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The compound was quieter than usual once training ended.
Not silent—never that—but subdued in the way a place gets when everyone is tired enough that their voices don’t echo as much.
The doors slid open and the Young Avengers spilled back inside in a loose cluster, still riding the leftover adrenaline from training. Boots hit the floor. Armor clinked. Someone dropped a piece of gear that clattered way too loudly in the open space.
“Okay, I’m just saying,” America said, tossing her jacket onto a chair, “if you know the portal’s unstable, maybe don’t jump through it headfirst.”
Eli shot her a look. “I was testing reaction time.”
“You were testing gravity,” America shot back.
Cassie groaned, rolling her shoulder. “I have a bruise in a place I didn’t know could bruise.”
Kate was already tugging her gloves off, bow slung over her shoulder. “That’s training. If you don’t ache tomorrow, we didn’t do our job.”
“Easy for you to say,” Cassie muttered. “You didn’t get stepped on by Hulkling.”
Hulkling lifted his hands defensively. “I said sorry!”
Kamala laughed as she stretched. “You say that like once a week.”
Riri set her helmet down with a thunk. “Next time, I’m adding padding. Or rules. Or both.”
Tommy zipped past the group in a blur, reappearing near the kitchen. “I’m starving. If there’s no food, I will riot.”
Billy followed at a normal walking pace, shaking his head. “You say that every time.”
“I mean it every time.”
Kate finally looked up from coiling her bowstring. “Everyone hydrate. We’re not doing another emergency room run because someone forgot water.”
Groans echoed in response.
Peter had been halfway through laughing when something pulled at him.
That sharp, electric prickle at the base of his neck.
He stopped dead.
“Uh,” Peter said slowly.
He stopped so suddenly Kamala nearly ran into him.
“…Okay, either you forgot your web fluid again,” Kamala said, “or—”
“Someone’s here,” Peter said.
Kate turned first. “What?”
Peter’s eyes swept the room, unfocused, like he was looking past walls. “Someone’s here.”
Cassie frowned. “Uh… yeah. All of us.”
“No,” Peter said, raising a hand. “I mean—someone else.”
America stiffened instantly. “Your little tingle went off like when a bird flew in here last time?”
“I don’t know, but it’s someone not a bird” he said. “They’re inside.”
Kate’s posture shifted immediately, leader mode snapping into place.
Weapons came up—not aggressively, but ready. A bow string drawn halfway. Repulsors humming softly. Kamala’s hands flexed.
The room went still.
Weapons came up—not aimed, but ready.
They moved as a unit, spreading out instinctively. The kitchen lights were on.
And sitting at the counter—legs crossed at the ankles, elbows resting casually on the marble—was a girl.
She looked young. Maybe.
Short hair. Neutral clothes. A dark backpack at her feet like she’d just gotten off a bus instead of infiltrating the most secure compound in the state.
She didn’t look surprised to see them.
She looked bored.
“Well,” she said lightly, “you’re late.”
Silence.
Kate was the first to speak. “Okay. Hands where we can see them.”
The girl raised both hands—slow, deliberate—resting them back on the counter.
“No need for weapons,” she said.
“Who are you?” Eli asked, shield lifting slightly.
Anya’s gaze flicked over each of them in rapid succession. Calm. Measuring.
“Well Eli Bradley I know who you guys are.” she said. “America Chavez. William Kaplan. Thomas Maximoff. Cassandra Lang. Kamala Khan. Riri Williams. Teddy Altman. Peter Parker.”
Her eyes flicked to Kate last.
“And last but not least the person who saved a dog in the middle of the street which I approve, Katherine Elizabeth Bishop”
“Leader. Allegedly.”
Every single weapon was now very much aimed at her.
“…Did she just full-name us?” Kamala whispered.
Anya shrugged. “You’re bad at security it’s easy to find.”
Riri bristled. “Hey—”
Kate stepped forward. “Okay. Cute trick. Who are you?”
The girl tilted her head, studying them like a puzzle already solved.
Anya leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. “I’m Anya.”
“That’s it?” Cassie asked.
“That’s all you get for free,” Anya replied.
America crossed her arms. “You break into our base, know our names, and you’re just… Anya?”
Anya’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
“Yes.”
Kate exhaled sharply through her nose. “You want to explain why you’re here before someone accidentally shoots you?”
Anya started laughing slightly. “You're funny Kate Bishop.”
Anya slid off the counter and picked up her backpack still laughing to herself.
“But sadly for the both of us I’m supposed to be here.”
Skepticism hit the room like a wall.
Eli scoffed. “According to who?”
Anya paused she don’t want to bare the name again.
“…Natasha Romanoff.”
The air changed.
Kate’s posture stiffened. Peter’s chest tightened. Even Billy and Tommy went quiet.
Kate recovered first. “Natasha’s dead so if it’s a lie it’s a terrible one.”
“I know,” Anya said flatly. “And I don’t lie Kate Bishop.”
Kate asked still skeptical. “So how exactly did she tell you?”
Anya shrugged. “Well clearly before she died. You know people say you’re smart but I’m starting to question.”
Cassie blinked. “You knew Natasha?”
