The King: T'Challa.

Chapter 10: Zemo.

"She isn't going anywhere," Ross said flatly, his gaze fixed on Emily like a wall slamming shut.

The plan — if it could even be called one — was unraveling fast. Tony hadn't exactly thought through how to smuggle her out of the facility. Now here they were, standing in a crowded room of skeptics, trying to spin a cover story that was more threadbare than convincing.

Tony cleared his throat, offering Ross his half-baked justification about Hydra bases, but the secretary didn't budge. Emily exhaled, then stepped forward before the silence could calcify against them.

"If I may-"

The room turned toward her: Nat leaning against the wall, arms crossed; Vision impassive as stone; CIA agents poised with suspicion; and T'Challa, seated, composed but sharp-eyed. Ross gave a curt nod.

Emily began to pace slowly, her voice measured. "I am the only one in this room who knows the location of Hydra's remaining facilities. That much, at least, you can't dispute."

No one argued. A few exchanged wary glances, but no one spoke.

She continued, her tone sharpening. "Hydra has been dismissed as fractured, defeated, irrelevant. And yet... they've seeded conflicts across continents, murdered civilians, and manufactured killers to do their work. Right now, that threat should not be dismissed as background noise. It should be treated as priority one."

T'Challa straightened in his chair, his voice cutting cleanly through the air. "When you say 'manufactured killers,' Miss Cassidy..." His eyes locked on hers. "Do you mean yourself?"

The words struck harder than claws. Emily froze, just briefly, before finding her composure again. Did he see her as a monster? Did they all? Did she? The thought curdled in her chest.

Her answer came low but steady. "No, your Highness. I wasn't made one. I was born one."

A ripple passed through the room — surprise, discomfort, judgment. She forced her shoulders back, spine rigid, unwilling to flinch.

"I was angry long before Hydra found me," she continued. "Angry at the world, at the parents who left me with nothing. Hydra didn't invent that rage — they refined it. They gave it direction. I was already violent; they only taught me to aim."

Her eyes flicked briefly to Ross, then down to her hands. "And when they decided to make more like me, I was the one they chose to train them. Four Super Soldiers, more dangerous than Barnes ever was. If you want to call them monsters, then call me what I am — the monster who made them."

Her voice dropped quieter, heavy but firm. "Those soldiers are in cryo now, locked in a Hydra base you don't even know exists. I do. And if Zemo gets there first, if they wake, this will no longer be a question of treaties or oversight. Countries will fall in a night. You won't even see it coming."

Silence. Her words clung to the air like smoke.

Ross finally spoke, his tone like gravel. "So you admit you're the reason this problem exists."

Emily lowered her head, shame prickling at her skin, but she didn't deny it. "Yes."

Ross studied her, his arms crossed, fingers pressed thoughtfully against his chin. "And you're still willing to go against the people who raised you?"

Her reply was quiet, but unflinching. "They broke me. They stole me, remade me, and used me to kill. That's not something I will ever forgive. Helping to end them is the only thing that makes sense."

Before Ross could respond, Natasha's voice slipped into the space — low, even, but sharp enough to cut through the air.

"We've all got red in our ledgers," she said, her gaze fixed on Emily. "Some of us more than others. The only thing that matters now is what you do with it."