I’m dying.

You’ve said that six times in the last hour.

doesn’t look up from filing her nails That’s seven, actually. I’ve been counting.

sprawled upside-down on the couch We need a mission. A real one. I’m starting to think the world figured out how to be peaceful, and frankly, that’s an insult.

muttering Huh. That’s weird.

swiveling in his chair Weird how? Weird like alien invasion weird, or weird like Clint’s taste in movies weird?

indignant My taste is impeccable.

ignoring them, eyes narrowing at the screen There’s a SHIELD fugitive list that got dumped. Hacking forum. Old. Real old. But I’m looking at Number 23.

Y/n L/n. Age twenty-two. First SHIELD file opened when she was seventeen. Last sighting? Never. No confirmed alias. No confirmed face in the field since she was nineteen.

nail file stops Show me that.

chess piece forgotten What kind of fugitive?

scrolls Deep end. Assassination, corporate espionage, interference with international treaties, theft of classified materials… and a note from the Vicci family. Fifty million. Dead or alive. Dated three years ago.

slowly leans forward Fifty million on a nineteen-year-old.

swinging upright, suddenly very interested What’d she do to them?

looks up, eyebrows raised File doesn’t say. And that’s the part that makes me nervous.