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CHAPTER XXXVI. All Chaos Follows Elina Romanoff
The sweet green grass of Budapest's city parks swayed gently in the morning breeze, the vibrant smells of freshly baked bread and ripe fruit wafting through the bustling market streets. For most, it was just another day in the charming city. But for Elina, every detail of her surroundings felt magnified, almost surreal, as if the universe was reminding her to savor this fleeting peace.
Despite having lived here for nearly a year, the city's allure still captivated her. The cobblestone streets, the ornate facades of century-old buildings, the way the Danube shimmered under the golden sun-it all offered a stark contrast to the ruins of Sokovia that haunted her dreams. Budapest was a sanctuary. Here, she wasn't Elina, the Widow called Nemesis who had fought alongside the Avengers. Here, she was Irina Sorokina, just another face in the crowd.
For the first time in years, she felt like a person rather than a weapon. Her neighbors knew her as the quiet, polite woman who always lent a hand when asked. She had become a regular at the market, her presence a welcome addition to the vibrant community. She smiled more freely now, even laughed sometimes. She could sleep through the night without clutching a blade beneath her pillow, without the weight of impending danger pressing against her chest.
Yet, even in this newfound peace, shadows lingered. The name Irina Sorokina was the last tether to her old life, a carefully constructed alias that allowed her to vanish from the radar of those who might come looking. And they had looked. For months, her phone buzzed incessantly with calls from America. The team had reached out, again and again, their voices familiar, their pleas urgent. But she couldn't answer. Not anymore.
Elina had discarded that phone months ago, tossing it into the dark waters of the Danube as if shedding a piece of her past. It was a symbolic gesture, yet she knew the ties she had cut could never be fully severed. The scars of Sokovia ran too deep. She had spent the last year in refugee camps, helping survivors rebuild their lives, holding the hands of those who had lost everything. She had seen the wreckage left in the Avengers' wake-the shattered families, the hollow-eyed children.
The work had given her a fragile sense of purpose, but it came with a cruel clarity: she could no longer be part of the destruction. She wasn't a hero; she wasn't even sure she believed in heroes anymore. Elina was done. Done with the missions, the battles, the collateral damage that no one else seemed willing to acknowledge.
And yet, despite her resolve, she couldn't completely turn away. Late at night, when the world outside her apartment was quiet, she would find herself drawn to the news. She watched from a distance as the Avengers continued their fight, celebrated in America as saviors but condemned across Europe as harbingers of chaos. She saw the headlines, the protests, the faces of those who had been left behind. It was a stark reminder of why she had walked away.
Still, life in Budapest offered its own small comforts. She had chopped off her long, sun-kissed blonde hair, the strands falling to the floor in a symbolic act of shedding her old identity. Now her hair was a deep cherry brown, cut to her shoulders-a subtle disguise, but one that made her feel like someone new. Someone who could walk the streets without fear of being recognized as the woman who had once helped level a city.
Today, the market was alive with its usual hum of chatter and laughter. Vendors called out to her, offering samples of their freshest produce. Elina smiled politely, waving off their enthusiastic pitches as she wove through the stalls. Normally, she would linger, maybe pick up a loaf of bread or a jar of honey. But today, her steps were hurried, her thoughts elsewhere.
She reached her apartment and quickly shut the door behind her, the lock clicking into place with a reassuring finality. The small space was sparse but cozy, a reflection of her minimalist existence. She tossed her bag onto the worn sofa and grabbed the remote, flipping on the television.
The screen lit up with breaking news. The unfamiliar skyline of Lagos, Nigeria, filled the frame, but it was obscured by thick plumes of smoke. The footage cut to rubble-strewn streets, civilians crying out in anguish, blood staining the pavement.
Elina's heart sank as the reporter's voice echoed in her ears: The Avengers have struck again.
She clenched her jaw, her hands gripping the edges of the coffee table as if to steady herself. This was what she had feared. This was why she had stayed away. Sokovia had been a nightmare, but Lagos was another fresh wound on the world's conscience. And then, amidst the chaos, a familiar face appeared on the screen-a man she hadn't seen in years, a ghost from her past.
The phone on the counter buzzed, jolting her from her thoughts. She stared at the screen, her stomach knotting as she recognized the American number. For a long moment, she let it ring, her pulse quickening with each chime. Then, against her better judgment, she picked up.
The conversation was brief. A few terse words exchanged, heavy with unspoken tension. When the call ended, Elina stood in silence, the weight of the decision settling over her like a lead blanket. She had promised herself she wouldn't go back. But now, it seemed she had no choice.
She moved swiftly, gathering her belongings into a single suitcase. There wasn't much-a few changes of clothes, a worn leather journal, a passport still bearing the name Irina Sorokina. As she zipped up the bag, she felt a pang of regret, a longing for the peace she was leaving behind.
Stepping outside, she nearly collided with her elderly neighbor, Ms. Lakatos, who was tending to her window boxes of vibrant red geraniums. The woman smiled warmly, her hands clasping a watering can.
"Miss Sorokina, are you going to the big celebration tonight?" she asked in her thick Hungarian accent, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.
Elina forced a smile, shaking her head. "I'm afraid not, Ms. Lakatos. I have to visit my grandmother. She's not well."
The older woman frowned, concern flickering across her face. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. Will you be gone long?"
"Just a few days," Elina lied, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "I'll be back before you know it."
Ms. Lakatos patted her arm gently. "Safe travels, my dear. We'll miss you at the celebration."
Elina offered a quick nod before turning away, her steps brisk as she made her way toward the waiting taxi. As she slid into the back seat, she cast one last glance at the apartment building, at the life she had built here. She had wanted so badly to believe she could stay, that she could escape the shadows of her past. But the world had a way of pulling her back in.
As the taxi sped toward the airport, Elina's thoughts raced. She wasn't going back for redemption or to reclaim her place on the team. She was going back because she couldn't stand by and watch any longer. The Avengers had crossed a line, and if no one else was going to hold them accountable, then she would.
For better or worse, Elina knew one thing for certain: this time, she wouldn't let them destroy more lives.
