you to the earth for your entire life simply wasn’t there. A quiet, breathless gasp escaped your lips.

“What…?” You whispered.

Your voice catching in your throat, sounding light, soft, and utterly bewildered in the quiet night. You could fly.

It wasn’t a trick and it wasn’t a gadget. The kinetic force humming beneath your skin naturally repelled the earth below you.

You didn’t need to run. You didn’t need a jet. The entire sky belonged to you now.

A slow fierce spark of realisation ignited in your eyes, as a breathless astonished laugh escaped your lips.

“Okay…” you murmured to yourself. Your eyes widening as you looked from your feet to the endless, dark horizon stretching out before you. “Okay. We’re… we’re not walking.”

You leaned forward slightly, testing the invisible current beneath you. The moment your mind willed it, gravity surrendered completely. The air beneath your feet ignited with a soft incandescent golden flare and with a sudden silent burst of speed, you shot straight up into the night sky like a bolt of golden lightning.

The ground fell away in a blur. Within seconds, you broke through the heavy clouds, ascending into the quiet, starlit silence of the upper sky. The wind howled around your hooded cloak, but you felt no resistance, no cold and no fear.

Your enhanced vision locked directly onto the distant twin engine glow of the Avengers’ jet. They were pushing the aircraft to its absolute limits, racing west over the Atlantic to get Bucky back to the Compound in New York.

The jet was fast, already flying over the ocean but you were faster and in a bunch of seconds you moved from Prague to an undefined point over the water.

Below you, the ocean was a silent blur of waves and foam. You leaned into the flight current as your heart was pounding against your ribs. Your new energy flared hotter ready to push past the sound barrier, catching up to the jet and tear through the steel hull to wrap Bucky in your warm hug.

And then, mid air, you abruptly stopped. The brutal reality hit you like a physical wall.

Your momentum dying until you were hovering motionless thousand feet above the dark surging ocean. The dark fabric of your cloak snapped violently in the high altitude wind.

You stared at the now tiny receding speck of the jet on the horizon. You had the speed and the power to catch that jet in seconds. But then what?

“No…” you whispered, your voice swallowed by the endless void.

If you revealed yourself alive and apparently godlike, Clara’s trap would instantly collapse.

The woman who had methodically poisoned Bucky’s mind. The woman who worked for Apex sitting right there and waiting for news of your death.

The moment Apex realised you survived, the entire network would go dark. They would scatter into the shadows, destroy the evidence and launch every failsafe they had.

And Bucky…

Broken, poisoned and confused Bucky would be caught right in the middle of the crossfire. His mind was probably still trapped in Clara’s web. If you appeared now, before you understood the full scope of what Apex had done to him, Clara could trigger something far worse inside his head.

“I can’t go to him,” you choked out. A raw, painful gasp escaping your lips.

You hovered alone in the freezing sky, clutching the dark fabric over your chest after your newly altered hyper-sensitive hearing picked up the faint rhythm of Bucky’s heartbeat miles away inside the jet. You heard Tony frantically bark out medical commands. You heard Steve’s desperate, trembling voice trying to keep Bucky conscious. You looked at the receding light of the jet one last time, watching it cut a quiet path through the high clouds toward New York.

Every protective, loving instinct screamed at you to follow it, to stay close enough to hear Bucky’s pulse but you knew if you lingered near the Compound, the raw turbulence of your newly awakened power would eventually set off S.H.I.E.L.D.’s atmospheric sensors.

You needed a sanctuary.

A place far off the grid, rooted in a time before Apex and before HYDRA. Before the world tried to crush you.

Nana’s house.

The memory hit you like a warm hearth in the middle of a blizzard. A tiny sun drenched farm tucked deep into the rolling isolated hills of the countryside, surrounded by wild orchards and ancient oak trees.

“Just hold on, Bucky,” you murmured into the wind. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

You turned away from the Atlantic corridor with a soft, subconscious tilt of your shoulders, willing your body into a new trajectory.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The air around your wrapped makeshift cloak hummed with a deep, acoustic vibration and with a silent breathtaking surge of speed, you streaked away from the jet, shooting like a golden comet across the dark expanse of the sky.

The earth dissolved into a tapestry of passing lights and silent mountain ranges below. Within minutes, the roaring wind began to drop as you descended through a thick layer of low-hanging fog, gliding down toward a dark, familiar valley.

Your bare feet hovered down over the grass of the backyard.

The farm stood before you, enveloped in quiet shadows. The wooden porch was weathered wrapped in wild ivy, looking as though it had been waiting for you to come home.

You stood there in the quiet countryside, your dark shroud draped over your shoulders, looking up at the rickety front door. For the first time since Vault 04 collapsed, the intense searing golden glow beneath your skin, began to soften cooling into a gentle steady warmth as the overwhelming stillness of the farm washed over you.

You took a deep shuddering breath of the sweet earth scented air, free of chemical toxins, of smoke and free of blood.

You raised your hand toward the weathered door but before your fingers could even graze the surface, the deadbolt threw with a sharp, lightning fast click.

The door swung inward.

Standing in the dimly lit entryway was your nana.

She wasn’t a fragile unsuspecting old woman. Her posture was braced, jaw set and her right hand rested with terrifying, practiced precision against the grip of a suppressed 9mm concealed at her waist. Decades of deep cover CIA field work meant she had felt the shift outside. The quiet impossible acoustic vibration that settled over her property the second your feet touched her grass.

For a second, her sharp analytical eyes locked onto you. She saw the dark burnt fabric draped over your shoulders, your bare feet and the faint unmistakable aura you had way before pulsing, just beneath your skin like living starlight.

The moment you saw her face, the godlike power, the cold resolve, and the cosmic force holding you together completely collapsed.

The tears burst from your eyes in a hot blinding wave. Your chest heaved, a choked broken sob tearing straight out of your throat.

“Nana…” you cried out. Your voice breaking into raw, desperate pieces as you stumbled across the threshold, sinking toward your knees. “Help me… please… help me…”

The hardened retired operative vanished in a heartbeat.

The gun was instantly forgotten.

She caught you before you hit the wooden floor, her arms wrapping firmly around your trembling, wrapped frame. Even as the kinetic solar heat radiating from your body warmed the cold entryway, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull back, or hesitate. She held you tight against her chest, as her fingers weaving into your hair just like she used to in the rare, secret weeks you had together before her withdrawal.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered fiercely into your hair, her own voice thick with a sudden protective emotion as she pulled you fully inside and kicked the heavy door shut, locking the world outside. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

She led you into the small and warm living room, sitting you down on the worn fabric sofa and wrapping a thick wool blanket over your heavy, makeshift cloak. She didn’t ask questions immediately. She just brewed a pot of tea, placed a steaming mug into your trembling and glowing hands, before pulling a chair right up in front of you.

And then, the story poured out of you in a frantic, choked rush.

You told her everything.

You explained Vault 04.

The trap set by Apex.

The collapsing bedrock and the heavy crushing of the building.

You told her about Clara the synthetic lilac toxin and how she had methodically poisoned Bucky’s mind, orchestrating every cold look, every push and every brutal word until he didn’t even recognise the woman he loved.

Your voice cracked violently as you confessed what happened with him. How Bucky shoved you back against the desk, how your wrist bruised and how he slammed the door leaving you to sob on the floor while a weaponised scent tore his mind apart.

Nana listened in absolute, cold silence. Her eyes, honed by decades of black ops intelligence work, narrowed into sharp lethal slits. She didn’t look at you like you were crazy, nor did she flinch when your emotions flared and tiny sparks leaped off your knuckles, singeing the wool blanket. She just absorbed every detail, processing the warfare and the tactical betrayal like the seasoned operative she was. She removed the brunt blanket

Then, you explained the waking up.

You told her about Clara’s injection, how the chemical cocktail was meant to end your life under five hundred tons of concrete, but instead bonded with your cellular structure, mutating into an incandescent solar fire. You explained the acoustic scream that pulverised the ground. The way gravity simply detached from you and how you hovered thousand feet above the ocean, hearing Bucky’s dying fluid choked heartbeat inside the jet miles ahead.

“I could have torn that jet open, Nana,” you sobbed, clutching the mug so tightly the ceramic began to crack beneath your palms. “I could have… but if I showed up like this… if Apex sees what I’ve become… Clara will burn everything… and I’d lose him forever.”

You looked up at her, your eyes shining through the tears.

“I have to let them think I’m dead,” you whispered, the raw grief in your tone shifting into something cold, ancient and absolute. “I have to stay in the dark… until I pull Apex apart piece by piece.”

Nana reached out. Her cool feathered hand gently covering your hot, trembling knuckles. She didn’t offer empty reassurances. She leaned in, her eyes burning with a fierce, dangerous pride.

“Chemical neurotoxins… deep cover infiltration and atmospheric manipulation.” Nana said, her voice dropping into the quiet, commanding tone of a seasoned handler. “Its a lot to digest… but I believe you,” she said calmly.

“You do?” You sobbed more.

“Absolutely,” she squeezed your hand firmly. “You’re going to rest tonight, sweetheart,” nana commanded quietly.

You nodded.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

When you opened your eyes, the soft morning light was streaming through the sheer lace curtains of your childhood bedroom. The air smelled of old wood, morning dew and fresh coffee. A grounding, peaceful scent that felt like a lifeline after the chaos of Prague.

Sitting quietly on the wooden chair by the corner was a neatly folded pile of soft grey sweatpants and a thick oversized sweater. Right on top rested a plush white towel.

Nana knew better than anyone that after everything you had been through, you needed a simple and safe comfort.

You sat up, the heavy canvas shroud you had wrapped around yourself slipping off your shoulders. Looking down at your hands, the blinding golden radiance from the night before had settled down beneath your skin, humming like a quiet invisible engine under your veins that rested in your system.

You pushed back the covers, your bare feet lightly touching the cool hardwood floor and picked up the fresh clothes.

From down the hallway, the faint familiar sound of coffee brewing and the low murmur of a secure radio broadcast drifted through the house. Nana was already awake, already working.

Taking a deep quiet breath, you headed toward the bathroom to wash away the last remnants of dust and blood, ready to step into the kitchen and build your plan.

The hot water washed away the last traces of ash and concrete dust, leaving your skin soft and quietly humming with that internal warmth. You pulled on the oversized sweater and sweatpants. The thick fabric feeling blissfully normal against your body, before padding barefoot down the wooden stairs.

The scent of dark roast coffee and sizzling butter filled the kitchen. Nana stood by the stove, flipping eggs in a iron skillet with effortless, rhythmic ease.

“I’m sorry about the bed,” you blurted out immediately, hovering anxiously near the doorway, your hands tucked deep into the sweater sleeves. “The sheets… I was so covered of dust and smoke… hope I didn’t ruin them.”

Nana didn’t even turn around, casually waving a butter knife dismissively in the air. “Sweetheart, sit down and eat your eggs.”

“Nana, really… I can strip the mattress and wash-”

“I already changed them while you were in the shower,” Nana interrupted, turning around with a plate piled high with eggs, toast and crisp bacon, setting it down in front of you with a decisive thud. “And for the record, a little dirt never killed a cotton thread. You didn’t leave a single drop of blood anywhere, so stop worrying about my laundry and start feeding yourself. You’re burning through calories like a jet engine right now.”

She poured a dark mug of coffee, placed it beside your plate, and sat down across from you. Her sharp, analytical eyes tracked the faint, golden shimmer still playing under the skin of your knuckles as you picked up your fork.

“You’re not a broken weapon in this house, Y/N,” Nana said softly, her voice dropping its gruff handler edge for a fleeting second. “You’re my granddaughter. Eat.”

Nana took a slow sip from her coffee, her sharp, dark eyes studying you over the rim of the mug.

“Now,” she said softly, setting the ceramic down with a quiet clink on the table. “Talk to me about James.”

You took a small, shaky breath. Your fork hovering over your plate. “Clara had him completely isolated, Nana. She was using a synthetic neurotoxin masked as a daily fragrance to keep his memory hazy, feeding him false reports-”

“No, Y/N,” Nana interrupted gently, raising a hand to stop the frantic rush of your tactical debrief.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“You told me how Clara and her handlers work,” nana said, her voice steady and grounded. “Apex was a quiet ghost on the fringes back when I was still active in the field. I never crossed paths with their cell directly, but I know their playbook.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the wooden table, her gaze softening. “I don’t want the report right now. I want you to tell me about him. How was Bucky with you? Before they laid a finger on him.”

A sudden, sharp lump formed in your throat, catching you completely unprepared.

You looked down at your hands.

“He was gentle,” you whispered smiling sadly. Your voice cracking slightly as the memories washed over you, unbidden and precious. “He was so soft with me, nana. He spent his whole life being used as a weapon but when he looked at me, it was like… like he forgot he fought for his life in HYDRA. He tucked my hair behind my ear with his flesh hand, so carefully, like he was afraid he’d break me.”

A small tearful smile touched your lips as a soft spark of crimson static danced harmlessly across your thumb.

“He’d wake up early just to make tea the way I liked it. He’d hold me in the middle of the night when the nightmares got too heavy for both of us, resting his forehead against mine until my breathing matched his. He loved me so fiercely, nana. It was the safest I ever felt in my life.”

You wiped a stray tear from your cheek before it could burn into a golden ember.

“That man, the one who held me in the quiet… that’s who they took from me,” you said, your voice dropping into a quiet, absolute resolve. “That’s who I’m getting back.”

Nana watched you in silence for a long moment, a proud, lethal glint flashing in her eyes.

“Good,” she murmured, taking another sip of her coffee. “Because that’s the man we’re going to save.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Stepping out onto the back porch, the morning air was crisp and fresh, smelling of wet grass, sweet pine and distant clover.

You stopped at the top of the wooden steps, pulling the oversized sweater tighter around yourself as your eyes swept over the property. The night before, everything had been shrouded in pitch black fog and the blinding, frantic haze of your panic. But now, in the golden sunlight, the realisation washed over you like a gentle tide.

Nothing had changed.

The sprawling yard was still framed by the same towering, ancient oak trees you used to climb as a child. The old wooden barn stood off to the left, its faded red paint peeling in the exact same weathered patches you remembered. Over by the garden fence, the wild berry bushes were overgrown, bursting with dark summer fruit, and the old tire swing still hung motionless from the thickest branch of the maple tree near the well.

It was a time capsule. In a world of secret facilities, collapsing vaults, synthetic toxins, and cosmic explosions, this quiet farm had remained completely untouched by the violence.

“I kept it just the way you left it,” nana said softly, stepping down onto the grass beside you, her light house shoes sinking slightly into the soft, dew-covered earth. She looked up at you, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. “I knew one day you’d need a place where the world couldn’t reach you.”

You took a deep grounding breath, feeling the cool earth beneath your bare feet and the steady, warm hum of the fire resting peacefully beneath your skin.

“It’s like… stepping back into a dream,” you whispered, a faint, genuine smile touching your lips for the first time in weeks. “Like none of the bad things ever happened.”

“They happened,” Nana corrected gently, turning to face you with that sharp, protective glint in her eyes. “But they don’t get to live here. This is where you catch your breath. And this is where we figure out how you’re going to use that sun inside your chest.”

“Nana,” you asked softly, watching the morning light filter through the leaves above. “Why did you had to stop coming to see me? After Mom and Dad died… you were just gone. I always thought your agency kept us apart, but it wasn’t just them, was it?”

Nana slowed her pace, looking out over the open fields with a quiet, distant expression.

“No, sweetheart,” she said, her voice turning heavy with the weight of old memories. “It wasn’t. It was my own mess.”

She stopped near the old well, leaning her hand against the weathered stone.

“Right after your parents passed, I was working a deep-cover CIA operation in Eastern Europe,” nana explained, turning to look at you with deep sincerity. “It went sour. Fast. My cover was blown, my cover identities were burned and my real name got leaked to half a dozen hostile networks. I became a walking target overnight.”

You listened quietly, feeling the warm hum of your body settling into a steady protective beat inside your chest.

“If I had stayed in your life back then… if I had tried to raise you or even visit you, those people would have used you to get to me,” she continued, her jaw tightening. “I couldn’t live with that risk. So I faked my retirement, cut every digital tether I had and hid in the one place no one would ever think to look. The one place that was off every agency grid.”

She gestured around at the quiet, sun drenched yard, the peeling barn and the wild berry bushes.

“Apex was never part of my world back then,” nana added softly. “I spent years watching you from afar, making sure S.H.I.E.L.D. was keeping you safe…”

She reached out, gently patting your shoulder.

“I stayed away to keep you safe from my past,” she said, her eyes softening. “And now, this farm is going to keep you safe while you prepare for yours.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The mid morning sun broke through the misty horizon, bathing the old oak grove in a warm, yellow glow. The farm was completely still, save for the rhythmic clicking of nana’s pen as she stood near the fence line, a heavy leather notebook resting in her hands.