“She left a letter,” Anya said. “Addressed to S.H.I.E.L.D. Conditional release. Young Avengers initiative. Tony Stark was involved in the early framework. You can call Samuel Thomas Wilson if you’d like. He’s aware.”
She said Sam’s full name like it tasted deliberate.
Peter flinched at the name of his late mentor Anya noticed. She knew the history.
Kate opened her mouth, then closed it. “You expect us to just take your word for that?”
“No,” Anya said. “I expect you to verify it.”
Peter hadn’t stopped staring.
Something about the way she stood—weight balanced, eyes always moving, back to a wall without ever actually facing it.
“You’ve been here before,” he said quietly.
Anya’s gaze slid to him.
“Good instincts,” she said. “You should trust those more.”
Kate didn’t miss that.
“You’ve been spying on us,” Kate said.
“Observing,” Anya corrected. “You’re loud.”
Kate bristled. “Excuse—”
Anya rolled her eyes and took a step back toward the hallway. “You can argue semantics all night. Doesn’t change the outcome.”
“What outcome?” Kamala asked.
“That when something goes wrong,” Anya said, already walking away, “you’ll want someone who doesn’t hesitate.”
Kate moved to follow. “You don’t get to just—”
“I’m not asking permission,” Anya said over her shoulder. “If there’s a mission, I’m in. If not, I’ll stay out of your way.”
She stopped at the hall entrance and glanced back once.
“I’ll be in my room.”
Cassie frowned. “You know where the rooms are?”
Anya didn’t answer.
She disappeared down the hall.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Kate stared down the hallway, jaw tight.
Somewhere, behind a locked door she hadn’t been given but took, Anya unpacked the few things she owned—already placed, already prepared—like she’d known this moment was coming for a long time.
Natasha had promised her a team.
She just hadn’t promised they’d like her.
Or she’d like them.
The room was white.
Too white.
No posters. No bedspread with color. No personal touches. Just four walls, a bare mattress, and the faint hum of the compound’s ventilation system. The kind of room meant for temporary occupants. Or detainees. She chose it on purpose, she wanted to stay as little as possible. Probably picking up extra solo stuff on the side but if the world was on the line she would maybe join the little team.
Anya sat on the floor with her back against the bed, knees pulled up, boots still on.
In front of her was the only thing S.H.I.E.L.D. had given her: a small gray box. Unmarked. Efficient.
She didn’t open it.
Instead, she reached into her backpack and pulled out the knife.
Natasha’s knife.
Balanced perfectly in her hand, familiar down to the last groove in the hilt. Fourteen years old. Last birthday. Last anything. Anya flipped it once, twice, catching it cleanly every time. The motion was muscle memory—automatic, grounding.
On the other hand everyone else was still shocked at what just happened
Kate didn’t wait for anyone to answer.
She stepped back out into the hallway, already pulling her phone from her pocket. The others followed instinctively—because if Kate Bishop looked like that, it meant something was either about to explode or already had.
“Okay,” Kate said, tapping the screen. “Let’s verify before we all collectively lose our minds.”
She put the call on speaker and hit Sam Wilson.
It rang once. Twice.
Tommy leaned against the counter. “Ten bucks says he answers with a dramatic sigh.”
Voicemail.
“Hey, this is Sam. I’m tied up right now—probably in a meeting or being yelled at by someone with a tie. Leave a message.”
The beep echoed way too loud in the quiet kitchen.
Kate stared at the phone like it had personally betrayed her. “…Seriously?”
Billy tilted his head. “Isn’t today the whole… New Avengers thing?”
Riri nodded. “Yeah. Press. Committees. ‘Why is the nickname your team named after a weather event’ conversations. Like Thunderbolts where did they get that from.”
Yelena told her about that yesterday when they went out for coffee complaining about another meeting she was forced to go to. Kate was to invested on why this girl angers her so much and also seems to slightly dislike her for no reason.
“Cool,” Kate muttered, hanging up. “So our one reliable adult is unavailable.”
Peter shifted on his feet. “He sounded… busy-busy last time I talked to him yesterday, when I was doing my daily report of the city.”
“Busy-busy enough to not answer a call about a mystery assassin teenager who broke into our base,” Cassie said.
America snorted. “Relatable.”
Kate exhaled slowly, visibly recalibrating. “Okay. Plan B.”
She scrolled again and hit another contact.
“Bruce Banner,” Eli read off her screen. “Oh, don’t Sam say to like never call him unless it was science related and Peter and Riri started saying words we don’t understand again?.”
Kate was to invested in an answer from Bruce to answer Eli.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
“Kate?” Bruce’s voice came through, slightly tinny. “Everything okay? This isn’t—wait, is this a ‘something’s on fire’ call?”
Kate winced. “No. Not on fire. Just… weird.”
“That’s somehow worse,” Bruce said. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a girl,” Kate said. “Name’s Anya. She broke into the compound, knows all our names, quoted Natasha Romanoff like she knew her personally, and claims she’s supposed to be here.”
There was a pause.
A long one.
Then Bruce said, “…Huh.”
That single sound made everyone straighten.
Bruce knew everything at least according to everyone else.
“Do you know her?” Kamala said.
