Bucky's Anchor

Chapter 14 - Hunted by Shadows

We'd been on the move for days. One safe house to another, trying to stay ahead of the authorities. The reality of our situation was pressing in on us. Bucky had been framed for King T'Chaka's murder, and the entire world was hunting us down. Steve was determined to clear Bucky's name, but the more we ran, the tighter the noose around us seemed to grow.

Bucky was quieter than usual, though I couldn't blame him. With every close call, every narrow escape, he was reminded that the world still saw him as a monster. And as much as I tried to reassure him, it wasn't enough to drown out the noise.

It was a rainy evening when we made our way to the next safe house, a dilapidated building on the outskirts of a small town. Steve led the way, moving cautiously as we slipped inside. The moment we stepped in, I felt the tension in the air, a chill creeping down my spine. Something didn't feel right.

"Steve," I whispered, glancing around the darkened interior. "Are you sure this place is secure?"

Steve gave a curt nod, but I saw the unease in his eyes. "It should be," he replied, his voice low. "We have to risk it. We need to rest."

Bucky moved silently behind us, his gaze darting around the room. He was always on edge these days, never allowing himself to relax, even for a moment. As we settled in, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched.

"I'm going to check the perimeter," Steve announced, his jaw set in that determined way it always was when he felt something was off.

I nodded, watching as he moved towards the door. Bucky and I were alone in the dimly lit room, the sound of the rain pattering against the windows the only noise breaking the silence.

"Bucky," I said softly, turning to face him. "Are you okay?"

He glanced at me, his eyes shadowed and tired. "I'm fine," he muttered, but I knew it was a lie. He was far from fine.

I reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay to not be fine, you know. This... all of this is a lot."

He looked down at my hand, then back at me, his expression unreadable. "Emily, you don't have to worry about me," he said quietly. "You should worry about yourself."

I was about to argue when a noise outside caught my attention. A faint rustling, followed by the soft crunch of footsteps on wet gravel. My heart skipped a beat.

"Steve?" I called out, trying to keep my voice steady.

Silence.

Bucky tensed, his body going rigid as his instincts took over. He moved quickly, grabbing my arm and pulling me back against the wall, away from the windows.

"Stay down," he whispered urgently.

I crouched beside him, my heart pounding in my chest. The air was thick with tension, and every second felt like an eternity. I could hear the rain pouring outside, but it was the other sound—the sound of muffled footsteps approaching—that sent a chill down my spine.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a crash, and Steve was shoved inside, two men in tactical gear pushing him forward. My breath caught in my throat as more figures filled the doorway, all wearing combat suits and carrying weapons. And then, stepping forward with a feline grace that sent a wave of dread through me, was T'Challa—the Black Panther.

His eyes locked onto Bucky with a fierce intensity, and I could feel the air crackle with the unspoken tension between them.

"You thought you could run forever, Barnes," T'Challa said, his voice a dangerous growl. "But your time has come to answer for your crimes."