Hail HYDRA | Skyeward

Episode 17: The Team

***

The interrogation room was cold in that deliberate, institutional way—steel table bolted to the floor, mirrored glass, a single humming light overhead. Coulson sat across from Gideon Malick, hands folded loosely in front of him, prosthetic resting still against the metal surface.

Malick looked smaller than he had in his mansion. Not physically—but spiritually. Like something essential had been carved out of him.

"You had Rosalind Price killed," Coulson said evenly. No theatrics. No raised voice. Just fact. "I haven't decided what to do about that in the long run. But right now, I need to know—what is that thing parading around as Will Daniels?"

Malick didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted somewhere distant.

"Have you ever ridden Arabians?" he asked instead.

Coulson blinked once. "I'm not really the equestrian type."

A faint, almost fond smile tugged at Malick's mouth. "Magnificent horses. Beautiful. Strong. Nearly impossible to control."

He shifted in his chair, folding his hands together.

"Stephanie rode Arabians. My daughter." His voice softened at the word. "We were riding in the Tetons once. There was a rockslide up ahead. Her horse spooked—threw her clean off."

For the first time, emotion cracked through his composure.

"My heart stopped. I thought..." He swallowed. "But she got up. Calm as you please. Walked straight back to that animal and steadied it in a way that made me more proud than anything I'd ever done."

He looked up at Coulson.

"That was the day I told her about HYDRA. Brought her into the fold."

Coulson didn't flinch. "Where's Stephanie now, Gideon?"

The question landed like a blade.

Malick's jaw tightened. "I was foolish," he admitted quietly. "I thought I could bring back the HYDRA and guide it the same way Stephanie commanded that horse. That faith would tame it."

His eyes flickered, haunted.

"I taught her to believe in it as a god. And she did."

Coulson leaned forward slightly. "If you ever want to see her again—"

"He killed her!" Malick's voice broke, sudden and raw. His hands slammed onto the table before he seemed to realize he'd moved. "It cares nothing for us."

Silence hung thick between them.

Coulson's expression hardened. "Doesn't sound like a god."

Malick let out a hollow laugh, something brittle and frayed. He met Coulson's eyes, and whatever devotion had once lived there had been replaced with something darker—something like understanding.

"Oh, no, Mr. Coulson," he said softly. "It is a god."

His gaze didn't waver.

"It's just not ours."

***

The air in the interrogation room felt heavier now, like something unseen had settled between them.

Malick sat straighter, the grief still there—but sharpened into conviction.

"There is a reckoning coming," he said quietly. "You put your faith in the Inhumans, just as I did. It is a deadly mistake. They will all worship him."