“I know of her,” Bruce corrected. “The name came up recently. When we were reviewing Young Avengers expansion possibilities.”
Kate’s jaw dropped. “Expansion possibilities.”
Bruce continued, thoughtful now. “It wasn’t finalized. Natasha flagged it years ago—contingency-level. Very ‘if things go bad, trust this person’ energy. She was on our maybe list for a while since Natasha expressed that she wasn’t ready and still hurting. But I guess Sam or someone sent the message that yall finally need someone like Nat. Especially after your last mission your likeness is up but efficiency is low.”
Riri frowned. “And no one thought to mention this?”
Bruce sighed. “Natasha wasn’t exactly big on sharing personal files. Half her own stuff was encrypted with sarcasm. So I doubt we have anything more on file about her besides she was listed. Nat probably had waned to deliver the news herself to the kid but died before. When we all go into big battles we leave things for people if we you know… die.”
Bruce took a breath but spoke again, “she probably had it in there for a while. We’ve been talking about the young avengers initiative for years we just stopped because of you know… the blip.”
Peter swallowed. “So… she’s legit.”
“Yes,” Bruce said gently. “As far as I know.”
Kate rubbed her face with both hands. “She walked in, barely said anything, insulted our security, claimed a bedroom, and disappeared all with a attitude but not.”
“That… tracks,” Bruce said.
A pause between his next words.
“She sounds like Natasha,” .
Another pause.
Bruce cleared his throat. “I should probably tell you, the only other thing I personally know was Natasha was very specific about one thing.”
Kate looked up. “Which is?”
“That Anya doesn’t do well with authority she doesn’t choose,” Bruce said. “She wasn’t meant to be managed. She was meant to be… included.”
The word hung there.
Kate sighed. “Great. Love that for us.”
“Kate you just gotta let her warm up she’s red room. She’ll be fine. She just had a rough start to life like many of you have had.” Bruce spoke.
After they hung up, silence settled in again—this time heavier.
Cassie crossed her arms. “Okay but she’s still kinda scary, and just taking a room. Does she know we have better rooms on the other half of the building?”
“She didn’t even ask,” Tommy said. “Just—‘I’ll be in my room.’ Like excuse me, that’s my move.”
Riri shook her head. “It’s the confidence for me.”
Kate paced once, then stopped. “I don’t love being blindsided. I really don’t love someone claiming space without checking in.”
“Bruce is not wrong, though,” Eli said. “If Natasha vouched for her… I mean I trust his word it took all of us a bit to warm up. ”
Kate shot him a look. “I know. I just—” She cut herself off, exhaling. “I don’t like not knowing what she wants. Because if she wanted a team she would’ve expressed it differently. Trust me I know a red room trained assassin.”
Peter hesitated, then raised a hand slightly. “I can talk to her.”
Everyone looked at him.
“You?” Tommy asked. “Why you?”
Peter shrugged, awkward. “I mean I could try? She’s kinda scary but like I have my webs.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Kamala said.
“I mean it in a good way,” Peter said quickly.
Kate studied him for a second, then nodded. “Okay. But you’re not going alone. I have experience with a widow I’ll come.”
She pointed at Riri. “You.”
Riri blinked. “Me?”
“You read people,” Kate said. “And if she’s hiding tech or some bomb, you’ll know.”
Riri sighed. “Wow. I feel trusted and burdened.”
Kate gestured down the hall. “Let’s go not interrogate. Just… talk.”
Peter nodded, already heading toward the hallway. “We’ll be normal.”
Tommy snorted. “You? Normal?”
Peter shot him a look over his shoulder. “Emotionally normal.”
“That’s worse,” America called after him.
As Peter and Riri disappeared down the hall, Kate stayed behind, staring at the white corridor that had swallowed Anya whole.
“She really just walked in here,” Cassie said softly.
Kate nodded. “Yeah.”
Anya heard footsteps approaching outside her door but she paid no mind as she played with the knife
Knock. Knock.
Her hand stilled.
“Anya,” Kate called through the door. “We need to talk.”
She didn’t answer.
After a beat, the door opened anyway.
Kate stepped in first, arms crossed. Riri followed, eyes scanning the room like she expected more. Peter lingered near the doorway, expression unreadable.
Anya didn’t stand.
She didn’t look at them.
“So,” Kate said carefully, “we talked to Sam well Bruce but same thing..”
Anya flicked the knife shut. Click.
“And?” she asked flatly.
“And looked at files. Well like a few words they have nothing on you girl,” Riri added. “You’re legit.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Anya said.
“Didn’t you like break in to be here?” Riri asked.
Anya looked offended now looking up holding her knife pointing it at Riri
. “One I did not break in here im way too talented for that.” She noticed she put her knife up and lowered it slowly noticing Riris fear.
Kate felt like she’s heard someone say that before but she couldn’t remember.
“And two being here was her wishes and old Fury wouldn’t let me do any missions after being on this team was my assignment. I’m not on this team, I’m just here so Fury lets me do solo missions again and free housing.”
Kate frowned. “You’re part of the team.”
Anya looked at Kate sternly.
“No,” she said. “I’m not.”
Kate sighed, already tired. “That’s not really how this works. We train together. We debrief together. We—”
“I didn’t ask to be here,” Anya snapped.