She watched you quietly as you stood in the centre of the overgrown pasture. You took a slow deep breath, feeling the morning air fill your lungs while the radiant solar engine beneath your ribs hummed in perfect, effortless harmony.

“Alright, sweetheart,” nana said tapping her pen against the page as she looked up with a dry, approving glint in her eyes. “Let’s see what we’re working with here. We need to map out what do we have.”

She flipped to a blank page, her seasoned CIA handler mind breaking down the impossible, godlike force standing in front of her into clear, cold tactical realities.

“You’re essentially a three part weapon,” nana murmured, watching the sunlight soak directly into your skin.

“First,” she noted, “the sheer physical density.”

You closed your eyes, feeling your cells feed directly on the golden light pouring down from above. You didn’t just walk under the sun, you refuelled on it.

To test your durability, in the afternoon, nana picked up an old heavy iron crowbar from the barn and struck it square against your shoulder. The iron didn’t even bruised your skin. It simply buckled and snapped in half like a dry twig around your frame.

You couldn’t bleed.

You couldn’t break.

Gravity too, was nothing more than a suggestion. You willed yourself upward, your feet lifting effortlessly off the dew kissed grass, hovering three feet in the air without so much as a whisper of wind. Your senses expanded outward. Your hearing slicing through miles of country noise until you could hear the exact, delicate rhythm of a crow’s heartbeat nestled deep in the distant woods.

“Second,” nana said, stepping closer to the fence. “The voice.”

You hovered softly back down to the earth, turning toward an old, rotting tree stump near the edge of the woods. You took a quiet breath, focusing the raw, kinetic energy building in your chest down into a microscopic point.

You opened your lips and let out a low, concentrated frequency. A focused scream that didn’t roar like a bomb, but sliced through the air with surgical precision.

THUMP.

The rot-hollowed stump instantly disintegrated into a fine, microscopic cloud of sawdust. Right beside it, a clump of delicate, yellow dandelions didn’t lose a single petal.

“Good precision,” nana approved quietly, writing down a quick note. “Sonic destruction, completely controlled.”

You both tried many other signals. Some were more quietly than others. Suddenly, when you pictured Bucky in that room shoving you, the scream erupted louder and louder. A crying scream of pain. Your nana slumped back on her butt smiling.

“Nana,” you run towards her.

“Perfect lungs, sweetie,” she laughed taking notes. “And third…” nana murmured, stepping back slightly as the temperature in the pasture suddenly spiked ten degrees. “…the scary part.”

You held out your hands, palms facing the sky. The golden light humming beneath your skin bled through your veins, pouring from your palms in brilliant, incandescent waves. Fiery sparks trailed off your fingertips, hissing softly as they touched the cool morning air.

It was raw cosmic energy, the power of rebirth and thermal devastation bound together. You could melt heavy steel with a glance, stitch torn cellular tissue back together, or release a solar shockwave powerful enough to split storm clouds wide open.

Nana closed her leather notebook with a crisp snap, looking up at you as you stood in the quiet meadow. The oversized sweater hid your frame, but your eyes burned with a terrifying, breathtaking blend of molten gold and cosmic crimson.

“Super-strength, sonic dominance, and celestial fire,” Nana said, a fierce, deadly pride dancing in her dark eyes. “Apex thinks they buried a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent under five hundred tons of Czech concrete.”

She smiled, stepping over to clasp your warm, glowing hand in her cool, weathered grip.

“They have no idea you’re coming back as a god.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The smell of soup simmered in the kitchen as you followed nana back inside, wiping the faint sheen of sweat from your forehead. You pulled your sweater down past your wrists, feeling the raw warmth under your skin cool back into a quiet hum. Then, you both froze.

From the living room, the quiet hum of the television left on a low background channel, was suddenly cut off by a breaking news broadcast. The harsh, familiar chime of a S.H.I.E.L.D. press briefing echoed through the small cottage.

Nana’s sharp eyes darted toward the hallway, her body instinctively dropping into a tense stance. You stepped past her, your heart hammering against your ribs as you walked into the living room.

On the screen, a polished news anchor sat before a solemn graphic featuring the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem framed in black.

“… confirming late this morning that the tragic tactical collapse in Prague has claimed the life of one of their own.”

The screen cut to a high-resolution photo of you.

It was your old S.H.I.E.L.D. file picture.

You looked so young. So ridiculously human, wearing the dark uniform you used to think made you invincible.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, a key intelligence asset, was reported missing and presumed dead following an unprovoked attack by unknown hostile forces. Steve Rogers and the rest of the team arrived back at the New York Compound days ago with the surviving team members, including Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, who remains in critical condition.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Bucky.

He was alive at the compound.

The news anchor continued, their tone heavy with practiced grief.

“…they now just revealed the tragic death of agent Y/L/N. A private memorial service and honour walk, will be held this Friday at the S.H.I.E.L.D. compounds in New York to honour agent Y/L/N’s ultimate sacrifice. Flags at all regional bases have been lowered to half-mast…”

You stood rooted to the hardwood floor, staring at your own face on the television screen. Beside your photo, a small ticker at the bottom read.

IN MEMORIAM OF AGENT Y/N Y/L/N.

They were burying a ghost.

They were planning a funeral for a woman who was currently holding enough solar energy in her chest to vaporise the entire facility.

A soft, dark chuckle escaped nana’s lips from the doorway. She walked over, picked up the remote and clicked the television off plunging the room back into absolute silence.

“Well,” nana said smoothly, tossing the remote onto the sofa. “At least they picked a good picture for your obituary.”

You looked down at your hands. The skin over your knuckles vibrated in a quiet brilliant flare of light washing over your fingers before vanishing.

“They’re holding a funeral for me on Friday,” you whispered, your voice surprisingly calm, laced with a cold, terrifying authority.

“They are,” nana agreed, folding her arms over her chest as she studied you. “Which also means Apex thinks their mission was a complete success. Clara is going to be standing right there at that memorial, pretending to mourn you, completely convinced she won.”

A smile erupted on your lips.

“Let them throw the funeral,” you murmured, your eyes turning to the window, looking out toward the sky. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Nana leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you pace back and forth across the hardwood floor.

“So,” nana said, taking a quiet sip of her tea. “You want to crash your own memorial on Friday. I respect the flair for the dramatic, sweetheart but… how exactly do you plan on standing in a cemetery full of top-tier Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. security agents without being spotted? You’re can be bright enough to light up a city block right now.”

You stopped pacing, running a hand through your hair as a frustrated sigh escaped your lips. “I… I don’t know, nana. I can fly above the clouds. I can crush steel apparently,” you said remembering the bar of steel crushed on you.

“… but I can’t just walk into the cemetery like a ghost. The second I step into range, their thermographic cameras will pick up my heat signature.”

Lost in thought, you aimlessly wandered toward the far side of the kitchen. You stepped up to the window where the sharp sunlight poured in, framing your figure in a warm, amber glow.

Right below the sill, just inches from your hip, sat an open electrical wall socket that still needed a reparation.

The moment you stood between the intense solar rays and the opened socket on the wall, something strange happened.

The air around your arm began to hum a low, microscopic vibration where the high frequency sunlight collided with the invisible electromagnetic field of the house.

Your celestial energy didn’t just absorb the light. It bent it.

You looked down to adjust the sleeve of your sweater and froze.

Your entire right forearm, from the elbow down to your fingertips, had completely vanished.

You weren’t just covered. The skin, the sweater and the subtle aura was all rendered entirely transparent. It was like looking through clean, distort free glass. You could see the kitchen cabinets directly behind where your hand was supposed to be.

“Nana…” you gasped. Your voice barely a whisper as you held up your invisible arm, turning it back and forth in utter disbelief. “What… what is this?”

Nana set her tea mug down on the counter with a sharp, heavy clack, her sharp eyes instantly narrowing into calculated focus. She took a step toward you, leaning in to examine the empty space where your hand was hovering.

“Electromagnetic refraction,” nana breathed out, her voice filled with awe and the cold, brilliant precision of a master spy. “The solar energy in your blood isn’t just generating heat, Y/N. When it reacts with an ambient electrical field, it’s forcing the light waves around you to completely bend.”

She looked up at your face and a fierce smile slowly spreading across her features.

“You don’t need a stealth suit, sweetheart,” nana whispered, her eyes shining with absolute triumph. “You just learned how to turn yourself into a ghost.”

A breathless, incredulous laugh bubbled up from your throat. You held up both of your hands, watching the sunlight from the window weave directly into the faint electric current radiating from the open socket.

You closed your eyes and took a deep steadying breath, consciously pushing the solar fire beneath your ribs to meet that invisible ambient charge. You willed the energy to expand outward not in a violent, explosive shockwave, but in a tight fluid shell around your entire body.

A sudden, strange sensation washed over you. It felt like stepping into a gentle pool of warm glass yet light and weightless.

When you opened your eyes and looked down, your stomach dropped in pure, giddy shock.

You were completely gone.

Where your feet were supposed to be planted on the kitchen floorboards, there was only the sunlit wood. Where your hands were holding out in front of you, there was only empty air. You looked toward the reflective glass of the microwave door and saw nothing.

Not a shadow, not a silhouette, not even a faint outline.

You had literally disappeared into thin air.

“Nana! It worked! I’m completely gone!” You squealed, your voice echoing from what looked like entirely empty space in the middle of the kitchen.

You took a few excited steps, your invisible feet gliding soundlessly across the floor. You waved your arms frantically, thrilled by the realisation of what this meant for your plan.

“Nana, touch me. See if you feel me.”

Nana followed your voice and touch your arm. “It’s weird,” she muttered. “Good weird don’t get me wrong. I feel you but it’s like you’re immaterial even if I’m touching you…”

Then, a sudden practical thought hit you, and you stopped dead in your tracks.

“Wait…” you said, your invisible head tilting in confusion as you looked down at where your chest should be. “Nana, how am I going to dress for this? If I step away from the wall or go outside, do I have to be… naked? Are my clothes going to stay visible while I’m invisible?”

Nana chuckled softly crossing her arms as she stared right into the empty patch of kitchen where your voice was coming from.

“Sweetheart, take a breath and look at yourself,” Nana said smoothly, a fond, amused glint in her sharp eyes. “The energy shell you’re generating isn’t just wrapping around your skin. It’s bending the light around everything contained within your personal electromagnetic field.”

She gestured toward the empty air where your sweater was hovering.

“Right now, those thick sweatpants and that oversized sweater are just as invisible as you are. The clothes, your hair, whatever you’re holding close to your body. It’s all gets pulled into the refraction field and when you decide to drop the field…”

You let go of the breath you were holding, allowing the tension in your solar core to relax. The warm, humming barrier dissolved.

In an instant, your hands, the soft grey sweater and the comfortable sweatpants materialised right back into plain sight, completely solid and unchanged.

“…they come right back with you,” Nana finished with a decisive nod, a proud, lethal smile touching her lips. “No naked tactical missions required.”

You were so caught up you didn’t realise before that your clothes were indeed invisible too.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Friday arrived.

The moment the door clicked shut and your frame slipped silently out into the crisp morning air, nana stood motionless in the quiet kitchen. She watched until your departure faded into the distance.

Taking a slow steady breath, she moved slowly and controlled toward the living room. Picking up a frame off the wall, a safe appeared. Clicking the number on the pad, the safe opened with a click. Inside, cash of different currency and a phone. She picked it. It was an old, heavily modified burner phone. Untracked, satellite-linked, and dark for over fifteen years.

She flipped it open, dialled a ten-digit sequence from memory, and brought the receiver to her ear.

It rang once.

A click sounded on the other end of the encrypted line, followed by a low, gravelly voice.

“I need your help,” nana said quietly. Her voice cold, commanding and laced with the undeniable authority of a legend.

There was a brief beat of silence on the line before the voice answered, sharp and unwavering.

“Coming, agent Brown.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You drifted ghostly and unseen above the somber gathering, staring down at the cruel theatre below.

A sad casket sat draped in the national flag, surrounded by towering wreaths of white lilies and pristine roses. The mournful melody of a single bagpipe bled into the grey afternoon air as dignitaries in pressed black suits offered practiced, somber nods to the press. To the rest of the world, it was an honour bound send off for a fallen hero. A polished, solemn tribute to a life cut short in the line of duty. To you, watching from the ether, it was an absolute farce.

They were burying a box full of lead weights, laying a ghost to rest while your actual heart was still beating, fuelled purely by rage and survival. The sheer absurdity of witnessing your own memorial sent a bitter chill straight through your spiritual form. Everyone down there was mourning a tragedy that hadn’t even happened, weeping over a lie engineered by Apex.

Your eyes shifted away from the polished mahogany and landed on the true casualty of the day.

Bucky.

He stood apart from the rigid rows of folding chairs, ignoring the speechmakers and the camera flashes, looking like a man being carved away from the inside out.

You sank into the saturated earth beside him, still unseen and untouchable, watching Bucky go entirely rigid.

The hitch in his breath was immediate. A choked, desperate gasp as the sudden flare of your warmth grazed his freezing skin. Slowly and agonisingly, he lifted his face to the sky, his eyes bloodshot and drenched with rain, fruitlessly hunting the empty air where you knelt right in front of him.

“Y/N…?”

When his palm closed on nothing but downpours and shadows, the last bit of light drained from his face. Fresh tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks. He yanked his hand back, pressing it hard over his sternum as if manually forcing his shattered heart to keep beating, collapsing back against the cold granite headstone in pure, unadulterated ruin. He thought he was losing his mind, convinced his own crushing grief was conjuring hallucinations.

Yet, even without sight, his gaze locked directly onto yours. He was looking straight into your eyes, anchored by the faint, invisible pull of your soul hovering inches away but because your form remained hidden from the physical world, his stare cut right through you, striking Steve, who stood motionless a few paces behind your floating silhouette.

A silent war waged inside your chest, threatening to tear you apart right then and there. Every protective instinct, every fibre of your soul screamed at you to strip away the illusion, to break the stealth field and throw your arms around Bucky’s neck. You wanted to press your forehead against his, to let him feel your heart hammering wildly against his palm, to whisper that you were there.

You could do it.

It was a single thought, a single flick of a switch away. You could end his suffering in a heartbeat. You could wipe away Steve’s crushing despair and pull your family back from the brink.

Just reveal yourself, the desperate voice in your head begged. Fuck Apex. Fuck the mission. Look at him. He’s dying inside.

One decision and Bucky wouldn’t have to face another second of this nightmare alone. But the cold, terrifying reality slapped you back.

From your unseen vantage point your eyes shifted to Clara, the woman who had tried so desperately to take your place.

You studied her with a cold, terrifying detachment, analysing every detail of her presence like a target locked in a crosshair.

She stood near the edge of the mourners, her tailored black coat pristine and her hair immaculately styled despite the driving rain. Her posture was framed in carefully practiced grief. Brows furrowed just enough, hands folded neatly in front of her and a performance designed for the cameras and the watching eyes of the Avengers.

She looked like a grieving colleague. But you knew better.

You watched the subtle twitch of her fingers near her pocket, the way her eyes darted calculatedly toward Steve’s trembling shoulders and then over to Bucky’s broken form in the mud.

There was no real sorrow in her gaze. Only a cold, opportunistic assessment.

She was sizing them up, gauging their vulnerability waiting for the precise moment to slip back into your spot and play the comforter. She was one ready to dismantle them from the inside out.

She thought she was subtle.

She thought her cover was seamless.

Look at them, Clara, you thought. Enjoy the act while it lasts.

You recorded every movement, every micro expression, etching her face into your memory.

She had tried to put on your gear. She had tried to sit in your chair. And worst of all, she had helped Apex orchestrate the nightmare that was currently destroying the man you loved.

She believed you were lying six feet beneath the wet earth, another tragic casualty of Apex’s grand design. She had no idea that the ghost she was celebrating was standing less than ten feet away, dissecting her every move, learning her rhythm and preparing to tear her world to shreds.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Once the Avengers moved back toward the inside of the compound, you walked near Bucky.

The urge of taking his hand intertwined your fingers. You wanted nothing more that hug his frame, cradling him in your hug whispering nothing but sweet words. He stopped abruptly once he heard Clara’s voice.

You saw her moving closer, her voice soft and gentle.

“If you need anything,” she began and moved closer to touch his arm. “Tell me.”

Bucky moved back as Clara’s touch was poison and walked back without saying a word.

You smiled seeing this.

The toxin wasn’t in Bucky’s blood anymore.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Once you were back in the farm, the low hum of a jet’s cloaking engine was the first clue of something different. A subtle vibration in your teeth before you even reached the tree line.

