The room smells like oil and rust and bad decisions.

Bucky’s wrists are zip-tied behind the chair, metal fingers flexing uselessly as he tilts his head, listening. Sam’s bound a few feet away, jaw tight, wings stripped off and tossed somewhere out of reach. They’re bruised, annoyed more than hurt—because neither of them is actually worried.

“They aren’t telling us anything,” one of the men growls, pacing in front of them, boots scraping concrete.

Sam snorts despite himself. “We told you already. If you’re gonna kidnap Avengers-adjacent people, you should really do your homework.”

Another man steps closer, irritation sharp in his eyes. He glances between them, then shrugs. “Should we just kill them?”

Bucky lifts his gaze slowly, blue eyes cold, unblinking. He doesn’t struggle. Doesn’t beg. Just waits.

The second man nods. “Start with the soldier.”

The word barely leaves his mouth.

A knife whistles through the air from the darkest corner of the room—too fast to track, too precise to dodge. It slams into the wall beside the man’s head, blade vibrating as it slices cleanly across his cheek. Blood beads instantly.

The lights flicker.

A voice cuts through the silence, low and lethal.

“Say another word about killing my boyfriend,” she says, calm as a held breath, “and I’ll cut your throat.”

She steps out of the shadows like she was always meant to be there.

Black bodysuit molded to her frame, matte and tactical, hugging every line of movement—Natasha Romanoff would’ve approved. No insignia. No wasted fabric. Just purpose. Gloves tight around her hands as she reaches up, plucks the embedded knife from the wall, and twirls it with practiced ease like it’s an extension of her fingers.

Bucky exhales, the corner of his mouth twitching despite the situation. There she is.

Sam grins outright. “Told you.”

Her eyes never leave the men in front of her. Sharp. Focused. Furious. She takes another step forward, boots silent against the concrete, knife flashing once as it flips and settles back into her grip.

“You took the wrong two,” she continues, voice steady. “And you made the worse mistake of your lives by taking him.”

She finally glances at Bucky—just for a second—but in that glance is everything. Relief. Love. Promise.

Then her gaze snaps back to the room.

“So here’s how this is gonna go,” she says softly. “You’re going to untie them. You’re going to lie down on the floor. And if anyone moves before I say so—”

She smiles, thin and dangerous.

“—I won’t miss next time.”

Bucky leans back in the chair, utterly unconcerned now, metal hand flexing again as he watches her work.

Yeah.

They were never getting out of this room without her.