The words came fast now, sharp enough to cut.
“She put my name on a list. Left me a note she didn’t even write herself. And then she died.” Her jaw tightened. “That’s not a choice. That’s abandonment.”
Kate stiffened. “Don’t say that about Nat—”
“You didn’t know her like I did. Just because you know another Widow doesn’t mean you know Natasha.”
The room went cold.
All Kate thought about was how did this kid know she knew widows.
Peter stepped forward. “Hey,” he said softly. “We’re not—”
“I don’t want a team,” Anya said, standing now. “Nat wanted one. Nat wanted everything to keep going like she didn’t just disappear. She knew she was going to that’s why I have that dumb box.” She said kicking the gray box next to her.
Riri crossed her arms. “So what, you’re just gonna walk?”
“I want to talk to Sam Wilson,” Anya said. “And I want off the roster after quick thinking it was wrong to walk through the unlocked door and horrible security system.” Anya specifically looked at Riri when talking about not breaking in and the bad security system.
Kate opened her mouth to argue.
Anya brushed past her instead.
Not hard. Not aggressive.
Just enough that Kate felt it.
Anya didn’t look back.
The door shut behind her.
Riri scoffed once she was sure Anya was gone. “Wow. Glad she’s leaving. She sucks anyway.”
Kate rubbed her temple. “What is her deal?”
Peter didn’t answer right away.
Because he knew.
He’d been there.
A box.
A pair of glasses.
A note that explained nothing.
A mentor gone. A world that kept moving anyway.
“She didn’t get closure,” Peter said quietly. “She got responsibility.”
Kate glanced at him. “You’re saying—”
“I’m saying there’s more going on than we see.”
Riri hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Fair.”
They headed back toward the living area.
The rest of the team was already there.
America leaned against the couch, arms crossed. “She walked out.”
Kate blinked. “You tried to stop her?”
“Yeah,” America said casually. “She said something in Russian. Didn’t sound friendly.”
Kate groaned. “Great.”
Kamala looked between them. “So… she doesn’t want to be on the team?”
“No,” Kate said. “She really doesn’t.”
Cassie frowned. “Then why come at all?”
Peter stared toward the hallway Anya had disappeared down.
“She thinks this is the last thing Nat left her,” he said. “And if she fails at it… that’s it.”
America tilted her head. “That’s… depressing.”
Kate exhaled. “Sam’s at the tower dealing with the New Avengers mess. Yelena told me it’s bad. And if he didn’t pick up the phone before I don’t think he’s gonna stop the meeting.”
Kamala winced. “So she’s walking into that.”
Peter swallowed.
“She’ll come around,” he said.
Kate raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
Peter nodded, even if he wasn’t.
“Because she doesn’t hate us,” he said. “She hates that she’s alone.”
, Anya now on a motorcycle drove toward an argument she didn’t want to have—with a man she barely trusted—carrying a knife that reminded her of everything she’d lost.
And for the first time since Natasha died…
She didn’t know where she was going to land.
She loved New York well all of her good missions happened there.
But Anya rarely acted on impulse.
When she did, it was usually calculated—directed at a target, sanctioned by a mission, clean and final. In and out. No attachment. No lingering.
Walking into the “New Avengers Tower”—the Watchtower, as Valentina liked to brand it—was not on any mission list she had ever accepted.
It was on her never list.
After Natasha died, Anya swore she would never set foot in places like this again. Towers built on legacy. Glass walls filled with ghosts she’s met. And now—now—Yelena lived here. Worked here. Slept here. Ate breakfast under the same roof as people who pretended they were heroes while calling themselves something new.
Anya didn’t want to be seen here.
Didn’t want to be recognized.
Didn’t want to risk the one thing she still controlled: distance.
She tugged the hood of her jacket lower as she crossed the rooftop perimeter, boots silent against steel. The city lights reflected off the tower’s glass like stars she’d never touch.
Her hair—once unmistakably familiar—was darker now. The roots dyed brown, uneven on purpose. Sloppy enough to look accidental. Enough to break the illusion.
Her face, though… that was harder.
She’d studied it in reflections long enough to know the truth. Ninety percent genetic match to the one she most avoided. Same bone structure. Same eyes. Same mouth. Only slight minor physical differences.
The scars helped.
One near her eye. One cutting faintly across her cheek. Small imperfections that made all the difference.
She was almost surprised Kate Bishop hadn’t noticed.
But she’d done a good enough job pissing her off that the clever archer—the one who was practically dating Yelena—hadn’t looked closely. Anger blurred things. Anya counted on that.
She counted on the fact that Kate didn’t notice that Yelena was her “mother” if she could call her that. More of just blood. Or one of the people she’s cloned to be like.
She slipped along the edge of the building and found what she’d already mapped out weeks ago: an upper-level window left unsecured during maintenance rotations.
A mistake.
One she exploited easily.
She slid inside and landed soundlessly in an empty storage room. Boxes stacked high. Old tech. Crates labeled and forgotten. The air smelled like dust and ozone.
She stayed still.
Listened.
Voices bled through the wall—raised, overlapping, sharp.
A conference room.
She recognized them immediately.
