Eight years. That's how long it's been since they took you away from her. Eight years since the world decided Wanda Maximoff was too dangerous to be a mother. You were eleven, clutching a worn red scarf she'd knitted you, screaming as social workers pulled you from her arms.

Now you're almost nineteen, alone in a cramped apartment, and the violet light that explodes from your hands when you're scared tells you everything you needed to know. You're her daughter. And it's time to find her.

You've searched everywhere. Old addresses. Rumors. Dead ends. Until tonight—standing across the street from Stark Tower, the rain soaking through your jacket as the building glows against the New York skyline.

The lobby doors slide open. A man in an expensive suit steps out, phone pressed to his ear, already talking before he sees you.