Hail HYDRA | Skyeward

Episode 16: Paradise Lost

***

Daisy woke with a sharp intake of breath, her heart already racing. For a moment she didn't know where she was — only that the images were still there, clinging to the inside of her skull like smoke that refused to clear.

Charles' face.
The rooftop.
Blood on concrete.
The sound of the wooden robin hitting the ground.

She lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling as the weight of it all pressed down on her chest. Sleep had barely touched her; every time she drifted, the vision dragged her back under. Exhaustion sat deep in her bones, heavier than any physical injury.

Beside her, Grant slept on his back, one arm flung out across the pillow where she'd been. His breathing was steady, even — the kind that came from someone who could still shut the world out when he needed to. Daisy watched him for a long moment, memorizing the rise and fall of his chest, the familiar lines of his face softened by sleep.

Guilt twisted in her stomach.

She moved carefully, inching out from beneath the covers so the mattress wouldn't shift. Her feet touched the cold floor, grounding her just enough to keep the tremor in her hands from becoming obvious. She paused, glancing back at him once more, half-expecting his eyes to open.

They didn't.

Good.

Daisy pulled on a hoodie, fingers brushing the small wooden bird on the bedside table. She hesitated, then picked it up, closing her hand around it like a talisman. The edges bit into her palm — a reminder she was still here, still real.

She slipped out of the room and into the quiet corridor beyond.

The base was still, dimly lit, humming softly with power and machinery. No voices. No footsteps. Just the low, constant thrum that never truly stopped. Daisy leaned against the wall for a second, pressing her forehead into the cool metal as she exhaled.

You were meant to save him.

The thought echoed unbidden — not cruel, just certain.

She straightened, jaw setting, and started down the hall. Whatever this was — the visions, the pull, the growing sense that something inside her was waking up — she couldn't let Grant see it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Because if she let herself lean on him now...

She wasn't sure she'd be able to walk away when the time came.

And somewhere deep inside her, beneath the exhaustion and the grief, something patient and familiar stirred — waiting.

***

Later that morning, the Malick family mansion stood quiet beneath a pale sky, its manicured grounds giving no hint of the rot beneath the surface. Gideon Malick stepped inside, shrugging off his coat as the front door closed behind him with a heavy, final sound.

"Hi."

Stephanie stood in the foyer, arms crossed, an odd brightness in her eyes that immediately put him on edge.

"You've been holding out on me," she said lightly.

Malick frowned. "We need to talk."

She waved him off, clearly amused. "You didn't tell me he was a looker. I don't know what I expected, but handsome was certainly not at the top of the list."

Malick froze. The air seemed to thicken around him. "Wait. Who— who are you talking about?"

"Our guest," Stephanie replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.