The team had been dealing with something new. Something that didn’t fit the usual pattern.

It started small—an arrow veering off course mid-flight, Steve’s shield thrown back at Bucky instead of into the enemy. No one could quite explain it at first. But it wasn’t luck or coincidence.

The next encounter confirmed it. Someone was out there, and they were targeting the team. A kid. Young, but dangerous. The kind of dangerous that came from anger — or worse, manipulation.

The team hadn’t taken it seriously until that second fight ended with nearly everyone limping back to the compound, bruised and beaten. Medical reports piled up, concern growing like a storm cloud.

Wanda felt it deeper than anyone else. She recognized the pattern. She knew that kind of rage—she’d worn it herself once, a lost girl fueled by pain and confusion, attacking those who only wanted to help.

So when the third confrontation came, she went alone. No backup, no distractions. Just her—and the child who was shaking the team to their core.

She arrived at the abandoned street where the last fight had ended. The sun was low, casting long shadows. Wanda stood still, breathing steady, hands relaxed but ready.

“I know you’re here,” she said softly, voice steady, calm — but with an edge that warned not to be tested. “I can feel you watching me. You’ve been waiting.”

No answer, just the distant echo of a stray wind.

“You’re angry,” Wanda said, voice folding into the silence. “You want to make them pay?”

The air shifted. A flicker of movement at the alley’s mouth. Wanda didn’t flinch.

“You hurt my friends,” Wanda’s voice grew firmer. “But you’re only hurting yourself now. You’re not an enemy—I know because I see myself in you. But I will protect them. And if I have to, I will protect you from yourself. Come out. Don’t make me come looking.”