Sam Wilson’s calm, trying to anchor chaos.
John Walker’s edge, always defensive.
Valentina’s absence was loud—meaning this argument mattered.
Bucky Barnes spoke once. Quiet. Firm.
The argument dragged on.
New Avengers. Old Avengers. Jurisdiction. Accountability. Names that meant everything and nothing all at once.
Eventually, the volume lowered. Not peace—just compromise.
Anya exhaled slowly.
That was her window.
She reached into her jacket and pulled up the mask, covering the lower half of her face. Just in case.
Perfect timing.
The door slammed open.
Anya turned just as three figures stepped inside the storage room, drawn by the sudden spike in the alarm system she had—very stupidly—forgotten about. She didn’t care she wanted to be found. But it would’ve been better if she remembered.
Bucky Barnes.
Sam Wilson.
John Walker.
Great.
“Well,” Anya said lightly, lifting a hand in a small wave. “Hi.”
Guns came up instantly.
Sam’s shield wasn’t raised, but his stance was ready. Bucky’s metal arm flexed subtly holding a gun. John’s jaw clenched, already annoyed.
“Who are you?” Sam asked, voice steady.
“How did you get in here?” John snapped.
“Are you armed?” Bucky asked, eyes sharp, cataloging everything about her in seconds.
Anya smiled behind the mask.
“That depends,” she said. “Do emotional scars count?”
John took a step forward. “Cute. Answer the question.”
She tilted her head. “Which one? You asked three.”
Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You tripped a level-seven security alert. That’s not an accident.”
“Neither is your metal arm. It’s pretty cool by the way have you ever put stickers on it, brighten it up a little,” she replied calmly.
Sam raised a hand slightly. “Okay. Let’s slow this down. Name.”
She paused.
“Anya.”
John scoffed. “That’s it?”
“That’s what I’m offering.”
“Whose side are you on?” John pressed.
Anya blinked. “Today? Or in general?”
Bucky stepped closer. “Why were you listening to that meeting?”
She completely forgot they were having like a top secret netting that maybe that’s why they looked so angry on her breaking in. Nat told her a bit about Sam and Bucky and they aren’t acting how she said they would.
“Because it was loud,” she said. “And because I needed to talk to you. But don’t worry I don’t remember a word I did t come for your legal issues.”
Sam frowned. “About what then?”
“You,” she said looking at Sam. “Specifically.”
John’s grip tightened on his weapon. “You expect us to believe you just wandered into the Watchtower to have a chat?”
“No,” Anya said. “I expect you not to believe me Walker, but maybe Sam since he has more sense.”
That was when John lunged.
While Bucky and Sam looked like they were about to crack a laugh.
She could’ve stopped it.
Could’ve twisted out, disarmed him, vanished into the vents before Bucky even reached for her.
She didn’t.
She let them grab her.
Let Bucky’s metal hand pin her wrist. Let Sam move in. Let John snap the cuffs around her wrists with unnecessary force.
Cold metal clicked shut.
Anya didn’t resist.
Sam noticed. Of course he did.
“You’re not fighting,” he said quietly.
“I told you,” she replied. “I just want to talk then I’ll be out of your way.”
John scoffed. “Yeah? People who want to talk don’t break into towers.”
“People who want to be heard do,” Anya said. “And I didn’t break into the tower what is it with people saying I’m break into things I haven’t broken anything.”
Bucky studied her face, eyes lingering on the scars. The posture. The stillness.
“You probably know how to disable those cuffs,” he said suddenly.
Anya met his gaze with a laugh.
“Yes.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
She shrugged. “Because this gets me where I need to go faster.”
They exchanged looks.
John jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s move.”
They escorted her out of the storage room, alarms still echoing faintly through the tower.
Anya walked with them willingly, hands cuffed behind her back, expression unreadable.
She wasn’t here to fight.
She was here to talk.
And for once—
She was willing to be taken.
They didn’t take her to an interrogation room.
That alone told Anya everything.
The cuffs tugged uncomfortably at her wrists as they marched her into the common area, a wide open space meant for meetings, downtime, and post-mission noise. Not for this. Not for her.
“Great,” she muttered under her breath. “Audience participation.”
The room went quiet the moment she stepped in.
Every conversation stopped. Every head turned.
And there—standing near the counter, arms crossed, posture loose but alert—was the one person Anya had spent years making sure never saw her face.
Yelena Belova.
Anya’s stomach dropped.
Of course.
She was shoved into the chair before she could fully clock the shift in the room—hands on her shoulders, pressure at her wrists, the sharp click of cuffs locking around metal.
Cold bit into her skin.
Anya leaned back anyway, shoulders settling, chin lifting like defiance was muscle memory. Her eyes moved—slow, precise—cataloging exits, angles, people. Even restrained, she was calculating.
“Alright,” Sam said calmly, stepping into her line of sight. His voice was even, practiced. Captain America calm. “Let’s start with why you’re here.”
Anya let out a single laugh. Short. Flat. No humor in it at all.
She dragged her gaze around the room like she was reading a list only she could see.
“Ava Starr,” she said, nodding once toward Ghost.
“Robert… Bob… Reynolds.” Her eyes flicked to Sentry, assessing, lingering just long enough to clock the instability behind the stillness.
