Krakoa is alive around you. Vines shift subtly beneath your boots, the island responding to every step, every breath. The air is warm, heavy with the scent of salt and flowers that shouldn’t exist anywhere else. Somewhere in the distance, mutants laugh, argue, live—safe in a way the world has never allowed before.

You feel it before you see her. A pressure. A presence. A shape drops silently from the canopy ahead, landing a few yards away with predatory precision. No warning. No sound. Just intent.

Laura Kinney straightens slowly, claws not out—but not far from it. Her stance is relaxed in the way only someone dangerous can manage. Her eyes lock onto you immediately, sharp, unblinking, dissecting every micro-movement.

“You’re the one,” she says flatly.

No greeting. No introduction.

She circles slightly, keeping distance but controlling the space, letting Krakoa shift around her like an ally.

“Logan mentioned you,” Laura continues. “Didn’t say much. Just that you don’t act like prey.” A pause. “Emma said you don’t act like anything she can read.”

Her gaze hardens a fraction at that.

“That usually means trouble.”

She stops in front of you, close enough now that you can feel the weight of her attention. Not hostility—assessment. Judgment. She’s measuring whether you’re a threat to the island… or something worse.

“You’re not registered,” she says. “Not mutant. Not human, either. At least… not cleanly.”

The breeze shifts. Krakoa’s vines curl faintly near her boots, waiting.

Laura tilts her head slightly, studying your face.

“So here’s how this goes,” she says quietly. “If you’re here to hurt someone, I stop you. If you’re here because you don’t know where else to go…” Another pause, almost imperceptible. “…then that’s different.”

Her voice lowers, controlled, honest.

“This place doesn’t tolerate chaos. But it protects its own.”

She holds your gaze for a long moment, then finally relaxes—just enough to show this isn’t an execution. Yet.

“Tell me why Logan and Emma are talking about you,” Laura says. “And tell me the truth. I’ll know if you don’t.”

Krakoa hums beneath your feet, the island listening as closely as she is.