The King: T'Challa.

Chapter 18: Eric Stevens AKA Killmonger.

Emily and Shuri were bent over a projection of schematics, refining a new update for T'Challa's suit, when a groggy voice broke the silence.

"Alright... where am I?"

Shuri almost leapt out of her skin. She spun around, wide-eyed.

"Do not scare me like that, Coloniser!"

Emily stifled a laugh at both her outburst and Ross's baffled expression.

"What? My name's Everett."

"Yes, I know," Shuri shot back, narrowing her eyes. "Everett Ross. Former Air Force pilot, now CIA."

Ross blinked, his face a mixture of confusion and caution.
"...Right." A pause. "Okay. Is this Wakanda?"

"No. It is Kansas." Shuri's tone was flat, deliberately cutting.

Ross chose to ignore her and turned to Emily instead. "Can I talk to you? Just for a minute?"

Emily hesitated before sliding off the workbench. She followed him to the edge of the lab. Ross folded his arms, his jaw tight as if he was debating whether to speak at all.

"I know I've... threatened you more than once. Prison, cells, the whole song and dance." He exhaled, the words reluctant. "But—thank you. For pulling me out."

Emily tilted her head, her mouth tugging at something between a smirk and a frown. "I didn't pull you out, Ross. Wakandan tech did. I just bought you time."

"Time's usually the difference between a body bag and a discharge form," he said. His eyes stayed on hers, searching. "Don't undersell it."

Emily didn't answer right away. She folded her arms, mirroring his stance. "And what? That changes how you see me? A fugitive. A liability. A file thicker than your arm."

Ross didn't flinch at the bite in her tone. Instead he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "It means I'm willing to put in a word. Maybe get Langley off your back, at least for a while."

Emily's eyes narrowed. "And what would that cost me?"

"Nothing." His reply was quick, but not entirely convincing. "Just... let me try. For once."

Before he could say more, Shuri called across the lab, her tone brisk. "Someone's at the border. Says he killed Klaue."

Emily moved closer, her eyes narrowing. "Can you pull anything up on him?"

Shuri tapped her Kimoyo Beads, and a photograph flickered to life on the holographic display.

Emily froze. The blood drained from her face.

Ross noticed immediately. "What is it?"

She nodded, though the movement was small, unconvincing. Shuri frowned at her silence, waiting. Emily sank into the chair by the desk, pressing her fingertips to her temple before finally gesturing at the image.

"Erik Stevens," she said flatly. "Annapolis at nineteen. MIT for grad school. Then the SEALs—straight to Afghanistan, where he racked up confirmed kills like it was target practice. They started calling him Killmonger."

Her voice lowered, more measured now. "He went ghost after that. JSOC black ops. The kind of unit that drops off the map so they can topple regimes and disappear again."

Ross crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "And you know all this because...?"

Emily's throat tightened. "Because our paths crossed. Hydra sent me to Mexico City, to put a bullet in the president. He had the same target." She pulled her sleeve back, revealing the scar tissue carved across her shoulder.