The King: T'Challa.

Chapter 15: The Pursuit

So far, they had managed to keep themselves in the shadows. Okoye was stationed to the left, Nakia to the right, each blending into the crowd with the practised ease of hunters. T'Challa had taken the centre of the floor, his presence calm but unmistakably watchful. Emily lingered by the bar, nursing the anonymity of a drink in her hand. She ordered another, then wove discreetly through the crowd until she reached Nakia, pressing one of the glasses into her palm. They sipped slowly, eyes never truly leaving the casino floor.

"I thought there were no weapons allowed in here," Okoye's dry voice murmured through the earpiece.

Emily exchanged a look with Nakia.

"There aren't supposed to be," Nakia answered softly.

"Seems someone didn't get the memo," Emily muttered, scanning the room.

Klaue was dangerous even barehanded, but now he was armed, surrounded by eight men carrying enough steel to turn the casino into a slaughterhouse. It was only a matter of time before he noticed the Wakandans watching him. When he did, blood would follow.

Emily's gaze snagged on the doors as another six armed men filed in, casual but deliberate. A leaden certainty settled in her chest.

"Six more," she breathed. "It's a set-up."

"Enough waiting. We need to move on Klaue," Nakia pressed, her voice tight.

Emily felt the same fire rising, but T'Challa's voice cut through them both.

"Stand down. We cannot afford a shoot-out."

Okoye's agitation was plain even from across the room, though she held her position. She caught Emily's eye and Emily gave her a small nod, one which Okoye returned—though her jaw was tight with impatience.

At the centre table, Klaue laid the vibranium down like a prize. Everett Ross moved the case of money closer. The deal was being played out in front of them all, and still T'Challa hadn't moved. Emily's foot began to tap with restless energy.

"T'Challa," she said quietly, her patience thinning, "you'll need to make a move soon, or I will. Your choice."

"Stand down and wait for my signal, Agent," his voice came back, sharper now.

She exhaled through her nose, already shifting her weight as if preparing to act. Across the floor, Okoye hissed "Ukuma phantsi!" (stand down).

But Emily's motion had already drawn attention. One of Klaue's men barked, "Hey!" and started towards her.

Okoye didn't hesitate. She tore the wig from her head and flung it straight into the man's face, the distraction buying her the second she needed to drop him with a series of brutal strikes.

"I've been made," she spat into the comms.

And just like that, the room ignited. The word Wakandans was shouted, and the fragile pretence shattered.

Two men broke off towards Emily and Nakia. Nakia threw her a quick glance. Emily smirked in response, a silent pact passing between them. They met the first blows head-on, weaving through fists and gun barrels with ruthless precision. Minutes later, the floor around them was littered with unconscious bodies.

Emily barely had time to register the small surge of triumph before she caught the glint of steel behind Nakia. A gun raised. She lunged, dragging Nakia with her as the weapon discharged. Agony ripped through her thigh, the bullet finding its mark as they crashed over the railing and into a card table below. The wood splintered beneath them, the impact winding her so violently she couldn't breathe.