You slipped through the overgrown sunflower patch behind your nana’s porch. You were exhausted but aching and still tasting the bitter rain from the cemetery. As you rounded the corner of the farmhouse, the scent of fresh brew and roasted coffee hit you, accompanied by a presence that didn’t belong there.

Sitting on the porch glider beside your grandmother was T’Challa.

The Wakandian king and famous Black Panther.

He wasn’t wearing his black tight suit. He wore a heavy black sweater, his posture rigid with a grief you recognised all too well. When King T’Chaka had been taken in the bombing at the Vienna NATO summit, the world had fractured and nobody had felt that shatter deeper than T’Challa.

T’Chaka was his dad and previous kind of Wakanda.

What the public, and you, didn’t know, was that your nana and T’Chaka went back decades.

She had been an operative in her youth, an old ally from a time before global super-heroics, bound to the former king by a deep, unspoken respect.

Ever since Vienna, T’Challa had made a point to check on her whenever he crossed the ocean.

He was anchoring himself to the few people left who had known his father simply as a man, not just a king.

“You’re tracking mud on my porch,” your nana’s raspy voice broke the quiet. She sat wrapped in a knitted shawl, her sharp eyes cutting through the twilight directly to you.

T’Challa turned his head, his dark eyes widening slightly as he took you in. Battered, maybe emotionally exhausted, but very much breathing.

“Y/N,” he said softly, standing up with the quiet grace that always defined him. “The news reported…”

“The news told what they knew,” you replied, your voice rough.

You walked up the wooden steps, offering T’Challa a brief, weary nod of recognition. There was a mutual understanding in the air. Two people intimately familiar with loss, secrets, and the heavy price of wearing a mask.

“I asked him to come,” your nana said plainly, taking a slow sip from her mug. She looked between you and the young king. Her expression hardening into pure, unyielding resolve. “I told him my granddaughter was fighting a war in the dark, and that she needed armour fit for a ghost.”

T’Challa looked at you, his gaze shifting from surprise to a steady, resolute warmth. “My father spoke highly of your grandmother’s strength. When she called, I came. If Apex is your target, Y/N… Wakanda will ensure you do not strike them empty handed.”

T’Challa reached down to a sleek, obsidian case resting beside his boots. With a soft click, the latches released, revealing a refined suit laid out on dark velvet.

It wasn’t a Black Panther suit, but it carried the distinct, unmistakable craftsmanship of Wakanda.

Woven from lightweight vibranium weave. The suit was a deep, matte burgundy top engineered to absorb light and sound, blending into the shadows while offering near-impenetrable protection. Sleek kinetic distribution points lined the spine and joints, and the wrist gauntlets were custom fitted to hold your stealth tech and field equipment. Soft but tight white material around your legs, making you able to move and run with no problems.

“My sister designed it based on your combat metrics and your grandmother’s specifications,” T’Challa said, his voice low and steady as he gestured to the armour. “It will cloak you, protect you and allow you to strike without leaving a trace. No one will see you coming.”

Your nana leaned forward, resting her hands on her lap, her eyes locking onto yours with fierce pride.

You ran your fingers over the smooth, cool vibranium fabric, feeling the quiet hum of power beneath your touch.

The image of Bucky crying in the rain, broken on his knees, flashed in your mind, followed by Clara’s calculating smile as she tried to step into your shoes.

The grief was gone for now, replaced by a cold, sharp focus.

“Thank you, T’Challa,” you said softly, your grip tightening over the suit.

“Do not thank me yet,” T’Challa replied, offering a brief, supportive nod. “Save your thanks for when Apex is brought to justice. Go get your life back.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The hum of the jet died into the night sky, leaving only the rustle of the countryside cornfields and the rhythmic creak of the porch glider. T’Challa was gone, but the weight of the suit inside the case remained, resting heavily on the wooden floorboards between you and your grandmother.

You leaned back against the porch railing, running a tired hand through your damp hair, and looked at the woman sitting in the shawl.

“How did you know them, nana?” You asked softly, the quiet of the early night finally catching up to you. “I know T’Challa mentioned his dad spoke highly of you, but… T’Chaka was a king. Wakanda was invisible back then. How did a CIA agent woman wind up on speaking terms with Wakandian royalty?”

Your nana let out a dry wheezing laugh that turned into a soft sigh, her sharp eyes reflecting the dim porch light as she stared out into the dark fields.

“Back when I was your age, I wasn’t sitting on a porch watching corn grow, kiddo,” she said, her voice dropping into a low, gravelly cadence you rarely heard. “Before S.H.I.E.L.D. was even a word people threw around, there were covert intelligence networks operating out of North Africa. I was a field communications specialist for the resistance during the late seventies.”

She took a slow sip of her tea, setting the mug down on the small side table with a faint thud.

“There was an incident in ‘78, an illegal mercenary cell backed by some mercenary offshoots that tried to cross into the border regions near Wakanda to harvest raw vibranium,” she continued, her gaze turning distant. “I was embedded in a local radio station tracking their frequencies. T’Chaka was young back then, not long after taking the mantle. He was hunting the same cell. We crossed paths in the middle of a bad firefight in the jungle. I blew up a munitions convoy that was about to flank his unit, and he pulled me out of a burning jeep with a shattered hip.”

She patted her bad leg with a wry smile.

“We spent three days hiding out in a ruined outpost, patching each other up and keeping watch,” she said softly. “You learn everything you need to know about a man when you’re sharing a canteen and waiting out a death squad. T’Chaka was a proud man, but he was honourable to a fault. He swore a debt to me that day, and I swore to keep his secrets. We kept in touch through secure channels for forty years.”

Your nana looked up from the darkness, her eyes locking onto yours with fierce tenderness.

“When T’Chaka died in Vienna, I cried for three days,” she admitted quietly. “And when T’Challa called me afterward, I told him the same thing I told his father years ago… we protect our own. So when you told me you wanted to show up at your funeral, I didn’t hesitate. I called in the old favour. T’Challa didn’t just bring you a suit, Y/N. He brought it because he knew his father would have personally handed it to you himself.”

T’Challa before leaving gestured toward the open case just before he left, his voice ringing with a quiet, prophetic certainty.

“Put it on,” he told you, his dark eyes solemn as he looked down at the sleek vibranium weave. “Wear it every day. Train in it, sleep in it and make it a second skin. If you have to fight in the shadows, on the streets, or fly into space tomorrow… you will be ready.”

His words echoed in your mind as you stood alone on the farmhouse porch, the obsidian suit resting against your chest like a promise.

That suit was the absolute beginning of everything.

It was the turning point where you stopped being a hunted ghost hiding in the countryside and became something far more dangerous to Apex.

Every day after, you lived in that Wakandian armour.

You ran the muddy perimeter of the farm in it, calibrated your stealth systems through the freezing prairie nights and mastered every kinetic pulse stored within its fibres.

It adapted to your pulse, moulded to your frame and absorbed the weight of your grief until the suit didn’t feel like gear anymore. It felt like a weapon waiting to be unsheathed.

Apex believed they had buried you. They believed Bucky was broken, the Avengers were fractured, and the board was clear for them to take over. They had no idea what was coming back for them.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The night air was freezing, cutting through the darkness as you pushed your body to its absolute limits. Wearing the suit had become as natural as breathing, the lightweight weave shifting seamlessly with your stride as you ran past the tree line, kilometres away from your nana’s farm.

You weren’t trying to be a hero.

You weren’t training to be an executioner.

Then you heard it. A muffled scream bleeding out from behind a rusted grain silo near the edge of town.

Your instincts took over before your brain could register the detour. You activated the cloak mode turning into a shadow in the night air, and rounded the corner. A man had a woman pinned against the corrugated metal, his hand shoved violently over her mouth as he dragged her into the dark alley.

CRACK.

You didn’t even use fully your power.

You dropped your body mid-air, landing between them like a ghost materialised from thin air. A single, charged backhand sent the attacker flying five feet back, smashing into the gravel. He barely had time to register the sleek and matte armor staring down at him before a swift strike to the jaw knocked him cold.

The woman collapsed against the metal wall, sobbing. Her eyes wide with terror and awe as she stared at the silent, shadow draped figure standing over her.

“Run home,” you said, your voice modulated into a low, unrecognisable hum by the suit’s comms unit. “Lock your doors.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted into the night.

Standing alone in the quiet alley, looking down at your gloved hands as the energy faintly hummed beneath the suit, a dark realisation settled over you.

You weren’t just a ghost anymore. The world outside was still rotting, Apex was still pulling strings, and people were still getting hurt.

That night was the spark.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Over the next two weeks, while hunting down leads on Clara and Apex, you became a phantom in the night. A ruthless, nameless vigilante sweeping through the surrounding towns, dismantling human traffickers, low-level Apex couriers and street criminals before vanishing into thin air. The news called you simply the new vigilante in town.

It was during one of these late night runs, while perched on a high tension tower overlooking the perimeter of the Avengers Compound, that your dual life collided.

Through your suit’s long range optical zoom, you peered through the glass and concrete of the compound’s training facility.

Bucky was there.

It was three in the morning, but he wasn’t sleeping.

He was brutally hammering a heavy bag. His movements raw, uncoordinated and fuelled by pure, unadulterated agony. His flesh knuckles were bleeding, his hair matted with sweat, his face pale and hollowed out. Every strike looked like he was trying to beat his own grief into submission.

A few feet away, sitting on a bench with a tablet, was Clara.

She was playing her part perfectly, offering him a bottle of water, speaking with practiced, gentle sympathy. But through your enhanced optics, you caught the subtle, triumphant smirk she hid when Bucky turned his back to hit the bag again. She was feeding on his brokenness, slowly chipping away at his defences while he drowned in his own guilt.

Your hands clenched into tight fists, the suit glowed with a faint, golden charge.

You had become a vigilante to protect the helpless, but watching the woman who destroyed your life still trying to poison the man you loved made your blood run ice cold. You weren’t just going to stop Clara.

You were going to tear her world apart piece by piece, and Bucky would finally know the truth.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Another day, another peer into the Avenger’s life.

Steve and Sam spent the day running outside.

Tony and Bruce hid themself in the lab.

Wanda and Nat checked everything Clara did like two predators with they prey.

Clint was outside alone.

Clara tried so hard to get Bucky’s attention. You clearly saw one day, her spraying perfume on herself.

That perfume.

Your blood froze.

You watched her movements, following her steps through the compound. Once you saw Bucky rejecting her, again, you release a breathe held between your chest like a block.

The scent didn’t work on him anymore.

Bucky wandered in the compound alone, like a ghost.

Like me, you thought.

He moved into the corridor and looked miserable.

He slept even less that before. His bed almost untouched.

You watched him taking mission in mission.

The cruelest ones.

The mission that reduced a man into a puddle after the force and energy he had to use.

The following day, through the clear pane, you watched Wanda stride into the room like an impending storm. Her voice carry through the reinforced glass, thanks to your hyper enhanced hearing.

“Look at you!” Wanda’s voice echoed directly into your head, dripping with venom. “Sitting in the dark! Pitiful! Tragic! The broken soldier who couldn’t save his girl!”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You hovered motionless against the bruised sky, watching Bucky sit like a hollow shell on the leather sofa. He looked agonisingly diminished.

Unshaven, sunken eyed and his vibranium arm hanging dead at his side.

As Wanda tore into him, screaming about his weakness and Vault 04 and Clara, she didn’t just stare at Bucky. In her fierce, red-rimmed eyes, there was a sharp, calculating glance that flicked right toward the exact section of the exterior wall where you were hovering.

As she slammed her hands down onto the sofa armrest, venting her fury at Bucky, her eyes pierced right through the glass, looking straight at the space you occupied. It was like she felt your presence.

You stayed locked in that exact spot all day, refusing to move.

The sun dipped completely beneath the horizon, painting the sky in shades of purple and Warm orange. For hours, you watched Bucky through the glass.

He barely moved.

He didn’t eat.

He just sat in the dark, drowning in a sea of self-hatred that you had unknowingly condemned him to. Every second you spent watching him was a struggling form of self-torture. A silent battle raging inside you as your hand twitched over your wrist, begging you to drop the cloak and fly through the glass.

Late into the night, the scene shifted.

You followed Bucky’s slow, trek up to the secluded outer terrace. You drifted upward, rising effortlessly through the freezing night air positioning yourself high in the sky directly above the platform.

Down below, the biting wind whipped around Bucky and Wanda. Through your optical zoom eyes, you saw Bucky dropping suddenly to his knees on the cold concrete tiles. You watched his flesh hand grab the hem of Wanda’s jacket, his face lifted in a pathetic, desperate plea.

“Show me,” his voice cracked over your audio feed, raw and utterly shattered. “I want you to use your magic. I want you to go into my head and show me what I did to her in that vault.”

A choked gasp caught in your own throat.

No, Bucky… don’t, you pleaded silently hovering in the clouds above. Don’t do this to yourself.

You watched in absolute, helpless horror as Wanda slowly raised her hands, her fingers glowing with a soft, crimson mist. She touched his temples. The moment the connection landed, Bucky’s entire frame violently spasmed. Down on the terrace, he collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, retching painfully against the stone as the forced memories of Vault 04 and, presumably what he did in the guest room to you tore through his brain.

“God…” Bucky’s high, broken scream cut right through the howling wind, reaching you even up in the sky. He slammed his fist hard into the deck, cracking the concrete, beating his bloody flesh hand against the floor again and again. “God, no! No! What did I do?! What did I do to her?!”

Up in the safety of the clouds, hot tears finally spilled over your eyes, streaming down your face. You bit down on your lip so hard you tasted copper, your chest heaving with silent, violent sobs. It began rain more.

You were standing right above him, wrapped in the most impenetrable, high tech Wakandian armour, powered by the most advanced technology on Earth along with the solar and cosmic energy too, and yet you had never felt more completely powerless.

Down on the deck, Wanda stepped back, leaving Bucky alone in the dark. Bucky remained on his knees, his forehead pressed flat against the cold, wet concrete. The rain felt in heavy, relentless sheets, drumming against his hunched back and washing the blood from his bruised knuckles into the drain. You hovered directly over him in the downpour, tears obscuring your vision as you looked down at the man you loved. He was weeping into the storm, his shoulders shaking as he whispered your name into the freezing rain.

“I’m a monster…” his voice drifted up to you, a fragile, dying thread. “Even the sky misses you, doll…” he said looking at the non stopping rain.

You pressed a gloved hand to your face, right over your mouth, smothering the scream tearing at your lungs.

You wanted to descend more.

You wanted to drop out of the sky like a falling star, wrap your arms around his shivering frame, and press your face into his neck until he knew the truth.

I’m here, Bucky. I’m right here. It wasn’t you. It was never you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The quiet hum of your suit faded as your boots touched the muddy grass, but the moment your weight settled onto the earth, the sky violently answered the sheer, suffocating agony in your soul.

As if the atmosphere itself could no longer contain the weight of your heartbreak, the clouds split open in an absolute fury. A blinding flash of lightning ripped through the darkness, followed instantly by a deafening, bone rattling crack of thunder that shook the very ground beneath you.

A vicious, howling tempest erupted over the farm. A torrential downpour of rain that drummed against the fields like a war drum, the wind whipping the tall grass into a frantic, violent frenzy. Your nana was already on the porch, wrapped tight in her knitted shawl. Her hand gripping the railing so hard her knuckles were white.

The moment your silhouette emerged from the dark, her face shattered. She didn’t just see a soldier returning from a mission. She saw a hollow, broken shell of a girl who had watched the love of her life bleed out from the inside.

She saw your shoulders hitching violently. She saw the hot, unstoppable tears flooding down your cheeks, mixing with the rain on your suit. With a trembling hand, you hit the release seal on your neck. The suit hissed open and retracted, exposing your pale, rain drenched face to the biting cold. The sound that tore from your lungs wasn’t a normal cry. It was an inhuman, high pitched scream of pure grief, a sound so raw and shattered that it sounded like your soul was physically ripping in two.

“Oh, my sweet girl… no…” your nana gasped, her raspy voice breaking completely.

She didn’t care about the freezing mud soaking through her slippers or the brutal storm plastering her white hair to her face. She reached you in seconds, throwing her frail arms around your armoured frame under the rain.

You collapsed more right into the mud at her feet. The light but yet heavy suit sank into the earth as you buried your face into her wet shawl, clutching her like a drowning child. Your body shook with violent, terrifying spasms, your chest heaving as you tried to draw in air that felt like liquid glass in your throat.

“I saw him, nana!” You screamed into the roar of the wind, your voice cracking until it was nothing but a bloody, ragged whisper. “I stood up in the sky and watched him! He was on his knees… he was slamming his hands into the concrete until he bled, nana! He thinks he’s a monster! He thinks he pushed me, he thinks he bruised me, he thinks he killed me!”

