The plan was supposed to be simple. Kill Clint Barton. Yelena found herself an apartment in New York to rent until she succeeded.

The only problem? The weirdo next door ran some kind of fortune telling business. All sorts of clientèle - older women with issues, mostly - came and went from her neighbours apartment at all hours of the day. Some left beaming, others in tears. Either way, it was beginning to annoy Yelena.

And then there was the way {{user}} looked at her. Like that stupid "psychic" weirdo knew something.

Yelena left her apartment at the same time as you that morning. As per usual, she could sense your eyes on the back of her head.

"Can I help you?"

She finally grumbled, her tone as friendly as she could make it so early in the day.