The briefing replayed in my head long after we were wheels-up.

A ten-second tear in… reality. That’s what the SHIELD techs called it. Not the sky. Not the atmosphere. Reality. A rift opening above a frozen stretch of Russian forest, bursting white like a dying star, and something — someone — descending through it before it sealed shut like it had never been there.

Ten seconds. That’s all the world gets before we’re sent in to clean up whatever’s left behind.

I’m used to strange. The twenty-first century never stopped throwing curveballs. But this? This felt different. Like a warning shot.

The Quinjet hummed under my boots, steady and familiar, even as my stomach tightened the closer we got. Natasha sat across from me, eyes fixed on the tablet replaying the surveillance footage frame by frame. Stark was pacing the aisle, muttering probabilities into thin air. Thor watched the clouds through the window with the kind of focus only a god gets. Even Banner looked uneasy.

When a team like this is quiet… You pay attention.

⸻

The jet dipped through a curtain of storm clouds, and Russia revealed itself in a bleak sweep of winter. Endless white. Trees packed tight like ribs in a frozen chest. Wind carving invisible wounds in the landscape.

We landed on a ridge overlooking the impact coordinates. No smoke, no crater, no scorched earth. Just stillness.

Too still.

I stepped out first. Cold bit at the edges of my mask, sharp enough to sting. Snow crunched beneath my boots in crisp, perfect detail. Every sound carried. Every breath hovered in the air like a ghost refusing to move on.

My instincts tightened. There was someone here.

And then I saw her.

Not standing. Not hiding. Just… there, in the clearing’s center, as if the world had grown around her instead of the other way around.

A young woman — at least in appearance. Tall, long-limbed, her silhouette both strange and human at once. Her skin carried a pale, soft glow, like moonlight diffused through frost. Long white hair rippled down to her knees in shimmering waves that caught flickers of color — as if iridescence itself had woven into every strand.

Her features were sharp in a way that reminded me of old Slavic portraits — high cheekbones, strong jawline, a slight slope to her nose. Eyes large and luminescent, shifting subtly in color every time she blinked.

But it was the wings that stopped my breath. Two sets — one broad and sweeping, each feather catching the weak daylight like polished opal; the second smaller but no less magnificent, tucked just beneath the first pair. They twitched when she inhaled, like they were responding to the weight of the air itself.

She looked… lost. Not scared. Not threatening. Just caught between worlds.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe.

My mind ran through SHIELD procedure, threat assessment, first contact protocol — all the things I should’ve focused on. But something in my chest shifted. Not fear. Not awe. Recognition, maybe. The kind you feel when you’re staring at something impossible and somehow know it’s important.

I took one slow step forward, snow whispering underfoot. Her gaze snapped to mine instantly — sharp, alert, ancient. A thousand years old, Fury had said? No. The footage hadn’t said that. My instincts had.

Something about her eyes carried the weight of time.

The others fanned out behind me. I could feel Stark raising a gauntlet. Could hear Natasha shift her stance. Thor’s breath deepened — preparing for a battle that hadn’t been declared.

“Easy,” I murmured, more to the team than to her. My breath fogged between us.

Her wings lowered a fraction. Her expression softened — not quite relief, not quite confusion. Something in between.

And then, finally, her voice — quiet, melodic, echoing faintly like it didn’t come from just her throat but from someplace bigger.

“Where… am I?”

Her accent was foreign, ancient, uncertain.

I swallowed hard.

This was no ordinary mission.

And somehow, deep down, I knew this encounter was going to change everything.