You clawed at the mud beneath you, your gloves caked in dark earth as you sobbed so hard you began to retch.

“They destroyed him!” You shrieked into the storm, the rain whipping around you in blinding sheets as thunder boomed directly overhead. “He was begging Wanda to break his mind because he thinks he deserves it! He’s lying in the rain dying inside, and I couldn’t touch him! I couldn’t tell him I’m alive! I had to stand there and watch him scream my name!”

Your nana fell to her knees beside you in the mud, pulling your head tightly against her chest, her own tears streaming down her face and disappearing into the deluge. She rocked you wildly against her, her frail hands burying into your wet hair, holding you as if she were trying to physically keep your shattered body from scattering into the wind.

“I know, baby, I know,” she wept, her voice trembling against the roar of the thunder. “Let it out, my sweet girl… just let it out…”

You threw your head back into the driving rain, letting out a hollow, cry that echoed across the empty, storm drenched fields. The sky roared back in answer, the lightning illuminating your broken form as you sobbed until you had no air left in your lungs, utterly consumed by the unbearable weight of loving a man you were forced to haunt.

Your nana’s frail, cold hand cupped your cheek. Her calloused thumb brushing gently over your trembling skin to wipe away the flood of rain and burning tears.

“Look at me, my sweet girl,” she whispered, her voice a steady anchor in the middle of the violent storm. “Look at your nana.”

The moment her palm pressed more firmly against your face, an intense, unnatural surge of heat flared straight up your neck, crackling through your core like a live wire. It wasn’t kinetic energy from the suit. It was something far deeper. The physical manifestation of a soul pulled past its absolute breaking point, your body reacting to the unbearable weight of your grief, rage, and magic all collapsing in on themselves at once. A blinding, silver white glow flickered beneath your skin, racing up from your chest and spilling into your scalp.

Your nana’s sharp eyes widened in silent awe and heartbreak. Starting right from the roots at your forehead, the natural dark colour of your hair began to bleach away. Inch by inch, like ink dissolving in clear water, every single strand bled into a shocking, luminous snow white.

It cascaded rapidly down your neck and over your armoured shoulders, turning into a stark, striking silver that practically glowed under the flashes of lightning piercing the dark sky.

You didn’t feel pain, only a sudden terrifying clarity. The physical transformation washed over you like a freezing tide, draining the last lingering traces of your helplessness and locking your agony into something cold, ancient, and unbreakable. Your nana staggered back a step, looking at you not with fear, but with a quiet, solemn reverence.

“You feel it, don’t you?” She whispered, her voice barely carrying across the mist.

“I control it now, Nana,” you said. Your voice was no longer broken or shaky. It was smooth, steady and layered with a subtle resonant power that made the ground beneath your boots hum.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The next morning, the scent of coffee and fried eggs filled the warm kitchen. Your hair, now a shocking, permanent white, was pulled back loosely, falling over the collar of your clean sweater.

Your nana set a plate in front of you, her eyes lingering on your pale, composed face. For the first time in months, your hands weren’t shaking.

On the small counter TV, the morning news broadcast droned over a low-volume static before a breaking news banner flashed across the screen.

“…investigators are still on the scene in downtown following a baffling late night breach at a private biomedical research facility.”

The anchor reported, showing footage of flashing red lights and police tape surrounding a sleek, unmarked high-rise.

You slowly set your fork down, your eyes locking onto the screen.

“Authorities are baffled by the lack of forced entry,” the reporter continued. “Over a dozen high security guards were found incapacitated. Local police state that the witnesses recovered from the scene appear severely disoriented, describing their own actions as if they were operating ‘on autopilot’ during the breach.”

Your nana froze, her hand hovering over the coffee pot.

“Furthermore,” the anchor added, reading from an updated press release, “hazmat teams are currently investigating a sweet, distinct lilac fragrance lingering throughout the upper vault floors, despite no chemical leaks being detected…”

A dangerous, icy calm settled over your chest.

Apex.

They weren’t just hiding in the shadows anymore. They were actively harvesting tech or intel right under the authorities’ noses, using Clara’s signature neural gas to turn security teams into mindless puppets. The exact same synthetic lilac scent that had been used to fog Bucky’s mind and turn him into their unwilling weapon.

Your nana looked over at you, setting the coffee pot down with a heavy, decisive click. “They’re getting sloppy.”

“No,” you said, your voice smooth, low, and echoing with the dark resonance of your newly mastered power. “They’re getting comfortable. They think nobody’s left to track them.”

You stood up from the table, your silver hair catching the morning light.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Months of unrelenting, obsessive tracking led you straight across the globe to the scorched outskirts of Cairo.

Following the breadcrumbs of synthetic lilac traces, black-market chemical shipments and Apex’s secret logistics trails, you finally pinpointed their core operation. Out in the vast, empty expanse of the desert, miles away from any civil infrastructure, stood an old, crumbling stone structure.

A forgotten relic swallowed by sand dunes and heat haze.

To anyone else, it looked like an abandoned outpost. But your suit’s deep spectrum sensors immediately picked up high voltage power conduits buried deep beneath the earth. You fingers sparked with some tiny particles of electricity.

You breached the perimeter unseen, blending into the scorching midday light like a phantom. Inside the ruined stone walls, hidden behind a rotting wooden partition, stood a pristine, heavy duty steel elevator door completely out of place against the ancient brickwork.

You rested your palm on the panel and struck an hot flush of energy. The panel melted under your palm.

The heavy doors hissed open. The elevator descended into the dark for a long minute, dropping hundreds of feet into the subterranean bedrock.

When the doors finally slid apart, the sheer scale of the facility left you paralysed.

It was a cavernous, clinical vault stretching into the darkness, lit only by the harsh, humming icy blue glow of industrial strip lights. Arranged in two endless, terrifyingly queues were tons of metal restraint chairs. It wasn’t the exact same design as the chair used to strip Bucky of his memories, but they used the same concept.

Each chair was hooked up to a massive glass reservoir mounted directly behind it. Inside the chambers, a thick, viscous fluid bubbled rhythmically under pressure, sending pale purple vapours coiling up through the clear feeding tubes.

“That’s not water…” you mumbled to yourself, your voice echoing hollowly in the vast, sterile chamber.

You stepped closer, reaching out a gloved hand to touch the reinforced glass of the nearest reservoir. Through your suit’s chemical analyser, the readouts flashed in rapid succession on your visor, confirming your absolute worst nightmare.

It wasn’t water.

It was the concentrated raw neural inhibitor serum. The exact base ingredient for the synthetic lilac gas.

You did know that Apex wasn’t just planning to control a few key targets or corrupt the Avengers from within.

They were building an assembly line. They had constructed an underground factory designed to brainwash, condition and control thousands of people at once, turning an entire army into mindless obedient ghosts.

You blinked, shaking your head as you re-read the decrypted logs on the glowing console. You corrected your assumption instantly.

Clara wasn’t the test subject.

She wasn’t a walking pathogen or Subject Zero.

She was far worse.

She was the architect of Apex.

You took a sharp, steadying breath, leaning forward as the cold, hard reality of the last months settled over you.

Clara was a high-level Apex operative, working directly with their scientists to design and deploy this horror.

She was the handler who had voluntarily pumped the synthetic lilac gas through the vents into Bucky’s quarters, meticulously measuring the dosage to break his mind while keeping herself entirely immune. She wasn’t a victim or a prototype. She was a cold, calculating mastermind actively setting up the board to unleash this biological virus upon the world.

A dark, vicious clarity settled in your chest as you stared at the endless rows of chairs. Clara was positioning herself right at the heart of the Avengers, waiting for the mass production phase in this Cairo facility to wrap up so Apex could launch the initial injection wave.

She was going to bring the first needle straight to Bucky and the team.

Your gloved fingers clamped around the edge of the control console. You downloaded every scrap of data. The chemical formulas, the facility blueprints and the encrypted comms logs directly linking Clara to the Cairo operation straight into your suit’s drive.

You had the proof.

You had the location.

Most importantly, you had the raw power to burn this place to ash.

“Clara,” you whispered into the silent, sterile vault, your white hair catching the harsh blue light as a lethal smile touched your lips. “Your game is over.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The faint clack of boots against polished concrete shattered the heavy silence of the subterranean vault. Your optics instantly adjusted to the movement in the dark. A heavily armed Apex guard emerged from the far access corridor, his assault rifle raised, his visor sweeping the rows of bubbling glass reservoirs. You didn’t hesitate.

Before the guard could even raise his comms to sound the alarm, you dropped your stealth field. The air around you rippled as you moved with terrifying, silent speed. The air slid on the vibranium absorbing every micro second of sound, closing a fifty foot gap in the blink of an eye.

You materialised directly in his blind spot.

His eyes widened behind his visor as he caught the sudden flash of white hair, but it was already too late.

You grabbed the barrel of his rifle with your gloved left hand, wrenching it upward while your right palm struck him squarely in the chest. A targeted, silent pulse of stored kinetic energy blasted directly through his tactical vest, crushing his sternum instantly and shattering his ribs into his heart.

The guard went completely limp before he could even let out a gasp.

You caught his falling body effortlessly, lowering him to the cold concrete without making a single sound. As his rifle clattered harmlessly against your boots, you looked down at his lifeless form with cold, unyielding detachment.

Leaving the body hidden between the rows of restraint chairs, you set your suit’s internal drive to begin overloading the facility’s power conduits. It was time to erase this place from the face of the earth and then head back for Clara.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The soft, erratic patter of tiny bare feet echoed down the sterile corridor, entirely distinct from the heavy tread of an Apex guard.

Your head snapped toward the noise, your hair sweeping over your shoulders as you dropped into a low, combat stance. Your gloves charging with kinetic force but the lethal energy in your hands instantly vanished as two small, trembling figures stumbled out from behind the shadow of a massive glass reservoir.

It was a boy, no older than nine or ten, and his little sister, who couldn’t have been more than six.

They wore oversized, coarse linen smocks stamped with black Apex tracking numbers. The boy was shivering violently, his arms thrown out protectively as he shoved his sister behind him, placing his frail body between you and her. His wide, dark eyes were hollowed out, carrying a heavy, haunting silence born of pure, unspeakable trauma. His jaw worked, his throat bobbing as he tried to form a warning or a plea, but no sound came out. The little girl clung tightly to his waist, hiding her face against his back, her tiny frame shaking with quiet, rhythmic sobs.

They were two of the human vectors. The children Apex apparently intended to inject and send out to spread the silent, lilac-scented poison.

The icy, killer instinct that had guided you through Cairo dissolved into a sharp, painful ache in your chest. You hit the quick release seal on your collar, allowing the mask to retract, revealing your face to the harsh blue light of the vault.

“Hey…” you whispered softly, your voice dropping into a low, soothing cadence that carried gently across the cold concrete. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

You slowly dropped down onto one knee, bringing yourself down to their level so you didn’t tower over them like the guards had.

The boy didn’t retreat, but his posture remained rigid, his small knuckles white as he kept his sister shielded. He stared at your face, his eyes darting frantically to the dead guard tucked behind the console, then back to your luminous, silver-white hair. He gave a sharp, emphatic shake of his head, pointing a frantic finger toward the main corridor, his mouth opening in a silent, desperate go. He was trying to warn you. He thought more guards were coming.

“I know,” you said gently, your eyes softening as you read his silent language. “I know there are more of them. But I’m not leaving without you two. Look at me… you don’t have to be scared anymore.”

You extended your gloved hand, turning your palm upward and completely open. With a subtle flick of your intent, the harsh vibranium weave softened, glowing with a faint, warm and amber ambient light that cut through the sterile gloom of the room.

The little girl peeked out from behind her brother’s back, her tear-streaked face smudged with dirt. She stared at the warm light in your hand, her swollen, reddened eyes wide with caution.

“Are you… are you one of the monsters?” she whimpered, her tiny voice trembling, echoing faintly off the rows of metal chairs. “They said the people with the needles were going to make us sleep.”

“No, sweetheart,” you replied softly, keeping your hand steady, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m the person who’s here to destroy the needles. Nobody is ever going to make you sleep again. Nobody is ever going to hurt your brother again.”

The boy looked down at your open hand, then up into your eyes. He searched your face for any trace of the cold, mechanical cruelty of the doctors who had kept him in the dark. He found only fierce, unyielding warmth.

He swallowed hard, a tiny ragged breath escaping his nose. He didn’t speak, he couldn’t maybe, but he slowly lowered his protective arms. He reached back, gently taking his little sister’s small hand, and pulled her out from behind him. He took one step forward, then another. His bare feet cold against the concrete, until he reached out and placed his bruised, trembling hand directly into yours.

The moment his skin touched the warm light of your glove, a long, shivering sigh tore from his small chest, and his head slumped forward against your knee, his quiet endurance finally giving way to relief.

“You’re so brave,” you murmured, wrapping your arm gently around his shoulders and pulling both of them close against your armoured chest. “You did such a good job keeping her safe. But it’s my turn now. Okay?”

The boy gave a single, firm nod against your shoulder, his fingers gripping the edge of your chest plate like a lifeline.

“What’s your name, little one?” You asked the girl, smoothing down her messy hair with your free hand.

“Maya,” she whispered, leaning into your side, her small hand clutching her brother’s shirt. “And he’s Leo. I think he lost his voice when the bad men took our home. He doesn’t talk anymore.”

“That’s okay, Maya,” you said, looking at Leo as he lifted his head to look at you, his silent eyes shining with a profound, unspoken trust. “Leo doesn’t need to say a word. I hear him loud and clear.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You sat on the concrete. Your legs protecting the kids. They were now calm and relaxed. Before the stealth field could fully engage, Leo tugged hard on the edge of your leg plate.

He tapped your shoulder frantically, then held up his small hand, raising two trembling fingers right in front of your eyes. He pointed back toward the dark, unlit rear section of the subterranean vault.

“What’s two?” You asked, the suit’s comms modulating your voice into a gentle, reassuring tone. “Leo, what do you mean?”

Maya shifted in your arm, her tiny fingers tightening around your neck as she looked over at her brother.

“There are two more,” Maya explained, her small voice trembling as she pointed toward the shadows. “Andrew and Rani. Cold rooms at the very back… Andrew tried to fight the guards.”

She leaned closer to your face, her eyes wide with earnest worry. “Andrew big… he’s fifteen, and he always protects us when the doctors come. Rani is twelve… he was sick yesterday, so they moved him away from the chairs.”

Leo gave a sharp, definitive nod, his dark eyes pleading with you. He refused to step any farther toward the exit, his small body locking up until he knew his friends weren’t being abandoned to the flames.

Your heart ached for the fierce loyalty these children carried in the middle of a nightmare.

“Nobody gets left behind,” you said, your voice ringing with absolute certainty. You gently set Maya back down on her feet next to Leo, holding both of their hands. “Leo, show me where the cold rooms are.”

Leo didn’t waste a second. He gripped your gloved hand and took off down the dark side corridor, leading you deeper into the facility toward the trapped boys. Leo led you swiftly down the damp, rusted corridor, stopping in front of a heavy reinforced steel door marked with a stark biohazard symbol.

You relied on the brute physical force. You slammed your foot flat against the electronic lock, channeling a concentrated pulse of energy straight into the wiring. The panel sparked violently, dying with a loud pop, and the heavy door hissed as the magnetic seal broke.

You threw the door open. Inside the freezing, concrete cell sat two boys huddled together on a bare bench.

Andrew, a tall, lean fifteen-year-old with bruised knuckles and a fierce, defensive glare, instantly stood up, throwing his body in front of twelve-year-old Rani. “Stay back!” Andrew yelled, his voice cracking with exhaustion and fear.

“Andrew, it’s okay!” Maya cried, running past you into the room. “She’s helping us!”

Andrew froze, looking from Maya to your white hair and the very technical suit.

The defensive line in his shoulders softened, but your eyes immediately dropped to Rani. The younger boy was curled on the bench, deathly pale, clutching his stomach where a makeshift rag was dark with fresh, pooling blood.

“He tried to run earlier,” Andrew said, his voice dropping into a desperate tremble. “A guard hit him with a blade. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it won’t…”

You dropped to your knees beside Rani, setting your gloves aside to expose your bare hands. “Hold still, Rani,” you whispered softly. “Oh my god… what am I gonna do?”

The moment your fingertips lightly touched the edges of the jagged wound on his stomach, the white hair framing your face flared with a brilliant, silver radiance. You felt the raw, ambient power of your newly mastered abilities surge through your veins. Not as a weapon of destruction, but as a warm, flowing tide.

A soft, luminescent light bled from your hands directly into Rani’s skin.