“Alexei Shostakov.”
“John Walker.”
“James Buchanan Barnes.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened.
Then—
“Sam Wilson.”
Her eyes paused.
Not long. Just enough to mark him.
Then her gaze slid again.
“…Yelena Belova.”
The name came out quieter. Not softer—just wrong. Like it didn’t fit in her mouth.
The room felt it.
Yelena did too.
Anya saw the flicker—barely there—in Yelena’s posture. A tightening. A breath held half a second too long.
John scoffed loudly, breaking the moment. “Congratulations. You can read. All of that’s public record.”
Anya turned her head toward him slowly. Measured.
“True,” she said easily.
Then she tilted her head the other way, eyes sharp. “You finalized your divorce three months ago. Joint custody. Alternating weekends. You still haven’t unpacked your kid’s room at the new place.”
John went rigid.
The room snapped to him.
“What did you say?” he growled, stepping forward.
Yelena reacted instantly, grabbing his arm and yanking him back. “Enough. She’s a kid,” she snapped. “Someone sent her.”
Anya’s head whipped back to Yelena.
“No one sent me.”
The words came fast. Too fast. Defensive in a way that betrayed more than she wanted.
Sam frowned slightly. “You said your name was—”
“Anya,” she cut in. Sharp. Final. “That’s all you get.”
Sam held her gaze, unflinching. “And you broke into the Watchtower to—what? Make a point?”
Anya exhaled through her nose, irritated. “To ask you to remove me from the Young Avengers.”
Silence slammed into the room.
Even Bob blinked.
“…What?” John said.
Sam stared at her for a beat longer than anyone else. Then his confusion shifted—something clicking into place.
“Oh,” he said slowly. “Right. Natasha’s addition. I got a text from Bruce earlier. And a missed call from Kate.”
Anya’s head dropped back against the chair with a dull thud.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “That.”
Her jaw tightened. “So—like—take me off.”
Sam stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You were one of the first and only names she submitted. Besides Peter from Tony. Back when there were barely any enhanced kids to begin with.”
That landed.
Anya’s breath caught—just barely. Half a second. Enough.
Her fingers curled involuntarily against the cuffs.
She hadn’t known that.
Her eyes flicked away, then back, too quick—mask snapping back into place.
“Well,” she said briskly, forcing the words out like they didn’t matter, “pull me off it.”
Sam studied her now. Really looked.
“And you broke into one of the most secure buildings on the planet,” he said quietly, “just to ask me that in person.”
Anya shrugged, shoulders stiff. “Didn’t think you’d pick up the phone.”
Yelena hadn’t taken her eyes off Anya since the name had been said.
Noticed the way her voice shifted when Natasha came up.
The way she deflected.
The way her hands clenched.
Sam followed Yelena’s line of sight, then looked back at Anya.
“You know,” he said carefully, “Natasha added you for a reason. You’re what like 15 now you were about 4 or 5 when she put your name down.”
Anya’s jaw flexed.
“I know… Just take me off the team..”
She didn’t know that. She was so unstable how could Natasha put her name on that list. She believed in her when she was t at her lowest?
It came out softer than anything she’d said so far.
Too soft.
And that was when Sam knew—whatever this was, it wasn’t just about a team.
Sam hesitated. “I mean… sure. If that’s what you want—”
“Wait.”
Yelena stepped forward, eyes narrowed, curiosity sharp now instead of dismissive.
“How do you know my sister?”
Anya didn’t look at her. “I can’t say.”
Yelena tilted her head. “You can say whatever you want.”
“I don’t want to.”
That earned her a long, searching look.
Bucky cleared his throat. “Yelena. Let it go.”
Yelena did—but her eyes never left Anya.
“You know,” Yelena said quietly, “if Natasha wanted you on that team, then be on that team. Honor her wishes at least she gave you some to honor.”
That one landed.
Hard.
Anya’s jaw clenched, every muscle in her body tightening at once.
She didn’t respond.
The elevator dinged behind them.
All heads turned.
Peter stepped out first, fully suited, mask on like he hadn’t had time to think. Kate hovered behind him, visibly unsure if she should even be there. Riri followed last, arms crossed, expression screaming I was dragged into this.
Sam sighed deeply. “Why are all the kids here.”
Kate bristled. “I’m not a kid. And we’re like the oldest in the young avengers.”
“We’re here for Anya,” Peter said. “She should come back.”
Riri stopped short when she noticed the cuffs. “…Why is she tied to a chair?”
Kate finally looked around and registered the room.
“Oh,” she said weakly. “Hi. Everyone.”
Ava laughed softly. “You might want better control over your Young Avengers, Captain.”
Anya had heard enough.
With an annoyed groan, she twisted her wrists once.
Click.
The cuffs dropped open.
Everyone stiffened.
“Relax,” Anya snapped. “I’m not killing anyone… today.”
She stood. “Fine. I’ll be on the team. Everyone happy?” She gestured to Yelena.
No one answered.
She turned and grabbed Kate by the sleeve, Peter by the arm, and Riri by the jacket, hauling all three of them toward the elevator.
“We’re leaving,” she muttered. “Now.”
The doors slid shut behind them.
