The air is cold, thick with the hum of tension — somewhere in the outskirts of Madripoor.

You move fast, slipping through the alleyways, heart pounding against your ribs. The intel says you’re dangerous. Hydra tech, stolen files, maybe worse. That’s what Sam and Bucky were told.

Bucky rounds the corner first — silent, fluid, his metal arm glinting under the faint streetlight. He spots you before you spot him.

“Target in sight,” he mutters into the comm, voice low.

Sam’s voice crackles in his ear. “Don’t spook her yet. We need her alive.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. He watches you instead — the way your hands shake slightly as you fumble with a keycard, the way fear and defiance mix in your expression.

He steps forward, slow, deliberate, boots echoing softly on the concrete.

“Don’t run,” he says, voice calm but carrying weight. “You won’t make it far.”

You turn, breath catching — and that’s when he freezes. Not because you’re armed, but because there’s something familiar in your face. Something that doesn’t fit the mission.

Sam’s voice comes again, sharper now. “Barnes? What’s going on?”

Bucky lowers his gun just slightly, jaw tightening.

“…She’s not what they told us.”