Rani gasped, his eyes widening in shock as the burning pain instantly vanished. Beneath your palms, the deep laceration began to pull together, the torn flesh and skin knitting back seamlessly in seconds, leaving behind nothing but smooth, unblemished skin.

Andrew stared in absolute, silent awe, while Leo smiled for the first time, giving a proud nod toward his sister.

Rani sat up slowly, touching his completely healed stomach. “How… how did you do that? And who are you”

The lingering silver glow around your fingers slowly faded as you stood up, flexing your hands. You looked down at your palms, just as stunned as the kids staring up at you.

“Kid,” you began, offering a faint, self-deprecating smile. “I really don’t know.”

Andrew blinked, looking from Rani’s unblemished skin to the white locks falling over your shoulders. “You… you didn’t know you could do that?”

“I knew I have powers,” you murmured softly, engaging your gauntlets with a soft clack. “I guess I’m still discovering what comes after it.”

You didn’t have time to ponder the miraculous turn of events. High above the subterranean vault, deep within the facility’s central processing unit, the internal counter hit critical mass. The overhead strip lights flickered erratically, buzzing with a sharp, high-pitched whine as the power conduits began to overload.

“We have to move. Now,” you said, your voice shifting back to absolute, authoritative command.

You scooped Maya into your left arm and held out your right hand to Rani, who took it without a second thought, his strength completely restored. Andrew took a protective stance right beside Leo, keeping the younger boy close to his hip.

“Stay tight to me,” you instructed, looking each of them in the eye. “No matter what you hear, no matter how loud it gets, do not let go.”

With a swift fluid motion, you engaged the suit’s stealth field. The air around the five of you rippled violently as light bent around your figures, enveloping all of you in an invisible, sound dampening bubble.

The kids, except Leo, yelled happily.

You moved like a wraith through the dark, winding corridors of the Apex facility. Down the main vault, the massive glass reservoirs containing the bubbling liquid began to crack under the rising pressure, toxic gas hissing against the sealed glass. The overloaded conduits sparked, setting off secondary explosions in the power grid behind you.

You reached the pristine steel elevator just as the lower level began to cave in. Throwing your palm against the manual override, you forced the doors open and ushered the children inside. The heavy car shot upward, ascending hundreds of feet through the bedrock while the subterranean nightmare burned away into ash below.

When the elevator doors finally hissed open at the top, the harsh, blinding heat of the Egyptian desert struck you like a physical wall.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Before stepping out, you heard some strange sounds.

People were moving toward you.

Then, the heavy, rhythmic thud of tactical boots echoed from the end of the hall.

“Behind those barrels! Right now!” You commanded in a sharp whisper, pointing to a stack of industrial oil drums tucked into a shadowed alcove.

Andrew immediately grabbed Maya and Leo, shoving them behind the thick steel cylinders, while Rani crouched low right beside them.

“Stay quiet and don’t come out,” you ordered, stepping squarely into the centre of the narrow hallway just as the heavy doors at the far end burst open.

Ten Apex operatives stormed the corridor, clad in dark heavy plated kinetic armour and carrying high caliber tactical rifles.

They weren’t standard guards, these must have been Clara’s elite strike force.

You could have channeled the energy humming wildly beneath your skin and wiped the entire corridor clean in a single kinetic blast. But in a cramped, unstable bunker full of explosive gas lines and scared kids, using your raw power was too dangerous.

Instead, you cracked your knuckles, dropped into a low stance and relied on the brutal, hard earned hand-to-hand combat muscle memory of your past.

The first two men lunged with stun batons. You ducked beneath the first swing, drove a brutal elbow straight into his sternum, grabbed his tactical vest and threw him headfirst into his partner, knocking them both hard against the concrete wall.

“To your left! On the pipe!” Andrew’s young, frantic voice yelled out from behind the barrels.

Without hesitation, you ducked. A heavy titanium visor swung violently through the air where your head had been a second prior. You kicked the operative’s knee backward with a sickening snap, grabbed his wrist and slammed his helmet straight down into your knee, dropping him instantly.

“Behind you! Two coming!” Andrew shouted again, acting as your eyes in the chaotic darkness.

You spun on your heel, catching a shock baton on your forearm armour. You twisted the guard’s arm behind his back, delivered a double palm strike to his chest and swept the legs out from the sixth man charging with a riot shield.

Fists, boots, leverage and raw speed. You dismantled Clara’s elite guard piece by piece in the tight hallway.

“Last three! One’s going high!” Andrew’s warning rang out.

You vaulted off the wall, using a overhead pipe for leverage to land a flying double knee directly into the seventh man’s chest, dropping him like a stone. You grabbed the eighth operative by his collar, tossing him into the ninth and finished the tenth with a spinning back kick that launched him ten feet back down the corridor, unconscious before he even hit the floor.

Silence fell back over the smoky hallway, broken only by your heavy, steady breathing.

You turned back toward the barrels, wiping a smear of soot and someone’s blood from your jaw, and offered a breathy smile to the four pairs of wide, awestruck eyes staring out from the dark.

“Good call on the left, Andrew,” you panted, waving them forward. “Let’s go home.”

You stepped out of the crumbling stone ruin and into the vast expanse of open sand. High above, the midday sun blazed in a clear blue sky, casting golden light over the dunes.

Behind you, deep beneath the earth, a muffled tremendous thud shook the ground. Dust and sand billowed up from the elevator shaft as the entire underground facility collapsed in on itself, crushing the queues of metal chairs, the chemical reservoirs and Apex’s twisted legacy into a buried grave.

You dropped the stealth field.

The bright sunlight caught your white hair, making it gleam like spun silver against the dark suit.

Maya let out a tiny, breathless gasp, shielding her eyes as she looked out over the endless golden sand. Beside her, Leo took a deep, shaky breath of the dry desert air. His first breath of freedom in months. Andrew looked back at the collapsing ruin, a heavy cathartic sigh escaping his chest as he realized the nightmare was truly over. Rani simply stayed there shocked.

Maya’s small hand tightened on your wrist. Andrew looked at you with his chin trembling, the fierce defensive wall he built to protect the younger kids finally crumbling into dust. Rani wiped a warm tear from his cheek, while silent little Leo just stared up into your face, his eyes shining with a reverence that went far beyond relief.

“Who are you?” Andrew asked, his voice cracking down the middle, hovering right on the verge of sobbing.

“Are you a superhero?” Maya whimpered softly, a tear spilling over her lashes. “Or… or are you a guardian angel?”

You looked down at the four torn, bruised children, feeling the terrifying, beautiful weight of what you had just accomplished. You hit the quick release on your collar once more, letting the heavy combat helmet fully retract into the suit, exposing your bare face, your dark eyes, and the lingering, soft warmth of your humanity.

You dropped back down onto one knee in the soft sand, bringing yourself right to their eye level.

“I’m not an angel,” you said, your voice thick with emotion, yet smooth and steady as the desert wind. “And I’m not a superhero… even if technically I am…”

You reached out, gently pulling Leo and Maya into your left arm, while your right hand rested on Andrew’s tense shoulder, bringing Rani close into the embrace.

“I’m mostly someone who lost everything to the same people who tried to steal you,” you whispered, looking each of them dead in the eye so they would never forget it. “I’m the person who is going to make sure you get your lives back. I’m your shield now.”

Andrew choked back a sob, burying his face into your shoulder right alongside Leo. Maya wrapped her tiny arms around your neck, weeping softly into your skin, while Rani clung to your arm as if holding onto the sun itself.

You held them tight in the middle of the desert, your white hair spilling over their small shoulders, keeping them safe, warm, and whole while the shadows of Apex burned away behind you.

Andrew’s voice trailed off into the dry desert air, his eyes fixed on the sand beneath his bare feet. “Now?” he asked softly, swallowing hard. “How can we get back to…?”

He stopped himself. The word home caught like a lump in his throat. He didn’t have a house anymore. None of them did. Apex had erased their pasts long before locking them in that subterranean tomb.

You looked at Andrew’s bowed head, then at Maya, Leo and Rani clutching your suit.

They needed safety.

They needed real security.

They couldn’t fly in the sky like you.

You looked up into the vast blue sky, a faint nostalgic smile touching your lips as you thought of the brilliant, royal engineer who had crafted your armour and gifted you access to their finest tech.

“God, I’d like T’Challa’s jet right now…” you murmured into the hot wind.

It wasn’t magic. It was just the global satellite comms net embedded deep within your Wakandian suit’s interface. The moment your voice authorisation and priority clearance pinged the high altitude stealth transport cruising in sub-orbit, the automated Royal Guard shuttle locked onto your coordinates.

In less than five minutes, the air above the dunes began to warp and shimmer.

A low hum vibrated deep through the desert sand, so smooth and pitch-perfect it felt like a heartbeat. The heat haze parted as a massive, obsidian jet descended out of thin air. Its sweeping, almost panther like silhouette gleamed with subtle, blocking out the scorching sun and casting a cool, protective shadow over all five of you.

The heavy hydraulic ramp lowered with a soft, satisfying hiss, revealing a climate controlled and luxurious interior equipped with soft leather seating, medical bays, and full defence grids.

The children gasped, stepping back in absolute shock.

Maya’s jaw dropped, while Andrew stared at the royal vessel as if a starship had just landed in front of him. Even silent Leo’s eyes lit up like lanterns, his mouth forming a tiny ‘O’.

“Is… is that for us?” Rani breathed, looking up at you in disbelief.

“It is,” you said, resting a hand gently on Andrew’s shoulder and nudging him forward with a warm grin. “Told you I was taking you home.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The smooth, silent hum of the Royal Jet cut effortlessly through the sky as it soared high above the clouds, carrying you and the children toward the quiet farmlands of home.

Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was soft and peaceful. L

Maya, Leo, and Rani were curled up under plush, heavy blankets in the back, sleeping deeply for the first time in months. Andrew sat nearby, watching over them with a plate of fresh food, his face finally devoid of panic.

You stood near the central holographic console at the front of the jet. A life-sized blue hologram of T’Challa flickered to life.

“I see the suit’s automated sub-orbital response unit served you well, my friend,” T’Challa said, his rich voice warm with genuine affection and respect. He glanced past you toward the sleeping children, a gentle smile softening his features. “And it seems you have put my technology to its absolute highest purpose.”

“I spoke into the suit’s comms, and the shuttle was here in under five minutes,” you said softly, looking at your gloved hands. “I didn’t even have to manually dial a frequency.”

“Because the suit is no longer just armour you wear. It is attuned directly to you,” T’Challa explained, leaning forward slightly in the projection. “When Shuri engineered the weave, she integrated a direct neural interface comms link tuned to your biometric signature. It monitors your heart rate, your brainwaves, and your vocal cadence.”

He pointed toward the collar seal on your suit.

“You do not need to press buttons or rely on an artificial intelligence to interpret your commands,” T’Challa continued. “When your intent reaches a certain threshold of certainty, the comms array instantly accesses the global Wakandian satellite grid. When you called for the jet, your neural impulse bypassed every manual protocol and summoned the nearest Royal Guard vessel on high-altitude standby.”

He paused, his dark eyes looking at you with deep, solemn reverence through the holographic light.

“Shuri built the tech, but it is your strength and your newly awakened power that commands it,” T’Challa said softly. “The network answers to you, wherever you are in the world. You are never truly alone out there.”

“Thank you, T’Challa,” you murmured, a genuine sense of peace washing over your chest. “For everything.”

“Get those children to safety,” T’Challa replied with a firm, royal nod. “And when you are ready to bring down Apex and Clara once and for all, Wakanda stands with you.”

The hologram faded into soft blue sparks, leaving you alone in the quiet cabin as the jet descended through the clouds, bringing you back to the farmlands, your nana, and the safety of home.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The Royal Jet touched down with absolute, ghost like silence right in the middle of the back pasture, its sleek obsidian hull completely invisible to the outside world under its optical cloak.

Out on the porch, nana stood holding a cup of tea.

Calm, unbothered and quiet. T’Challa of course told her.

Your hair caught the soft afternoon light reflecting the light, as the children still sleepy covered their eyes. Held tightly in your left arm was Maya, her head resting sleepily on your shoulder. Rani held your right hand, while Andrew and Leo walked close beside you. Their eyes now wide as they took in the endless green fields and the warm, weathered farmhouse.

Your nana rested the cup on the table. She scrambled down the porch steps.

“Oh, my sweet girl…” she breathed, stopping short as she looked at you, then at the four small, bruised faces looking back at her. Her eyes filled with instant, fierce grandmotherly warmth. “What on earth… who are these precious angels? T’Challa called me.”

“They’re safe now, Nana,” you said softly, your voice carrying a deep, unshakable calm. “Apex had them in Cairo. But it’s over. The facility is gone.”

Andrew stepped forward slightly, his protective instincts kicking in, but your nana didn’t hesitate. She walked right past you and wrapped her arms around Andrew, pulling him into a tight, warm hug that caught the teenager completely off guard. He froze for a second, then melted against her, burying his face in her shoulder as months of sheer terror washed out of him.

“You’re home now, son,” your nana murmured, rubbing his back before turning to pull Leo, Rani and Maya into her arms. “All of you. Come inside. I’ve got food on the stove, and there are plenty of blankets.”

Leo looked up at you, his silent dark eyes brimming with tears, before reaching out and taking your nana’s hand. As she led the four children toward the porch, clucking over them like a mother hen, you stood in the quiet pasture, watching them cross the threshold into safety.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

For the first time in months, the farm felt like a fortress. You turned your eyes toward the northern horizon, your suit’s comms humming softly against your skin. The kids were safe.

Your nana was home.

Now, nothing stood between you and Clara.

The quiet chatter of the kitchen was filled with the rhythmic sound of silverware scraping against ceramic plates.

After waiting patiently for one another to take turns in the long overdue hot shower, the four children sat lined up at the long wooden dining table, dressed in soft yet oversized sweaters and flannel pants your nana had pulled from the wardrobe with your old clothes from your infancy.

The moment the giant bowl of hot stew, thick slices of buttered bread, and fresh milk hit the table, their quiet politeness vanished into pure, ravenous hunger.

Andrew ate with rapid, defensive speed, barely pausing to chew before reaching for another roll, while Rani was practically wearing his bowl on his head, slumping over the table with a grin as he ladled warm broth into his mouth. Even little Maya had soup smudged across her nose giggling softly whenever Leo, sitting right beside her, stuffed an impossibly large piece of potato into his cheek like a squirrel, his eyes shining with silent, unbothered delight.

They ate with complete gusto, filling the warm room with the simple, beautiful noise of life.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching them with a quiet, intense fascination. Beside you, nana rested her elbows on the wood. A soft, tearful smile gracing her wrinkled face as she wiped a stray tear from her cheek.

“Look at them,” your nana whispered softly to you, her voice thick with emotion. “They were starving, poor things. Not just for food… for this. For a home.”

“They’re safe now, Nana,” you murmured back.

As if feeling your gaze, Leo paused, setting his spoon down. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, looked across the table at you and your nana, and offered a soft, genuine smile. The very first real smile you had seen on his face since pulling him out of that dark subterranean vault.

He didn’t need to speak a word. The warmth returning to the room said everything.

The cool evening breeze rolled across the open fields, rustling the tall grass around the dark farmhouse.

You pushed the screen door open with a soft click, stepping onto the wooden porch. Andrew was sitting on the top step, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, staring out into the pitch black horizon where the stars stretched endlessly overhead.

“It’s cold,” you said softly, dropping a thick, wool blanket over his shoulders.

“It’s warmer than there…” Andrew muttered, his voice barely louder than the night wind. He grabbed the edges of the blanket, pulling it tightly around his too small frame, but he didn’t move away.

You sat down on the step beside him, resting your elbows on your knees. Up close, without the immediate adrenaline of the escape. He just looked like what he was, a fifteen-year-old kid who had been forced to grow up way too fast.

“You don’t have to keep watch anymore, Andrew,” you told him gently, looking out toward the dark pasture. “My suit’s perimeter sensors are active. Nothing is getting within ten miles of this house without me knowing. You can rest.”

Andrew swallowed hard, his knuckles turning white against the wool. “I can’t sleep,” he whispered, staring down at his bare feet. “Every time I close my eyes, I still hear those glass chambers. I hear the guards. I kept thinking… if I went to sleep, I’d wake up back in that cell and Rani would still be…”

He choked on the sentence, wiping a sudden tear from his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Rani is fine,” you reminded him, your voice steady and grounding. “He’s sleeping like a rock next to Leo.”

“You healed him,” Andrew said, turning his head to look at you, his eyes wide and searching in the moonlight. “I saw it. You just… touched him, and it went away.”

“I did,” you acknowledged softly, looking at your own hands. “And I’m going to make sure the people who did this to all of you pay for every single second you lost.”

Andrew looked out into the dark again, letting out a long, shuddering breath. “What happens now?”

