The Veneto Royale sped through the Alps, its gilded halls filled with the world’s elite. To them, James and you were just another wealthy couple enjoying the ride. In reality, you two were hunting a man carrying stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. intel.

James adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, glancing at the reflection in the polished window. Beside him, you played your part flawlessly, a picture-perfect image of elegance, your fingers loosely curled around a champagne flute.

“I’ll tail him,” you murmured, lips barely moving.

James frowned. “We stick together.”

But you were already slipping into the next car, vanishing into the crowd.

Minutes passed. Too long.

A thud behind a cabin door.

James didn’t hesitate. He shoved the door open, just in time to see you slumped against the polished mahogany wall, a crimson stain spreading across your pristine attire. Your attacker was gone, the shattered remnants of a struggle left in their wake.

“Shit—” James caught you before you collapsed, pressing against the wound. “Stay with me.”

Outside, a red warning light flickered.

Something was about to go very, very wrong.