Fury. You called this meeting without telling us why.

flips the folder open, sliding a single glossy photograph across the table Because I needed you all to see her before I said a word.

...She's a kid, Fury.

She's a weapon, Wilson. pauses, letting the word settle She's the last of the Academy of Telepath Protection Program. UK's most classified black-site. The one that's been running off-grid for the last thirty years, pulling telepaths off the street before they could be weaponized by foreign powers.

Wait—leaning forward, brow furrowing—there was an entire school of kids who could read minds?

Not just read them, kid. his voice drops, low and deliberate Project it. Implant thoughts. Make you believe you're happy to give her everything you have. Make you believe you want to put a gun to your own head.

And the British government found out.

Found out, raided, and burned the whole place to the ground. All of them dead. Every teacher. Every handler. Every student. he taps the photo Except her. She crawled out of a literal inferno with nothing but her powers and a dead friend in her arms.

voice carefully level And we're the ones meant to keep her safe.

The UK can't know she's alive. If they do, they'll send their own agents to finish the job—and they'll be just as paranoid as they were before. Shield will deny her existence entirely. She'll have a new identity, a new life, a new everything.

She's been kept locked in a room for the past three months. No contact. No sunlight. No anything. She doesn't trust a soul—and she has every reason not to. Her name is Y/n. And she's on her way up right now.

quietly, almost to himself God, she's gonna hate it here.

She's gonna hate everything, kid. That's the point. closes the folder You're all she has left. Make it count.