“Now, you live,” you said, resting a firm, warm hand on his shoulder. “Nana is going to take care of you, Maya, Leo, and Rani. You get to eat real food, sleep in a real bed, and just be a kid again. You protected those kids, Andrew. You brought them this far. But you can hand the shield over to me now.”

A tear slipped down his face, followed by a quiet, ragged breath as months of crushing responsibility finally slid off his young shoulders. He nodded slowly, leaning his head against your shoulder for just a second before pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

“And you?” Andrew asked, turning his head slightly, his dark eyes fixing onto yours with a sudden, sharp intensity.

“Me what?”

“Are you gonna take care of us?” His voice wavered, thin and fragile in the crisp night air, carrying the full, desperate weight of a boy who had been abandoned by the world too many times to trust a fleeting promise.

You looked right into his eyes, not flinching, not looking away.

“I’m staying,” you said, your voice ringing clear, grounded and absolute across the quiet porch. “Forever.”

Andrew stared at you, searching every line of your face, looking for the telltale twitch of hesitation, the polite softening of a temporary lie, or the gentle pity of someone making a promise they intended to hand off to someone else. He found none of it.

In your eyes, reflected beneath the moonlight and the faint, silver sheen of your hair, he saw an ironclad truth. You weren’t an operative dropping them off at a safe house. You weren’t a soldier completing a mission before heading back to the front lines. You were building a wall around this farm, and you were going to stand on it for as long as they needed you.

A quiet shudder ran through Andrew’s frame. The last lingering knot of tension in his jaw completely dissolved.

He didn’t say another word. He just slowly leaned sideways, resting his heavy head against your arm, letting the warm wool blanket drag in the porch dust as his eyelids finally began to droop. For the first time in fifteen years, he knew he didn’t have to keep watch anymore.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Weeks bled seamlessly into a quiet, peaceful rhythm.

The nightmare of Cairo receded like a bad dream, replaced by the honest, grounding routine of life on the farm. Before long, it felt as though the four children had always been there, as if the universe had simply rearranged itself to fill the old farmhouse with noise, warmth and life.

Andrew threw himself into the heavy work with quiet pride, waking up at dawn to help your nana mend fences, tend to the livestock, and chop firewood for the coming autumn. His hands grew calloused and strong, but the sharp, defensive tension in his shoulders vanished entirely.

Rani became your nana’s shadow in the kitchen, completely fascinated by cooking. He helped her bake bread, chop vegetables and scrub dishes, laughing openly as she fussed over him and fed him sweet off-cuts of pie crust.

Maya and Leo practically ran wild through the endless, golden pastures. Maya’s giggles echoed across the creek every afternoon as she chased barn cats, while Leo, still silent but entirely at peace, spent hours sitting under the giant oak tree, drawing intricate beautiful pictures in a sketchbook you had bought him.

And you were the anchor that held it all together.

You worked the land alongside Andrew, trained the kids in basic self-defence so they would never feel helpless again, and used your subtle abilities to keep the perimeter completely invisible to the outside world.

Every evening, after a massive home cooked dinner, all six of you would gather on the porch as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery shades of gold and violet.

As you watched Leo hand a freshly drawn picture of the farmhouse to your nana, with Maya fast asleep in your lap and Andrew leaning peacefully against the porch railing, a deep, unbreakable sense of belonging filled your chest. You had given them a home and without even realising it, they had healed yours.

END OF THE FLASHBACK

The heavy scent of lilies from your own funeral had taken months to fade from your skin.

You stood at the tree line of the cemetery two years ago, shrouded in you stealth suit while the rain drenched the black umbrellas below. You watched Steve hold a shattered silent Bucky by the arm as a polished mahogany and empty casket, save for a few weighted sandbags and a burned piece of her old uniform, was lowered into the cold ground.

That afternoon, you buried your name, your past, and any right to a normal life. You walked away as a ghost, convinced that your absolute isolation was the only currency that could buy Clara’s destruction.

The farm became your sanctuary and your asylum.

Late at night, while nana and the children slept peacefully downstairs, the rustic wooden beams were illuminated by the harsh, ice blue glow of stolen Stark tech servers, satellite uplinks and high-frequency spectral scanners.

You spent seven hundred and thirty days obsessively studying Clara.

You mapped out Clara’s public life down to the second.

You memorised the exact cadence of Clara’s heels clicking through corporate galas in Geneva, her encrypted arrivals at private airstrips in London and her hollow speeches on medical innovation at summits in Tokyo. You built a massive, floating holographic web connecting every shell corporation, offshore bank account, and dark-web logistics network even tangentially tied to Apex’s public facade.

You became a spectre in the dark, hunting for a single thread to pull.

During the Marseilles Operation, you spent three weeks perched atop a cold, rain slicked warehouse near the docks, intercepting high grade medical transport crates marked for Apex. When you finally bypassed the security locks, the crates contained nothing but sterile saline. The real shipment had been rerouted via a blind civilian courier six hours prior.

In the Berlin break in, you slipped into a high security data centre three stories underground, your invisible vibranium suit bending light around yourself as you bypassed laser grids. The moment your gauntlet touched the terminal to download Clara’s personal logs, the server stack melted into a pool of thermal slag, burning the data before a single byte could be extracted.

In Singapore, you rename the operation as “Dead drop”.

You tracked a high ranking Apex logistics director to a remote safe house, only to watch from the shadows as the building detonated from the inside out. Clara had scrubbed the entire branch just for being five minutes late on a check-in protocol.

Apex didn’t operate like a normal syndicate. They made HYDRA looking like a teenager gang with no experience or without a pulse. Their internal comms ran on closed loop quantum servers that purged and rewrote their own architecture every ninety seconds. They hired contractors who were kept completely in the dark, using dead drops, masked voices, and automated payouts.

When you dragged Andrew, Rani, Maya and Leo out of that black site in Cairo, you were certain the nightmare was ending, or at least closer to the end.

You thought pulling those kids from the dark would yield the key to Clara’s front door but trauma had locked their memories, and Clara had instantly cauterised the wound, burning the Cairo site to ash before the dust from the rescue had even settled.

Standing in the centre of the farm at three in the morning, you stared at the glowing holographic map. Thousands of red nodes hovered over the globe each one a raid, a hack, a tracking sequence or an interrogation.

Every single one was a dead end.

The system had no breaches.

Clara had built a fortress of absolute paranoia, leaving no rogue agents to bribe, no unencrypted frequencies to tap and no paper trails to follow.

You lowered her arms, letting the holographic projection vanish into the shadows of the rafters. You looked at your bare hands, watching the pale silver light of your magic flicker unsteadily over your knuckles. A power you couldn’t fully control, while fighting a war you couldn’t seem to win.

Two long years of living as a corpse.

Two years of letting Bucky drown in his own grief with Clara remained completely untouchable.

It was true that finding the kids in Cairo had given you a sudden, desperate surge of hope. You had truly believed that breaking open that vault would be the thread that unraveled the whole spool, that one of the children might remember a supply route, a coordinator’s name or a set of coordinates.

But trauma has a way of locking doors and throwing away the key.

When you tried to gently piecemeal information together over those two long years at the farm, the yield was tragically thin.

Maya only remembered the smell of cold metal and the lilac-scented poison.

Rani remembered being shoved into dark trucks with blacked out windows.

Andrew had spent every second focused on keeping the younger ones alive, unable to register the logistics around them.

And Leo…

Leo remained silently locked behind his own trauma, his drawings showing only dark rooms and shadow figures without a single landmark or face to go on.

Every time time you managed to sever a tentacle in silence, the head pulled back into total obscurity. It wasn’t their fault.

They knew someone was hunting them, someone who left their facilities in silent ash. So they went deeper underground, changing frequencies, burning paper trails and using dead-drop proxies.

Sitting on the porch late at night while the farm slept peacefully below, you stared at the giant holographic map projecting from your suit’s console. Red nodes hovered over Cairo, Berlin, and Singapore.

They were all cold leads.

All dead ends.

You flexed your gloved hand, watching the warm light of your healing power flicker faintly beneath your skin before fading into the dark.

You gave the children a life.

You had built them a sanctuary.

But as long as Apex pulled the strings from the shadows, true safety was an illusion and the trail was growing colder by the day.

The heavy silence of the night was broken only by the sharp, metallic thud of a gauntlet slamming against a wooden workbench.

The holographic map flickered violently and died, leaving you in the cold, dusty gloom of the night. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your palms against the edge of the table as your breathing came in ragged, shallow gasps.

It wasn’t just the cold leads.

It wasn’t just Apex playing hide-and-seek in the shadows.

It was Bucky.

Two years of living like a dead person meant two years of staying away from him.

Two years of keeping yourself hidden in the dark, unable to reach out, unable to hold him, unable to tell him that you were still breathing. The agonising ache of missing him was a constant, dull thrum beneath your ribs that never went away. A phantom pain that metastasised into erratic, unpredictable bursts of sheer, raw instability.

Your newly awakened power hummed unsteadily in your veins, reacting to your turbulent emotions. Sometimes your white hair would faint flare with silver light when you didn’t mean it to, sometimes your strength pulsed too hard, snapping tools in half or cracking concrete without warning.

And worst of all, the children were starting to take the brunt of it.

You snapped over the smallest things. When Rani accidentally spilled a glass of milk at dinner, you didn’t just clean it up. You barked at him so sharply, your voice ringing with cold, lethal authority, that the boy flinched and ducked his head, looking at you like you were one of the Apex guards.

When Andrew dropped a stack of firewood on the porch with a loud crash, your suit’s gauntlets had instinctively deployed with a violent, terrifying clack. Your eyes flashing with a predatory edge that made the teenager instantly back away, holding his hands up in surrender.

Even little Leo had retreated. Yesterday, when you gruffly snatched a sketchbook out of his hand to see if he had drawn anything useful about Apex, he had flinched, pulling his small body into a tight ball and refusing to look you in the eye for the rest of the night.

Standing alone in the dark, the realisation hit you like a physical blow.

You were supposed to be their shield.

You were supposed to be their safe harbour but the grief, the isolation, and the void where Bucky belonged were slowly turning you into a storm that was threatening to tear down the very house you had built for them.

You slumped back against the wooden support beam, burying your face in your hands as a single, painful tear cut through the dirt on your cheek. You were losing your grip, and the kids were terrified of the ghost keeping them safe.

The sight of him was always a beautiful torture.

Bucky sat on the edge of the apartment roof, his legs dangling over the brick ledge, staring out into the neon lit of New York City. In left hand, he held a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey by the neck. His shoulders were slouched, weighed down by the quiet, crushing grief that two years of believing you were dead had carved into his bones.

It was the breaking point, not just for your resolve, but for the unbearable tension that had been boiling inside you at the farm.

You descended silently from the low-hanging clouds, floating down on the suit’s thrusters like a phantom. You took your position in the branches of the massive, leafy oak tree that overhung the roof. The exact same hidden vantage point you had used at least once a week for the last two years.

Before you could step fully into the moonlight, the distant sound of heavy footsteps on the roof’s fire escape froze you in the shadow of the oak tree.

“Bucky,” Steve said softly, his voice carrying over the low hum of the city. He walked slowly toward the ledge, stopping a few feet away from where Bucky sat with the whiskey bottle hanging from his fingers.

“She’s gone, pal.” Steve tried to explain.

You watched it all happen in a distorted slow motion from the dark canopy of the oak tree.

Before Steve could react, Bucky let the bottle crash on the ground.

“NO! BUCK!” Steve yelled.

You wanted to run to him. You wanted to scream his name, to heal him, to let Steve see you, to end the two years of unbearable lies right here in the mud.

No.

The brutal reality hit you like a physical blow. If you revealed yourself now, if Apex found out you were alive, the farm would burn. The four still traumatised kids sitting at your nana’s table would be hunted down and dragged back into the dark.

You fought the desperate urge with everything you had, digging your boots into the wood until the branch cracked beneath you. Tears streamed hot and fast down your cheeks, instantly washed away by the freezing rain, as you forced your glowing hands back into your gauntlets.

Down in the courtyard, Steve vaulted over the ledge, sliding through the muddy grass on his knees.

“Med-bay! I need a trauma team in the courtyard NOW!” Steve screamed into his comms, his voice cracking with sheer terror as he frantically checked Bucky’s pulse, supporting his friend’s shattered frame. “Hold on, Buck! Stay with me, buddy!”

“Why won’t it just… stop…” Bucky rasped.

You landed with absolute, ghost like silence on the ground. Your suit’s field dissolving like smoke. You finally let out the breath you had been holding since the roof.

In the med bay, the heavy door was locked from the outside. The doctors and Steve just left, satisfied for the moment that the super soldier serum was slowly, excruciatingly piecing his shattered body back together.

Bucky lay on the white hospital bed, hooked to vitals monitors that beeped in a slow, erratic rhythm. His metal arm rested uselessly at his side, his left shoulder bandaged heavily as he felt on his metal arm and his pale face was bruised, cut and shadowed by pure exhaustion.

You stepped closer, the soft thump of your boots making no sound against the linoleum.

He kept sleeping as even his super hearing wasn’t able to hear or catch your movements. You walked toward his bed and lightly caress his cheek.

He was still the most handsome guy ever, but every time you looked at him you saw how he was with Clara.

Hesitating, you caressed even his forehead and then left a light kiss on his skin. He smiled in his sleep, as he knew you were there.

Once your ears detected someone’s footsteps, Clara’s footsteps, you jumped out and got back to the farm.

Down in the damp courtyard, long after Steve’s yells had faded into the interior halls of the compound, Natasha and Wanda lingered near the edge of the crater.

Rain pooled in the crushed earth where Bucky had fallen, reflecting the harsh floodlights of the perimeter.

Natasha stood with her hands buried deep in the pockets of her jacket, her sharp eyes scanning the high canopy of the oak tree, then dropping down to the mud.

“Do you think Y/N is alive?” Nat asked softly, her voice carrying a rare, quiet weight over the falling rain. She looked back up at the high branches, her brow furrowed in deep calculation. “Do you think she let Fury see her?”

Wanda stepped up beside her, the red glow of her chaos magic pulsing faintly around her fingertips as she stretched her perception into the surrounding night air. She didn’t trace energy constructs nor she searched for residual intent, for the familiar, distinct impression of a soul that vanished two years ago.

“Fury sees what he is permitted to see,” Wanda murmured, her eyes fixed on the exact spot on the tree branch where the bark had cracked under your weight. “If she is out there… if she stayed hidden from him, it is because she had to.”

Wanda lowered her hands, the red light fading into the dark as she turned her gaze toward the window of the med-bay high above them. The exact window where, just moments ago, a silver light had flickered briefly behind the blinds.

“She isn’t dead, Nat,” Wanda whispered, a sad, knowing smile touching her lips. “Bucky wasn’t crazy. The wind didn’t carry a ghost tonight. It carried her.”

The flight back to the farm was a blur of silent tears and roaring engines. The guilt of leaving Bucky back in that hospital room, healing but utterly shattered by your immediate disappearance tore through your chest like a physical blade.

As you landed on the dark pasture, the sky above the farm was already dark.

A massive late summer storm was rolling in off the plains, the wind whipping through the tall grass with a violent, howling rage.

You walked out into the middle of the open field, collapsing onto your knees in the dirt.

The dam broke.

The secret you had kept for two years.

The fear of Apex.

The longing for Bucky and the crushing weight of being everyone’s shield, finally shattered you completely.

You threw your head back and sobbed, your raw, desperate cries swallowed by the thunder rolling overhead.

The storm above reacted to the tempest inside you. The wind roared, lighting up the sky in violent flashes of violet and silver, reflecting the wild, uncontrolled energy surging from your skin.

From the safety of the farmhouse porch, your nana, Andrew, Rani, Maya and Leo stood clustered together, watching you through the driving rain.

Maya clutched your nana’s apron, her big eyes wide with worry. “Nana… why is she crying like that?”

Andrew stared out into the dark field, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

For two years, he had seen you as an unshakeable force the hero who pulled them out of hell, the warrior who never flinched. Seeing you broken in the dirt made him realise just how much heavy armour you had been wearing to keep them safe.

You didn’t yelled at them because you wanted. You yelled because you had to.

Too much anger in you.

The love for Bucky still lingering inside your body, your soul and your heart.

You found yourself sometimes hating Bucky, the same way you loving him.

The feeling for him were always there but the image of him getting close to Clara still haunting you.

Without a word, Andrew stepped off the wooden porch into the pouring rain.

“Andrew, wait!” Rani called out, but he didn’t hesitate too. Rani took a deep breath and ran right after him. Maya and Leo exchanged a quick glance, grabbed each other’s hands, and scrambled down the steps into the storm.

