The Ghost [Marvel | Steve Rogers]

Chapter 1

Vienna, Austria

Spring 2015

As the last of her students filed out of the studio, each offering up a polite 'see you next week' as they went, Nadine retreated to the far end of the high-ceilinged room to the hallway that led to her office. As she passed, she flipped the breaker that shut off the main lights and power to the room, the green light on the stereo in the corner winking off as a final confirmation that the room was no longer needed for the evening. Only the dim safety lights remained on. If he needed to, the janitor could always turn them back on, but he generally didn't feel the need to, save on nights when the floor was treated.

It was only once she had closed the door to the office behind her that Nadine Ryker allowed herself to relax. With the most recent Showcase done with the week previous and the prospect of scouts and agents showing up for the newest round of talent searching in the approaching ones, it had proven a stressful few weeks.

But this week was over, and Nadine didn't have any sessions that required her personal attention until the following Wednesday. With a sigh she sank into the dark-stained oak desk chair, massaging her fingers along her hairline and back to the functional chignon on the back of her head, the touch bringing back a prickle of sensation to her nearly numb scalp. She was seriously debating putting off her daily exercise and just calling it a night. An evening on the couch in a set of old sweats sounded heavenly just now. Smiling to herself at the appeal of the idea, she pulled her phone with its white protective case out from the pocket of her forest-green wrap dress to message Nina with the proposal. Knowing her, she would definitely be on board with the idea, especially given how busy Nadine had been the last few weeks. It felt like forever since they'd been able to spend any real time together.

But a soft ping interrupted her thoughts, pulling her attention to her bag where it sat tucked away beneath her desk. Not quite in the mood for what she knew that ping meant, she was nevertheless impatiently curious, setting her phone down mid-message. If it was what she believed it to be, it would mean the end of weeks of researching and planning.

Reaching beneath the desk, she tugged the simple, grey leather bag toward her before settling it on her lap, flipping open the top and loosening the drawstring. In seconds she had the nondescript black phone retrieved from its hidden pocket and, after entering her passcodes and running the decryption software, she was retrieving the message that little ping had announced.

Weeks of research and hard work had indeed paid off and her contact had come through. There was an opening, a chance, that Nadine could take advantage of.

And she was never one to miss an opportunity. That's why she was so successful.

Tucking the phone away, Nadine leaned back in her chair again, sorting through her thoughts for a moment before pulling herself back to her feet to retrieve her jacket and switch her studio shoes for her boots.

Whiling the evening away on the couch was out of the question now. As was her nightly practice, it seemed. Not bothering to hide her groan of disappointment, as there was no one around to hear it, she picked up her personal phone from where she'd left it on the desk and erased the message she'd been in the process of typing out, replacing it with another: Something's come up for work. I might be out of touch for a couple of days. I'll be back as soon as I can. Love you, solnyshko.

The disappointed response that came back left Nadine's chest cramping with guilt; guilt for lying—even if it was by omission rather than outright lying—and guilt for having to leave at all. It wasn't even technically lying. It was her job that called her away, just not the work that Nina was aware of. Snatching up the grey bag, a small backpack, really, Nadine slipped around the desk, heading for the door.

Just as she was reaching for the antiqued handle, her white-clad phone buzzed again. Steeling herself for whatever Nina had responded with, she glanced down at the screen. The cramp in her chest eased, even if only slightly.

Love you too, Mom.

Feeling a little lighter given her daughter's tacit forgiveness, Nadine turned the cellphone off, setting it on the bookshelf to the right of the door.

Nadine hit the lights to her office as she slipped into the hallway, locking the door to the office and the front door of the studio as she passed through each. With that, she tucked her keys into her bag and began her descent down to the building's front entrance.

But with each step down toward the ground level from the second story ballet studio, the warmth Nina's message had inspired faded, almost feeling like it was taking Nadine with it.

By the time she emerged onto the street, the ballet mistress and mother was locked away, her mind turning toward the impending visit to her Workshop.

It was time to go kill someone.

And part of Nadine hated how her pulse thrummed in anticipation. But she couldn't deny this was who she was, who she was made to be. And she couldn't deny the addictive thrill of the hunt.

The Ghost had emerged.

And her target was finally in her sights.    

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