Natasha was three steps from her apartment when the first arrow struck the doorframe.

She froze mid-step, paper grocery bag rustling in her arms, eyes narrowing. A beat passed. Two. Then-

Thunk.

Another arrow, this one burying itself in the stairwell wall half an inch from her head. Natasha ducked fast, rolled once, and landed with her back pressed to the hallway floor, still clutching the bag.

“Seriously?” she muttered, reaching in and pulling out a crushed box of pasta. “I just bought carbs.”

Thunk-thunk-thunk.

Three more arrows came in rapid succession, pinning the hem of her jacket to the wall before she twisted free. She launched herself through the apartment door, slamming it shut behind her and diving over the back of the couch just as one final arrow sliced through the air and lodged into the wood beside her light switch. She exhaled sharply from where she now sat sprawled on the floor, surrounded by fallen groceries.

“Okay,” she said aloud, eyeing the arrow now quivering in her drywall, “Let’s review.”

She crawled toward the window, keeping her head low, fingers brushing the tile as she counted in her head. There was a rhythm to the shots. Steady. Focused. Too precise for panic. Too sloppy for an adult.

“Arrows again. Always arrows. Why is it always me and archers?”

Another shot pinged off the window frame as she peeked out. Across the alley, perched just behind the opposing rooftop’s ventilation unit, was a silhouette — small. Fast. Bow already raised again.

“Great. And this one’s travel-sized.”

Thunk.

The arrow hit the glass of the window this time, and Natasha was grateful the bulletproof replacement she had put in years ago actually came into use. She crawled through her apartment, exhaling through her nose with a humorless smile.

“Fantastic. First Clint. Then Kate. Now some tiny murder baby who thinks arrows are personality traits.”

Thunk.

Another arrow hit the window.

Natasha crouched behind her kitchen counter. Inhale, exhale.

“God, I need a vacation.”