You met Yelena long before Valentina ever got her claws into either of you. It had started as a mission. You were both assets for different agencies, tossed together in some backwater country to take out a target neither of you would remember years later. What you would remember was her laugh the first time you tried to lecture her about precision. What she’d remember was how you always stitched up her wounds like she was something fragile.

It had been messy. You were fire and precision. She was chaos and sarcasm. It shouldn’t have worked. But somehow, it did. You started seeing each other outside of assignments. Shared hotel rooms turned into shared apartments between missions. One night she called you “home” and didn’t realize it until you kissed her to shut her up.

And then Natasha died.

You held her when she broke. She didn’t cry. Not in front of anyone else. Just you. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t breathe. And then, one day, she left. No note. Just silence. When you finally confronted her months later, all she said was, “I can’t lose anyone else. Not you.”

Now, almost two years later, you were not the same person. You had been working in the grey. Valentina’s people crossed the wrong line. You made sure they wouldn’t do it again. Twelve best agents in one hour. Surgical, silent, devastating.

You were a ghost.

Until she sent her.

One day before the mission

Valentina dropped the folder onto the table with a hollow clap, a crooked smile playing on her lips. “Yelena. I’ve got a little reunion planned for you.”

Yelena picked up the file and flipped it open, only to freeze.

Your photo was paperclipped to the top sheet. Older. Hardened. But unmistakably you. The same eyes. The same scar you got saving her life. Her stomach twisted.

Valentina’s voice was all silk and poison. “They took out twelve of my operatives. Clean, methodical, personal. Someone’s gotten better.”

Yelena didn’t say a word, still staring at the photo. “You want them dead?”

“No,” Valentina said sweetly. “I want them back. Extract them if you can. Kill them if you must.”

“I’m not killing them,” Yelena said flatly.

Valentina arched a brow. “You sure? You two didn’t exactly end on loving terms.”

“I said I’m not killing them,” Yelena snapped.

Valentina smiled like a cat watching a mouse trap snap shut. “Then bring them home. You’ve got forty-eight hours before every black market bounty hunter from here to Madripoor picks up the scent.”

Current Scene: The Safehouse

You knew someone would come eventually.

The problem was, you never thought it would be her.

The air is cold, stale with dust. You move through the darkness like it belongs to you, because it always has. The mission was clean. Burn the data, vanish. That was the plan. Until you hear the soft crunch of gravel. You freeze.

“Come on,” a voice says behind you. “That’s not how you taught me to walk.”

You spin, g3n raised. Her face is the last one you expected to see. She is dressed in black, expression hard. But her voice wavers.

“You would have already sh0t me if you wanted,” she said quietly, stepping fully into the room.