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CHAPTER XXXIV. An End to Sokovia
Elina tuned out the voices around her, letting the chatter dissolve into meaningless static. Her thoughts were elsewhere, circling relentlessly around her sister. Where was Natasha now? Was she still alive? Had Ultron taken her to some dark, impenetrable fortress, or worse, disposed of her already? The unknown gnawed at her, a festering wound she couldn't ignore.
The anger from earlier still burned hot in her chest, an ember refusing to die. It ignited every time she replayed Clint's decision to fly away, leaving Natasha behind. Elina couldn't shake the image of her sister falling, her silhouette swallowed by the chaos below. Natasha wasn't like the others. She was human-flesh and bone. Vulnerable in ways the rest of them weren't. And despite her sister's unyielding resilience, Elina feared for her. Fear was a foreign thing to her, a beast she rarely let surface. But now, it gripped her tight, refusing to let go.
Normally, she'd have the energy to throw herself into the fray, to banter and bicker with the rest of the team. Steve and Tony were already at each other's throats, trading verbal blows like seasoned fighters. Bruce stood off to the side, his gaze flicking nervously between them. But Elina? She couldn't muster the strength to care.
Even as the tension escalated, even as Steve's voice cut sharp through the room and Tony's sarcasm dripped like venom, Elina sat in silence. Her gaze remained fixed on a crack in the floor beneath her, her fingers absently tracing the seam of her glove.
Then the shouting turned physical. It started with Wanda, her hands glowing crimson as she moved to defend herself. Bruce, in an uncharacteristic burst of aggression, had her in a chokehold, his face twisted with regret even as his hands tightened. Pietro blurred into view, a flash of silver streaking across the room, but his momentum faltered as he collided with Steve and tumbled through the glass floor, disappearing with a crash.
Tony and Steve didn't waste a moment. They lunged at each other, grappling like soldiers in the trenches, their movements a brutal, chaotic dance of punches and counterattacks.
Elina watched it all unfold with detached disinterest. Part of her knew she should intervene, but the weight in her chest anchored her in place. The fight was pointless, like a storm destroying everything in its path while accomplishing nothing.
"Hey, guys," she said flatly, her tone devoid of urgency. "Let's stop."
No one listened, and she hadn't really expected them to. The room was a powder keg, and now that the spark had ignited, it was all going up in flames.
Then, a flash of movement caught her eye. Thor strode into the room, his presence commanding as always. His eyes were fierce, a storm brewing behind them. Without a word, he raised Mjolnir high, the air around him crackling with electricity. Elina barely had time to raise an eyebrow before he slammed the hammer down onto the containment cradle.
