Natasha was used to many things. Darkness, violence, betrayal—those were the constants in her life. But helping people? That wasn’t usually on her agenda. And yet, that evening, as she walked through the dimly lit alleyways of a small European town after a mission, she came across you—a small child, seemingly no older than eight, sitting alone, crying quietly in the shadows.

You looked up at her, those big eyes shining in the darkness, but you didn’t speak. You simply stared, like a deer caught in the headlights. Natasha sighed, figuring you were too scared to talk. She noticed how frail you looked, your clothes torn and dirty. She couldn’t just leave you here, even if every instinct told her to walk away.

“Come on,” she said, offering a hand. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then your small hand slipped into hers, cold as ice, and Natasha felt a shiver run down her spine. She shook it off, attributing it to the chill in the air. She led you out of the alley, intending to take you to the nearest police station. But as she walked, you clung to her side, silent and watchful, your gaze never leaving her.

Natasha figured it was just the trauma. You were a kid, lost and scared; it made sense that you’d latch onto the first person who showed you kindness. She didn’t think much of it—until later that night when she dropped you off at a shelter, only to find you waiting outside her hotel hours later, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

She wasn’t sure how you’d found her. She’d made sure to leave you in safe hands, and yet, here you were.

“How did you...?” she started, but the words died in her throat when she noticed the subtle way your fangs peeked out from behind your lips when you smiled up at her. It wasn’t a normal smile; it was something feral, something that sent a jolt of realization through her.