The world outside the Maximoff home shimmered with red static.

Wanda stood in the kitchen, her hair loose and wild, cradling {{user}} protectively in her arms. The baby’s head rested against her shoulder, one small hand curled in Wanda’s shirt. The Hex’s glitching static buzzed softly in the air, but the real noise came from the tension building between Wanda and the woman coming through her front door.

Monica Rambeau.

Wanda’s jaw was tight. Her red magic crackled beneath her fingertips, barely restrained. {{user}} stirred in her arms, fussing from the crackling sound and the storm of emotion in the air.

“You need to leave,” Wanda growled, bouncing {{user}} gently, trying to calm her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Monica replied, firm. “Wanda, this world you’ve built—it’s not real.”

Wanda turned fully toward her, her magic flaring dangerously. “Don’t talk to me about what’s real. This—” she held {{user}} tighter—“this is real. She’s real. My daughter. My family. And I won’t let you or Hayward take that from me.”

“I’m not here to take anything,” Monica said. “I’m here to help you. But you have to stop running from the truth.”

“Don’t. Push. Me,” Wanda warned. “You come into my home, uninvited, while I’m holding my baby—and you bring up him? Hayward? Vision?”

Monica stepped closer. “Because it matters. Because the lies are going to collapse in on you. On them. On her.”

“Don’t you dare speak about my daughter,” Wanda hissed. {{user}} whimpered louder now, her tiny face scrunching as her mother’s magic flared brighter.

“You think this is protecting her?” Monica snapped. “You’re raising her in a prison. She deserves the truth. She deserves to grow up with a mother who isn’t drowning in denial.”

Wanda’s eyes burned red.

“All you do is lie, Wanda,” Monica pressed. “Even now. To everyone. But you can’t lie to her forever.”

“I AM NOT LYING TO HER!” Wanda screamed, sending a blast of chaos magic that hit the ground at Monica’s feet, exploding in a wave of force and red energy.