Your nana didn’t stop them. She just pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her heart aching as she watched her now new four grand babies march out into the tempest to hold you.

You didn’t hear them approaching through the howl of the wind until four pairs of arms suddenly wrapped around you.

Andrew pulled you tightly into a headlock, burying his face against your neck. Rani threw his arms around your waist, while Maya and Leo pressed themselves into your chest, soaking wet and shivering, holding onto you with everything they had.

“We’ve got you,” Andrew yelled over the thunder, his voice fiercely determined. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore! We’re not letting you go!”

The silver light in the sky flaring wildly around your hands slowly softened into a warm, gentle pulse. You pulled all four of them into your lap, burying your face in Andrew’s shoulder. Your sobs finally softening as their quiet, unwavering love grounded the storm inside your heart.

Even though your body didn’t burn energy like a normal human, the power thrumming beneath your skin keeping physical exhaustion at bay. The mental drain was absolute devastating.

The quiet violence of the night before, the memory of Bucky’s shattered body and the crushing weight of two years of dead ends had finally paralysed you.

You spent the entire morning after staring at the pine paneled ceiling of your bedroom, wrapped in a heavy quilt, completely unmoving.

Around noon, the door creaked open. Nana came in first, carrying a steaming mug of black tea, followed closely by Andrew, who was wiping grease from his hands with a old rag after working on the tractor.

“Up,” Nana said gently, setting the mug down on the nightstand. She didn’t use her stern voice, just that quiet, unyielding tone that left zero room for argument. “You’ve spent two years running through shadows, little girl. Your mind is eating your body alive.”

“I’m fine, Nana,” you rasped, your voice thick from disuse. You pulled the blanket higher. “Just resting.”

“You look like a ghost,” Andrew chimed in, leaning against the doorframe, his dark eyes filled with a steady, protective concern. “And not the cool kind that hunts bad guys. You look like you’re fading into the bed.”

“Andrew…”

“No, he’s right,” nana interrupted, tossing your running shoes onto the foot of the bed with a soft thud. “The sky cleared up after last night’s storm. The air is fresh. You are going out into that field, and you are going to run until your lungs remember how to breathe real air, not server dust.”

Andrew offered a small, rare smirk, crossing his arms. “I’ll keep watch on the perimeter while you’re out. Maya and Leo are drawing down in the kitchen. We’ve got it covered for an hour. Go.”

You looked between the two of them, nana with her hands on her hips and Andrew standing tall, ready to take the shift, and realised you weren’t going to win.

Ten minutes later, you stepped out onto the porch. The crisp afternoon air hit your face, smelling of damp earth, sweet rain and open prairie. You laced up your shoes, took a deep, shuddering breath and hit the grass.

You didn’t use the suit, and you didn’t use your thrusters. You just ran.

You remember while running how you did with Bucky.

The afternoon sun was beating down on the winding dirt trails behind the compound, baking the pine needles and filling the air with the sharp scent of sap and summer heat.

“You’re slacking, Y/N!” Bucky called out over his shoulder, his long dark hair tied back in a messy bun, his grey tank top thoroughly soaked with sweat. He was barely breathing hard, his long, heavy strides making the super soldier pace look like an effortless stroll through the woods.

“I am… a regular… human!” You gasped out between ragged, desperate breaths, your chest burning as your feet pounded heavily against the gravel ten paces behind him. “Some of us… don’t have… super soldier serum… in our veins, Barnes!”

“You said you wanted to build endurance!” Bucky laughed, a rare, breathtaking sound that rumbled deep in his chest. He didn’t slow down, but he did drop into a backward jog, looking at you with a sly, teasing smirk. “Come on! Give me three more miles!”

“I am going to throw… a rock at your head!”

You pushed yourself to sprint, trying to close the gap, but your rubbery legs betrayed you. Your boot caught the raised, stubborn root of an ancient oak tree.

You went flying forward with zero grace.

Bucky’s quick reflexes kicked in instantly. He spun around to catch you, but your movements was too fast, and his feet were slipping on the loose gravel. Instead of a smooth, hero-worthy catch, his sweat-slicked chest collided directly into you like a freight train.

With a loud thud and a sharp yell, both of you went tumbling off the trail, rolling down the grassy embankment in a chaotic tangle of limbs, sweat, and pine needles.

When the dust finally settled, you were flat on your back in the cool grass, staring up at the canopy of trees, completely winded. Bucky was sprawled awkwardly over your side, his metal arm pinned beneath him and his sweat-soaked hair plastered to his forehead.

He lifted his head, panting heavily, his blue eyes wide with concern until he took a good look at your dramatic, sprawled-out frame and the single pine cone sitting squarely on top of your forehead.

A sharp, uncontrollable snort escaped his nose.

“Don’t you laugh,” you wheezed, pointing a trembling finger at his nose. “You literally knocked me over with pure, unadulterated body sweat and brute force.”

Bucky buried his face in the crook of your neck, his shoulders shaking as he collapsed against you, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “I tried to catch you!” He protested, his voice muffled against your collarbone, sending a warm, breathless vibration straight through your chest.

“You’re heavy, Barnes,” you groaned, though a helpless, affectionate grin broke through your exhaustion as you reached up, running your fingers through his damp hair. “And you smell like a gym locker.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky murmured softly, his laughter fading into a quiet, contented sigh as he rested his chin on your chest, looking up at you with those deep, intensely fond eyes. “Rest for five minutes. Then we walk back.”

“Ten minutes,” you bargained, closing your eyes and leaning your head back into the grass. “And you’re carrying me the last half-mile.”

“Deal.” He said, kissing you.

Now, running at full speed without breaking a sweat, you felt the cold irony of it. A bitter, watery laugh broke through your tears as you remembered his breathless smirk and the weight of him collapsing into the grass, missing the simple human fragility that had once brought you so close to him. You remembered his lips on yours.

Your boots pounded against the dirt track that lined the edge of the property.

The sudden, unnatural quiet hit you before you even crossed the threshold.

The front door was propped wide open, swinging lazily in the autumn breeze with a low, rhythmic creak. The usual sounds of the afternoon, Maya’s bright laughter, the scraping of kitchen chairs and the radio Nana kept playing on the counter were completely gone.

You vaulted onto the wooden porch, your boots heavy against the floorboards as you burst into the entryway.

“Nana?”

Your voice caught in your throat.

She was lying face down near the hallway table.

No blood.

No signs of a struggle.

No broken glass or overturned furniture.

Just her still, fragile frame sprawled across the rug, her hair pinned neatly behind her head, looking as though she had simply collapsed mid-step.

“Nana!” You dropped to your knees, your heart slamming against your ribs like a trapped bird. You flipped her over gently, your fingers flying to her neck. Her skin was warm, and her pulse was steady and deep. A little slow and heavy, but banging as if she had been put into a sudden coma.

A chilling realisation washed over you, freezing the blood in your veins.

You stood up violently, your boots skidding on the floorboards as your eyes darted around the empty living room. The sketchbook Leo had been using lay open on the coffee table, a red crayon rolling slowly off the edge and dropping onto the carpet.

“Andrew?!” You screamed. Your voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated terror. “Rani! Maya! Leo!”

Silence answered you.

Cold, suffocating silence.

You bolted down the hallway, kicking open the bedroom doors one by one. The beds were empty. The closets were untouched. In the back kitchen, the back door hung wide off its hinges, the electronic security latch cleanly melted through with military grade thermite.

They hadn’t bypassed your perimeter sensors.

They hadn’t tried to hack your tech. They hadn’t used an aerosolised nerve agent but they swept the house in under two minutes.

How?

You stood in the middle of the empty kitchen, your hands trembling so violently that silver sparks began to leap wildly across your knuckles. The children were gone. The sanctuary was broken.

And on the kitchen table, pinned beneath a single, heavy glass salt shaker, was a sleek, black metallic drive stamped with the unmistakable emblem of Apex

You rushed back to the hallway as a soft groan broke the quiet.

Nana was stirring, her eyelids fluttering as she slowly tried to push herself up from the floor. You dropped beside her immediately, supporting her head and shoulders, letting your warm silver power flow gently into her frame to flush out the lingering trace of the nerve agent.

“Nana, don’t try to move too fast,” you urged, your voice thick with panic.

She coughed, gasping for air as the haze cleared from her eyes. The moment her gaze locked onto yours, tears welled up in her wrinkled eyes, and her hands gripped your forearms with a desperate, trembling strength.

“They took them,” she rasped, her voice breaking. “Oh, sweet child… they took them.”

“How?” You asked, tears spilling down your face. “How did they get inside?”

“It was so fast,” Nana whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek as the guilt crushed her. “I heard a soft hiss near the back door. By the time I turned around, Andrew was already fighting them. He tried so hard… he picked up a chair, he fought like a lion to keep them away from Maya and Leo. But there were too many and Rani tried to punch them… you really should have seen them…”

She shook her head, her breath ragged.

“Four of them… dressed in black, tactical gear. They didn’t even use guns. They had shock batons and gas canisters. Rani tried to hide the little ones under the table…” She squeezed her eyes shut, a sob tearing from her throat. “I tried to reach the counter… I tried to grab the iron skillet… anything but one of them hit me with a spray and my legs just gave out. I couldn’t stop them. I was completely outnumbered and I just watched them drag my babies out into the yard…”

“It’s not your fault, Nana,” you said, pulling her into a tight, protective embrace while your mind raced, hot and lethal. “It’s not your fault.”

You looked past her shoulder toward the kitchen table where the sleek black Apex drive sat pinned under the glass.

They hadn’t just raided the house.

They had lured you away.

They knew you were running.

They knew you had left the farm unprotected for an hour.

They had struck with terrifying precision.

Clara was done playing hide-and-seek in the dark, and she just used the children to pull you right out into the light.

The familiar smell of aged leather and stale rain settled over you as you slipped through the kitchen window of the Brooklyn apartment.

You didn’t break the glass and you didn’t force the frame. A single thread of silver energy melted the deadbolt’s internal mechanism with surgical precision, allowing the window to glide up without a sound. You stepped inside, your suit absorbing the ambient shadows of the dark room, and let the window drop shut behind you.

You knew this safehouse well.

It was the off grid apartment Nick Fury used when he needed to slip entirely off the grid.

No high tech AI sweeps, no complex security grids. Just a dead-bolted door, heavy curtains and a single worn armchair in the corner.

You didn’t turn on the lights. You sank into the high-backed leather chair, pulling off your gauntlets and letting your tired hands rest in your lap.

Two hours passed in total silence.

At 2:14 AM, the subtle sound of a key fitting into the front door lock cut through the dark. The door creaked open and Fury stepped inside, immediately catching the shift in the room’s atmosphere.

His posture tensed slightly, his hand hovering near his jacket out of pure muscle memory.

“You’re losing your reaction time, Nick,” you offered gently from the shadows, your voice quiet, devoid of any venom.

Fury paused.

Instead of drawing a weapon, he reached out and flicked the wall switch.

The soft, warm light of a single floor lamp lit up the room.

Fury’s single eye widened. He froze, his jaw loosening as he stared at you sitting in his chair, your now new white hair catching the ambient light, your pale face free of the stealth field for the first time in front of him.

A heavy breath escaped his chest, transforming into a slow, rare smile that softened the hard lines of his face. He pulled his hand completely away from his jacket and stepped into the apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“I’ll be damned,” Fury said, his voice deep and warm, thick with genuine relief. “I knew those reports were missing something. Look at you… alive and kicking.”

He walked over, pulling up a wooden dining chair to sit directly across from you. He reached out, placing a heavy, reassuring hand on your knee.

“Bucky spent two years staring at the sky, kid.” Fury said weirdly softly, his eye searching yours with quiet sympathy. “Steve almost lost his mind trying to keep him anchored. But I knew if anyone was smart enough to stay under the radar after an Apex hit, it was you. I’m glad you’re back, Y/N.”

Your chest tightened, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the unexpected warmth in his voice. You leaned forward, placing your hand over his.

“I need your help, Nick,” you rasped, the shaky composure you had maintained all night finally fracturing. “Apex took the kids… my kid. Clara cleared out my farm four hours ago. I spent two years trying to break her system from the outside to keep everyone safe, but I hit a brick wall. They have Andrew, Rani, Maya, and Leo.”

Fury’s warm expression instantly shifted into one of grim, resolute focus. He didn’t ask for explanations, he just nodded squeezing your knee once before standing up and walking toward the concealed wall safe near his desk.

He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied your face. The grim focus in his single eye softened just a fraction, replaced by genuine curiosity.

“Start from the beginning,” he said quietly. “Who are the kids, Y/N?”

You looked down at your lap taking a long, steadying breath.

“They’re the ones Apex left behind,” you said, your voice thick with quiet emotion. “Two years ago, when I pulled myself out of the rubble in Prague, I found out about some… anomalies. Clara’s intentions were clear, she wanted nothing more than my death…”

You paused, on the verge of tears.

“When she injected me, she must have thought about her victory only but…”

“But?” Fury asked.

“I don’t know,” you sat better. “Why making the building explode? I was already dead for what was worth…”

“Are you suggesting,” Fury paused too. “Are you suggesting that the explosion was made after as plan B?”

You nodded. Fury slunched himself on the chair.

“Keep going,” he encouuraged you.

“I found a site hidden three levels beneath the main facility in Cairo. Apex was using it for their experiments… testing human. Andrew, Rani, Maya, and Leo were the only survivors in that vault.”

You looked back up at Fury, your silver-white hair falling past your shoulders.

“Andrew is seventeen now, he fought like hell to protect the little ones when Apex hit the farm today,” you continued, a soft proud smile flickering across your lips despite the pain. “Rani is fourteen, smart as a whip, and fiercely protective of his younger siblings. And Maya and Leo are just eight and eleven. When I blew the facility to cover my escape, I couldn’t just leave them in the dark to die. I took them.”

Fury listened intently, his expression unreadable as you laid it all out.

“For two years, Nana and I kept them hidden on a quiet farm,” you explained, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I raised them. I built them a life… but Clara never stopped hunting them down. I kept my distance from you, from Steve, from Bucky… because I thought if I stayed a ghost, Apex would never trace those children back to me.”

Fury let out a slow, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck as the full scope of your sacrifice finally clicked into place.

“Four kids hiding in plain sight while you fought a silent war,” Fury muttered, shaking his head with grim respect.

He stood up, walking back over to his desk and grabbing his encrypted comms device.

“They aren’t just Clara’s test subjects anymore,” Fury said firmly, his thumb hovering over the dial. “They’re family. And Apex just made the biggest mistake of their lives touching them.”

He shifted on the chair and then took out his phone. “Wake them up and come here.” He order to Hill on the phone. He stood and circled the table, taking the whiskey bottle and two glasses. He served two drinks and passed one of the glasses to you. You picked it and looked at the brown liquid inside.

Ten minutes later, you heard the door opened.

“Nick, if this isn’t about the satellite anomaly in Berlin, I am turning around and going back to-”

Natasha’s voice cut off mid complaint as she pushed past Maria Hill and stepped across the threshold into the dimly lit living room. Wanda came up right behind her, rubbing her eyes with a quiet, exhausted groan. “It is three in the morning, Fury. Whatever it is, it could have waited until-”

Both of them froze instantly.

The low, warm light of the single floor lamp illuminated you sitting in the high-backed leather chair, your white hair loose, the faint glow of your energy humming quietly beneath your knuckles.

The silence in the room stretched so tight it felt ready to snap.

Natasha took a half-step back, her posture locking up as her sharp, calculated composure cracked completely. Her jaw slackened, her eyes darting over you.

Wanda’s breath hitched in a sharp, painful gasp. The faint scarlet magic that had been lazily lingering at her fingertips flared brightly for a fraction of a second before dying out as her hands began to tremble.

Tears immediately welled in her dark eyes, reflecting the dim lamplight.

“Y/N…?” Wanda whispered, her voice barely a thread in the quiet room.

You didn’t move from the chair, but a small, heartbreaking smile touched your lips, your own eyes filling with tears as you looked at the two women you had forced yourself to abandon two years ago.

“Hey, Nat,” you rasped, your voice thick and raw. “Hey, Wanda.”

Natasha let out a ragged, disbelieving laugh, running a hand over her face before stepping forward, her eyes never leaving yours. “You absolute bastard… you’re alive.”

The dam completely broke.

You barely had time to stand up before Natasha bridged the gap between you in two long strides, throwing her arms around your neck with a force that knocked the breath right out of your lungs.

Wanda was right behind her, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist and burying her face into your chest, her body shaking with violent, silent sobs.

You wrapped your arms around both of them, pulling them as close as humanly possible, your hands tangling in their hair.

“You’re here… you’re really here,” Wanda sobbed against your uniform, her red magic humming softly, not in defense, but wrapping around all three of you like a warm blanket of pure relief.

