At Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Lalia Azali hides more than most. She's not just a surgeon-she's this universe's Scarlet Witch, a title whispered with fear and awe, tied to a power she never wanted and a fate she can't outrun.
Logan sees t...
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- Logan
I walked down the halls, finding myself gravitate towards the training room. It was late, but I needed to get some practice in. The murmurs around the school had reached my ears—Lia's brother was missing. The whole team was gearing up to leave in two days to find him. I knew she must be feeling overwhelmed right now, and I figured giving her some space was the best thing I could do.
As I approached the training room, I could hear the faint sounds of magic being unleashed. I pushed open the door and stepped inside, only to find Lia in the center of the ring. Her eyes were bulging and red, and she was hurling her aura of magic at every target in sight, knocking them down with an insane amount of force.
I stood there for a moment, just watching. She was a whirlwind of power. Then, as if sensing my presence, she turned to look in my direction. The red in her eyes began to fade, replaced by something softer, but no less intense.
"Lia," I said, my voice gruff but steady. "You alright?"
Lia turned away from me, her fists relentlessly pummeling the punching bag with a ferocity that made me wince. "I broke it off with my boyfriend, and my brother's missing," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "So yeah, I'm doing just swell. And yourself?" she added, not even bothering to glance in my direction, her focus entirely on the bag in front of her.
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I stood there, dumbfounded. I felt a jolt of surprise, realizing how dumb my question was. "Right," I muttered, trying to collect myself as I walked up the steps.
I leaned against the ropes, arms resting on the top as I watched her go at the punching bag like it owed her money. The gym was quiet except for the rhythmic thud of her fists slamming into the leather, each hit sharper than the last.
"I'm sorry about Simon," I muttered, my voice low and rough. "I know you two—"
She cut me off with a sharp, humorless laugh, her next punch striking harder.
"You don't have to pretend to care, Logan." She didn't even turn to look at me, just kept swinging, her tone laced with ice. "I know you're probably thrilled to hear it."
I narrowed my eyes, caught off guard by the bitterness in her voice. Sure, I never liked the guy, but that didn't mean I wanted her to be hurting.
"Lia, this isn't about me," I said, stepping through the ropes. "It's about you."
Still, she wouldn't meet my eyes. The bag swayed under her hits, her anger pouring into every strike.
"You got a lot on your plate right now," I continued, trying to get her to listen. "But you don't have to go through this alone."
She finally stopped, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Then, slowly, she turned, eyes locked onto mine—sharp, searching, and just a little bit dangerous.
