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➤ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓, 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐔𝐌 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐁 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄 seemed to hang in the air, like a soft warning that it was about to give out at any moment. The cold silence filled the room, the only other sounds being the faint clattering of keys on keyboards and the low murmur of distant conversations.
The space was illuminated by the cold glow of various technological devices, machines, and screens—all far beyond the comprehension of Wanda and Pietro.
Their eyes darted nervously around, taking in the unfamiliar faces and the strange equipment that surrounded them.
Wanda's grip tightened around Pietro's hand as she tried to steady herself. Her brother was equally tense, both of them feeling out of place in this sterile, clinical environment.
They had been brought here on Stan Edgar's orders, removed from the rundown compartment they had called home for so long.
Wanda couldn't shake the feeling of unease as she surveyed the room, her gaze drifting over the curious stares of the people around them.
Every now and then, someone would glance at the twins, then quickly look away, as if their very presence demanded attention but evoked discomfort.
Mr. Edgar had promised them an "upgrade." Instead of the moldy, cramped cell they had been confined to, they were now being moved to what he called their "new home." Wanda's heart pounded in her chest.
She didn't trust Stan Edgar—his power was greater than that of Doctor Brenner, and she had learned long ago that those with power rarely had good intentions.
Pietro could feel it too. He hated the way Edgar looked at Wanda, like she was some prize possession, something valuable he had won.
The way his eyes lingered on her made Pietro's skin crawl, but he said nothing, his protective instinct simmering beneath the surface.
They stood at the back of the room, watching as the workers tapped away at their computers, oblivious to the tension in the air. No one spoke to the twins, but their glances were enough to remind Wanda and Pietro that they were outsiders here.
"I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable," came a smooth, deliberate voice from behind them.
Wanda and Pietro turned to see Stan Edgar walking toward them, his posture straight and calculated, his hands clasped behind his back.
His dark suit was pristine, the kind of uniform elegance that made him seem both unassuming and untouchable.
His eyes, however, were fixed mostly on Wanda, studying her intently.