Natasha didn’t say a word. The usually unshakeable Black Widow just held onto the back of your jacket with a white knuckled grip, her warm tears soaking through the fabric at your shoulder. Every ounce of her professional composure was gone, replaced by the raw, agonizing joy of holding a sister she thought she had lost to the grave.

You pressed your forehead against Natasha’s shoulder, crying freely as two years of isolation, fear, and secrecy finally melted away.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking into quiet rasps. “I’m so sorry… I had to keep you safe… I’m so sorry…”

“Shut up,” Nat whispered, her voice thick and choked with emotion as she squeezed you tighter. “Just shut up. You’re alive.”

Across the room, Fury stood quietly by his desk, leaning his heavy frame against the wood and watching the three of you with a soft, solemn look in his single eye, letting the quiet storm of your reunion wash through the apartment. Once the heavy sob-racked breathing quieted, the three of you pulled back just enough to breathe, though neither Nat nor Wanda let go of your hands. Fury pushed a chair out for you, and you sat down in the center of the room with your sisters anchored to your sides.

You took a deep, shuddering breath and laid out the last two years. Every agonizing detail. The room fell into an absolute, breathless silence.

Natasha closed her eyes, letting out a long, ragged exhale as she finally understood the torture you had put yourself through. Living as a ghost, watching the people you loved bleed from afar, all to protect four innocent lives.

“She found the farm four hours ago,” you finished, your voice turning cold and resolute. “She used an aerosol nerve agent and swept the house. She took Andrew, Rani, Maya, and Leo. And now I’m done hiding.”

Wanda wiped the moisture from her cheeks, her red-rimmed eyes searching yours with a mix of fierce protectiveness and deep curiosity.

“Andrew, Rani, Maya, and Leo…” Wanda repeated softly, the names tasting entirely new on her tongue. She leaned closer, her fingers still securely woven through yours. “You kept them safe for two years, Y/N. Who are they?”

You squeezed her hand, letting out a shaky exhale as a soft, bittersweet warmth touched your expression. “They were the forgotten ones,” you said quietly. “Apex was using them.”

Natasha let out a low, venomous curse under her breath, her green eyes darkening.

“Andrew is the eldest,” you explained, your voice steadying as you spoke about them. He’s brave, fiercely stubborn, and today… today he tried to fight off tactical operatives with a wooden chair just to protect the others.”

A soft, proud smile broke through your tears as you looked at Wanda.

“Rani is the quiet thinker. Brilliant, observant, always keeping an eye on the perimeter with Andrew. And Maya and Leo are the little ones. They were so young when Apex took them that they barely remembered what grass felt like under their feet.

For two years, Nana gave us all a home, hot meals, and bedtime stories. And I gave them a life where nobody was pulling their blood or measuring their pulse.” You looked between Wanda and Natasha, your eyes burning with a sudden, lethal clarity. “They aren’t just Clara’s former test subjects,” you said, your voice dropping into an iron-clad promise. “They are my family. They are the only reason I survived in the shadow for so long, and I will tear down every wall Apex has built to bring them back.”

Wanda’s scarlet magic flickered around her hands again, but this time it was hot, steady, and sharp. A grim, dangerous understanding settled over her face.

“Then we tear them down together,” Wanda said softly. “They took your family, Y/N. They have no idea what they just unleashed.”

You took a sharp, steadying breath, leaning forward as the cold, hard reality of the last two years settled over the small apartment.

“When I first went underground, I thought Clara was just like me,” you confessed, your voice dropping into a quiet, icy register.

“I spent months tracking her movements under the assumption that she was subject zero maybe…” you looked down. “The very first successful prototype Apex had managed to build. I thought she was a victim who had clawed her way to the top of the chain, trapped in their system just like the rest of us.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes, instantly catching the shift in your tone. “What changed?”

“Except the absolute hate for that woman… the Berlin facility,” you said, your fingers tightening around Wanda’s hand. “Six months ago, I managed to tap into a secondary bio data feed before their servers melted. I wasn’t looking at a patient file or a subject log. I was looking at patent applications and neural architecture blueprints.”

You looked up, meeting Fury’s unblinking, singleeyed stare.

“She didn’t inherit Apex, Nick. She built it,” you revealed, the cold truth hanging heavy in the dim room.

“Every procedure, every kinetic stabilization trial, every cage they put those children in… it wasn’t some shadowy board of directors giving the orders. Clara isn’t their weapon. She is the architect. She designed the dark energy conversion process from scratch. She is Apex.”

Wanda let out a low, breathy exhale, her scarlet magic pulsing with a dangerous, violent heat around her knuckles.

“She played the corporate victim to the public, hiding behind philanthropy and medical research,” you continued, your eyes glowing with a cold, pale silver light.

“While I was wasting two years hunting for a master puller behind the curtain, the string-puller was sitting right in front of me, watching me bleed. She isn’t just trying to recapture test subjects anymore. She wants her living blueprints back.”

Fury held up a broad hand, instantly catching the rising tension in the room and waving it down before it could take root.

“I’m not questioning your word, kid,” Fury said gently, his deep voice softening as he stepped away from the desk. “Are you sure she’s the head of the snake?”

You looked down at your hands, the pale silver glow beneath your skin pulsing in a slow, lethal rhythm. “Because of the kids,” you said nodding softly. Your voice cutting through the heavy silence of the apartment.

Wanda and Natasha both shifted, their eyes fixed on you as you looked up to meet Fury’s unblinking stare.

“When I first asked Andrew, he couldn’t remember,” you continued, the memories burning hot behind your eyes.

“When he finally did, he didn’t describe masked scientists or nameless guards. He described a woman. A woman with dark, immaculately styled hair, tailored suits, and zero expression in her eyes.” You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, your gaze locked onto Fury’s.

“Rani remembered her too,” you said, your tone dropping into an icy register. “He remembered her sitting on the other side of the glass, drinking coffee while they calibrated the dark energy levels. She wasn’t taking orders from a comms earpiece.” You swallowed hard, your knuckles turning white as you remembered the sheer terror on the children’s faces.

“She was the one giving them. Maya and Leo were too young to remember her name, but when I accidentally brought up a news broadcast six months ago and Clara’s face flashed on the screen…” You paused again. “Leo hid under the table for four hours,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Maya threw up. They didn’t fear the Apex guards, Nick. They feared her. The children didn’t know corporate titles, but they knew who owned the cage. Clara isn’t taking orders from anyone above her.”

The tension in the tiny apartment finally broke, replaced by a quiet, lethal resolve.

For two long years, you had fought in the dark alone, exhausted, and weighed down by the terrifying burden of keeping four innocent lives hidden from a monster. Now, sitting between Wanda and Natasha with Fury standing guard at your back, the suffocating weight on your chest finally eased. You were no longer a ghost running through the shadow.

You took a deep, steadying breath, your pale silver light flaring to life beneath your skin, brighter and stronger than it had ever been. Clara had taken your home, and she had taken your children. But she had made one fatal mistake. She had forced you out of hiding, right back into the arms of the family that loved you.

“Get your gear,” you said, your voice cold, steady, and sharp as broken glass. “We’re bringing my kids home.”

“Your kids?” He asked, his voice cracking, completely shocked.

You froze.

Bucky took one slow, staggering step forward, his eyes searching your face as if trying to prove to his own mind that you weren’t another phantom.

“Y/N…?” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

You don’t remember how many times you’ve come.

Three?

Four?

Maybe more.

It stopped mattering after the second.

Each wave shredded you, leaving your body quivering and raw and yet Bucky is still between your thighs, watching you with that insatiable intensity in his eyes like he’s nowhere close to finished.

The vibrator hums relentlessly against your clit, small and merciless, pressed there by his metal hand.

Your sobs fill the room, muffled into the pillows, raw and shuddering. Your wrists are tied to the headboard again soft, secure but the restraint only sharpens every sensation. Your legs tremble and spread wide. The sheets beneath you soaked through.

You’re not sure anymore whether you’re begging, whimpering or just giving yourself up to the sensation entirely.

“Too much,” you gasp, voice raw.

Bucky leans closer, lips brushing your ear. “I know, sweetheart. That’s the point. You told me to push your body to the limit...”

Another tremor rocks through your body and you cry out.

Your orgasm tearing through you in jagged pulses. This one’s messier, weaker and yet somehow every bit as consuming. Your back arches, hands straining against the silk bindings as your hips lift on their own accord.

“Fuck… look at that,” Bucky groans, voice low and rough. “You’re still coming. That pretty pussy’s still milking air. You were made for this.”

“I c-can’t,” you choke out, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Please…”

His fingers curl gently under your chin, turning your face toward him. “What’s your color?”

“Green.” You whisper, barely able to form the word.

“Good girl.”

He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

It’s tender and almost gentle, in sharp contrast to the relentless pressure of his vibranium hand still cradling you. The vibrator hums against your oversensitive clit and your body bucks again.

Another sob tearing from your throat.

“Shhh,” he soothes, breaking the kiss. “You’re doing so good, baby. So damn good for me.”

The toy finally lifts and you collapse against the bed.

Limbs limping and heart hammering.

You feel boneless, floaty, glowing from the pleasure.

You expect him to untie you, to whisper praise, to curl up beside you for soft aftercare.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls back slightly, stroking a hand over his thick, aching cock. “I’m not done yet.”

You whimper. “Bucky-”

“Color?” He growls again., making sure you both are on the same side.

“Still green,” you whisper, voice barely audible.

Your body betrays you. Legs falling open, hips lifting just slightly trembling and begging for more even as exhaustion claws at every fiber of you.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.”

He lines himself up and sinks into you in one long, slow thrust. You scream, body convulsing at the stimulation. He’s too thick, your walls spasming around him before he’s even halfway in.

“Christ, you’re so tight,” Bucky groans, voice strained. “You’re already squeezing me like a fucking vice.”

You try to respond, but only desperate moans escape.

He moves slowly at first, letting you adjust, grinding into you with measured, deep thrusts. Every motion ignites fire inside you.

Wet heat, friction and the sharp edges of pleasure that threaten to shatter your mind entirely.

You love it.

You can’t stop it.

Your body chases the feeling even when you think you’ve hit your limit.

And then he picks up the pace.

Hard, fast, unforgiving.

Your wrists strain against the bindings as your body arches toward him, half-wild with overstimulation. Every thrust rattles your core, every slam of his hips sending sparks along your nerves.

“You feel that?” He pants. “That’s what a good girl like you gets. You wanted to give up control? This is what that means. You come when I say. You take it. Every. Fucking. Inch.”

Your head spins, thoughts slipping away into nothing but sensation. His metal hand finds you again, pressing the vibrator back to your swollen clit. You scream, and the pitch of your sobs rises.

“Bucky!” You yell.

“Come for me again,” he growls, voice deep, urgent. “One more. I know you’ve got one more for me, baby.”

You shake your head, but your body betrays you again.

Hips bucking up, walls fluttering, clit pulsing under the toy and suddenly you’re gone.

Another orgasm rips through you violently, thighs clamping around him, limbs trembling uncontrollably.

Tears streak your face, the hyper stimulation leaving your mind a dizzy haze of pleasure and exhaustion.

Bucky groans. A feral low sound, pulling the vibrator away and tossing it aside. He fucks you harder now, deeper, chasing his own release too. Hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he pants, voice rough. “Stuff you so full of me, you won’t even be able to think straight.”

You’re too far gone to answer.

Too far gone to even care.

And yet your body wants it, craves it and welcomes every inch.

He comes with a loud, broken moan, spilling deep inside you.

Your body convulses beneath him, overstimulated and overwhelmed, skin glowing and heart hammering. Your breaths are jagged and shallow, your muscles twitching from the intensity. When the storm finally settles, he unties your wrists first, massaging them softly until circulation returns.

Then he pulls you into his lap, cradling you close. He rocks you gently, soft kisses pressed to your temple, cheeks, shoulders.

“You did so good for me,” he whispers, voice low and tender. “You were perfect.”

You’re still crying, but the tears aren’t from pain. Not from pleasure, either. It’s everything. Too much but maybe just enough.

“Love you,” you whisper, slumping into him.

He smiles against your skin. “Love you more. Now let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart. Then we’ll rest.”

You let yourself melt into him, floating in the warm afterglow.

“You’re mine.”

He says it over and over again, like a mantra. Like a prayer.

Each word vibrates against your skin, low and rough. His voice so dark and sure it feels like it sinks under your flesh and brands itself there.

You feel it in the way his hands grip your thighs. Broad palms spreading you wider, thumbs pressing firm circles into your soft skin as he settles between them, claiming space you’re already giving freely.

You see it in his eyes, dark and unwavering so full of need and reverence you think you might drown in it. Bucky looks at you like you hung the stars like he’d fight his way through hell and back just to touch you.

And tonight, he’s going to worship you.

Again.

The first thrust knocks the breath from your lungs. Slow but deep, deliberate. His cock stretches you just right, filling you in a way no one else ever could.

Not that anyone else’s ever tried.

Not since him.

Not when you’ve already been ruined by the way he loves you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder, breath hot against your collarbone. “You feel like heaven. Always so warm, so tight around me.”

You moan, clinging to his shoulders as he starts to move deeper, rolling thrusts that set a rhythm like music. He drags against every sensitive nerve inside you, building a pressure that grows hotter and heavier with every stroke until you’re trembling underneath him.

“You’re my good girl, yeah?” He pants, lips brushing your ear, the rasp of his stubble making you shiver. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Bucky...” you gasp, the words torn from your chest. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

He groans, thrusts slamming deeper, harder.

“Damn right you are. Mine to fuck. Mine to hold. Mine to make come as many times as I fucking want.”

Your back arches, nails digging into his skin, scratching down the muscles of his back. His praise hits you harder than any touch, like lightning straight to your core.

You live for it.

Crave it.

Need it.

“Look at you,” he growls, slowing his pace just enough to drag it out, to make you squirm. “Taking me so well. Always so perfect for me. My pretty girl.”

You whimper, head tossing back against the pillows as your hips rise to meet his. He cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek tenderly even as he fucks you with the kind of focus that makes your toes curl and your vision blur.

“I don’t think you understand,” he murmurs, gaze locking with yours. “You’re everything to me. No one else gets this. No one else gets you.”

You can’t speak, not with how good he feels inside you and with how heavy the moment is between you. All you can do is nod, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how overwhelmed you are.

How safe.

How loved.

He sees it.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, slowing down to a sensual grind that drags his length against that spot that makes your hips jerk. “You feel that? How deep I am? That’s me claiming every part of you.”

He licks the tears out of the corner of your eye. You whimper, gripping his biceps as he rocks into you again, slow and deliberate.

“Say it,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe, voice cracking. “Always. I’m your good girl.”

His thrusts grow rougher, more urgent. His praise doesn’t stop if anything, it pours out of him like he’s been holding it back for too long.

“That’s it. My good girl. My sweet, perfect girl who takes everything I give her.”

He shifts, pushing your legs up, folding you in half until he’s deeper than before. He was so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. His cock drags right against that perfect spot inside you.

The one that makes your body seize up and your breath stutter.

The one that only he can reach.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, sweat dripping from his temple onto your skin. “So fucking perfect around me. You were made for me.”

“Bucky… please…” you cry, overwhelmed, the coil inside you wound so tight you’re shaking.

“Go on, baby...” he growls. “You come when I say. You come for me. That’s my pussy. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes… yes… yours.”

He slams into you once, twice then again as you shatter. You come hard, legs trembling violently, eyes squeezed shut as your body convulses around him. You sob his name, your hands clutching at his back as if he’s the only real thing in the world. And he is. He rides it out, voice never stopping.

“Good girl. That’s my girl. So beautiful when you come for me. So fucking perfect.”

Your walls are still fluttering around him when he loses control, thrusts stuttering before he groans your name and comes deep inside you. You feel the heat flood you, feeling his whole body tense above you as he gasps and shakes and empties himself completely.

Then he collapses, arms wrapping tight around your waist as he buries his face in your neck. Neither of you speaks for a moment. Just the sound of your heart pounding, your breath mingling with his, his weight anchoring you in the soft sheets. He doesn’t pull out right away. He stays there, wrapped around you, holding you like you’re something delicate and sacred.

“You did so good for me,” he murmurs eventually, voice wrecked. “Always do.”

You hum, still floating. His fingers stroke your hair. Your cheek. Your hips. He moves with care cleaning you up, getting you water, then curling around you again in bed. His thumb rubs small circles over your knuckles until your breathing evens out.

“Say it one more time,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple. “Say you’re mine.”

You turn to face him, eyes soft, voice hoarse.

“I’m yours, Bucky. Always.”

His eyes close like a prayer’s been answered.

“Good girl.”