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CHAPTER XXV. 4 Long Years
The building had erupted in flames, a thunderous explosion that left the team narrowly escaping the brink of death. Natasha had been injured in the chaos, and Steve had taken it upon himself to carry her, muscles straining as they fled the crumbling ruins. Elina led the way, her heart pounding, eyes sharp as she scanned the debris-strewn landscape. They needed to keep moving, not just away from the destruction, but from the SHIELD agents who were undoubtedly on their tail.
They scrambled into a vehicle, the interior dim as Steve quickly rattled off a location. Elina didn't recognize the name, but it didn't matter-anywhere was safer than here. The engine roared to life, and soon they were weaving through the streets, heading back to Washington. The tension in the car was thick, and Elina could feel the weight of their predicament pressing down on them all.
Before long, they arrived at a modest home, and Steve knocked on the door. Elina hung back slightly, scanning the quiet neighborhood for any sign of pursuit. The door opened, revealing a man who seemed caught off guard by the disheveled group standing on his doorstep.
"I'm sorry about this. We need a place to lay low," Steve said, his voice steady despite the circumstances.
"Everyone we know is trying to kill us," Natasha added, her tone edged with a tired resignation.
The man hesitated for only a moment before he stepped aside, opening the door wider. "Not everyone."
Elina nodded her thanks and slipped inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the cold tension outside. She headed to the bathroom first, washing away the grime and blood that clung to her skin. As she looked into the mirror, she couldn't help but check herself over, a habit that had been ingrained in her long ago. Satisfied that there were no lingering injuries, she left the bathroom, her thoughts still racing.
In the kitchen, the man was cooking, his movements sure and practiced. Elina approached, her footsteps soft on the tiled floor. "Thank you for doing this," she said, breaking the silence.
He turned to face her, offering a small smile. "It's no problem. I'm Sam Wilson, by the way."
"Elina," she replied, stepping closer and extending a hand. They shook, and for a brief moment, Elina allowed herself to relax.
The front door creaked open, and Elina's hand instinctively went to her gun. She pulled it out in a swift motion, aiming it at the figure who had just entered. The woman-a stranger to Elina-immediately dropped the grocery bags she was holding, her hands shooting up in surrender.