Only then did she breathe.
The elevator hummed quietly as it descended.
Riri glanced at her mask. “Why are you wearing that?”
“Because,” Anya said flatly.
Peter hadn’t stopped staring.
His head turned slightly—just enough to look back toward where Yelena had been standing before the doors closed.
Then back to Anya her mask was still on but he clocked the familiar look.
Something clicked.
Anya saw it instantly.
“No.”
Peter opened his mouth.
“No.”
Riri blinked. “What was he gonna ask?”
Peter tried again. “I was just—”
“No,” Anya snapped.
Kate frowned. “Okay, what is happening?”
Anya leaned closer to Peter, eyes sharp. She said something low and fast in Russian.
Then, in English:
“If you ask that question, you will never see the light of day again.”
Peter held up his hands. “Lips sealed.”
Then quieter, “But you’re gonna have to tell them eventually. It’s… kind of obvious.”
Kate and Riri spoke at the same time.
“What’s obvious?”
The elevator dinged.
Garage level.
Anya didn’t answer.
She marched them straight to the auto-drive car they’d arrived in and yanked the door open.
“Get in,” she said.
They did.
The engine hummed to life as the garage lights flickered past.
And Anya stared straight ahead—mask still on—praying the distance would be enough before someone else noticed what Peter already had.
The common area stayed quiet for a few seconds after the elevator doors slid shut.
Too quiet.
Sam rubbed a hand over his face and let out a long breath. “I swear,” he muttered, “the Young Avengers don’t arrive anywhere. They just… appear.”
Ava leaned back against the counter, amused. “Like raccoons. You turn around and suddenly they’re in your kitchen.”
Sam shot her a look but didn’t deny it. “I’ve met a raccoon they are nothing like them. They’re supposed to check in. Coordinate. Not storm the tower because one of them feels like it.”
“They’re kids,” Bucky said calmly, arms crossed. “Talented, reckless kids—but still kids. They’ll learn.”
John scoffed. “If they don’t get themselves killed first. And what was the deal with the new one.”
Bucky’s eyes flicked to him. “You didn’t exactly have a great learning curve either and you were on her tail from the beginning it was only fair she got a jab at you..”
John clenched his jaw but said nothing.
Yelena hadn’t moved.
She was still standing where the girl had been—Anya, she’d said—eyes unfocused, replaying the scene over and over in her head.
“Sam,” she said finally.
Sam looked over. “Yeah?”
“What do you know about the girl.”
He hesitated. “Not much. S.H.I.E.L.D. file was thin. She was… Natasha’s addition. One of the first Young Avengers candidates. Nat found her during cleanup after a Red Room operation. That’s it. Only stuff on her file. She never talked about the kid until we had the conversation about the Yonug avengers YEARS ago.”
Yelena’s expression tightened. “That is not ‘it. There has to be more. Maybe that’s why she didn’t give a last name. She sounded familiar too.”
Ava chuckled. “You noticed it too, huh?”
“Noticed what?” Sam asked.
“She sounds like you,” Ava said, nodding toward Yelena. “Same tone. Same bite. Like she learned English by threatening people. Same extra sass.”
John frowned. “Yeah. Thought that too. Kid talked just like you.”
Yelena froze. The girl sounded familiar but like her… how didn’t she notice.
She hadn’t wanted to admit it—but now that they said it out loud, she couldn’t unhear it.
The cadence.
The sharp humor.
The way she rolled her eyes instead of raising her voice.
Even the way she’d said Natasha’s name.
“…She did,” Yelena said slowly.
Bucky studied her. “I was thinking red room or something but now that sam confirmed it my suspicions of the kid are done.”
“I am thinking she smelled like it, but red room took young kids but 4 or 5 when Natasha just found her and she screams red room still she must have been born there.” Yelena replied. “Moved like it. And she looked at me like she knew me. Natasha probably told her. But never told me about her.”
Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Yelena—”
“She lives with the Young Avengers now, yes?” Yelena asked.
Sam nodded. “At the compound.”
Yelena turned toward the window, jaw set.
“Then I will ask Kate Bishop,” she said. “Casually.”
Ava smiled. “Sure. Casually.”
Yelena didn’t smile back.
Something about the girl had been wrong.
Familiar.
And Yelena Belova did not like mysteries that wore her face.
The drive back was quiet.
Not peaceful—just tight. The kind of silence that pressed in on your ears.
City lights slid across the windows as the car moved on auto-drive. Kate gripped the wheel a little too hard. Riri stared out the windshield, pretending she wasn’t listening. In the backseat, Peter kept glancing sideways.
At Anya.
Not staring. Just… checking. Like he was waiting for a crack in the armor.
He finally caught her eye and gave her the look.
The one that said: You should tell them.
Anya groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh, for—” She muttered something in Russian, then louder, “Fine.”
Kate glanced back. “Fine what?”
Anya shot Peter a glare. “Ask your question, Parker.”
Peter straightened. “…Can you take off your mask?”
The car felt smaller.
Anya hesitated for half a second—then reached up and pulled it down.
Peter’s breath caught.
Yeah, his brain confirmed grimly. I was right.
Kate leaned over her seat, squinting. “Okay…? And?”
Riri turned around—and froze.
Her eyes widened. “No way.”
Kate frowned. “What? Why are you freaking out?”
Riri stared between Anya and the road ahead like she’d just seen a glitch in reality. “No. Nope. Absolutely not.”
Kate threw her hands up. “What does everyone see that I don’t?”
Riri opened her mouth.
“Don’t,” Anya snapped. “Give her ten seconds. If she doesn’t get it, then you can talk.”
Peter blinked. “Kate, I genuinely don’t know how you don’t—”
“Peter,” Anya warned.
Kate groaned. “Oh my god, someone just say it.”
Riri snorted, unable to help herself. “She looks like your freaking girlfriend—but more badass.”
Anya nodded once. “Thank you.”
Kate froze.
“…Oh.”
Her eyes widened.
“Oh my—oh my god.”
The car exploded.
“Is she—?”
“Are you—?”
“That’s impossible—”
“Are you her sister?!”
“No,” Anya said sharply. “Stop. All of you.”
They quieted—instantly.
“You don’t tell anyone,” Anya continued. “Not Sam. Not the team. Not Yelena. Not anyone. If people figure it out on their own, that’s on them. But if you say a word—”
She met each of their eyes, one by one.
“I will kill you.”
Silence.
“…Okay,” Peter said immediately.
“Yep,” Riri added. “Lips sealed.”
Kate swallowed hard. “…Yeah. I believe you.”
Anya leaned back against the seat. “I’m not her sister. I’m basically a clone. Ninety percent. The rest is… some very loyal, very smart Russian scientist.”
Riri’s eyes lit up despite herself. “That’s actually insanely cool.”
Peter nodded. “Yeah. Horrifying, but cool.”
Kate looked like she might pass out. “I am dating your mom.”
Anya shrugged. “You already were.”
Kate turned around fully. “I’m so sorry.”
Anya waved it off. “I knew. I’ve been keeping tabs on her since Nat died. We were both kind of on… parallel depressed killing sprees.”
That earned her three concerned looks.
“When I saw she was okay,” Anya continued quietly, “I left. Worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. for a year. And now…”
She gestured vaguely.
“…here we are.”
The car rolled on through the dark.
No one spoke.
But this time, the silence felt different.
The doors to the compound slid open with a familiar hiss, warm light spilling out into the entryway.
Laughter hit them first.
Music hummed low from a speaker somewhere. The smell of grease, cheese, and something vaguely burned filled the air. Boxes of pizza were stacked on the table like a trophy display, and half the team was already mid-argument about toppings.
“—I’m saying pineapple is a choice,” Kamala insisted, waving a slice around. “Not a crime.”
Tommy snorted. “It is absolutely a crime.”
Billy glanced up when the door closed behind the returning group. “Hey—you’re back!”
Cassie perked up instantly. “Did you talk to Sam? Is everything okay?”
Riri slipped her jacket off, expression unreadable. Kate looked… tired. Peter was quieter than usual.
And Anya—
Anya didn’t stop.
She stepped inside, took one look at the room, and walked straight past everyone without saying a word.
The laughter faltered.
Kamala turned slowly. “Uh… did we do something?”
Anya didn’t answer. She headed down the hall, boots echoing once, twice—then disappearing around the corner.
The door to the hallway slid shut behind her.
Silence settled awkwardly over the room.
“…Okay,” Tommy said. “So that’s a ‘no’ on pizza.”
Kate cleared her throat. “She’s on the team.”
Every head snapped toward her.
Cassie’s eyes widened. “Wait—really?”
Kamala blinked. “She didn’t quit?”
Riri nodded. “She decided not to.”
Billy frowned. “She didn’t look like she decided anything.”
Tommy leaned back on the couch. “She looked like she lost a fight.”
Kate waved it off quickly, too quickly. “That’s just… how she is.”
Kamala tilted her head. “That’s her happy?”
Kate spoke the words slipping. “…Yeah if she’s anything like-“
Riri jumped in cutting off Kate who was about to basically get herself killed. “-Black widows, yeah shes red room trained!”
Kate immediately tried to play it cool and nodded in agreement as Riri went on. “She just wanted answers. Stuff Sam couldn’t give her. About why she’s here. About why Natasha chose her.”
“Close one almost got us killed there,” Peter whispered to Kate as he passed by her to go to the pizza boxes.
Riri's explanation sobered the room.
Cassie softened immediately. “Oh.”
Billy nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
Kamala hugged her slice closer to her chest. “That’s… actually really sad.”
Tommy glanced down the hallway. “Should someone check on her?”
Peter, who had already grabbed a slice of pizza out of sheer habit, froze mid-bite.
Riri looked at him.
Kate looked at him.
Everyone looked at him.
Peter swallowed. “…Why are you all looking at me?”
Riri raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re the one she didn’t threaten.”
“That’s not true,” Peter protested. “She threatened me once and all of us once that’s two.”
Kate smirked. “Fine but she seems to hate me and we all know Riri doesn’t want to .”
Peter looked around the room seeing Riri shake her head when he gave her pleading eyes to go see if Anya was ok.
Peter opened his mouth to argue—then closed it knowing one of them had to go see if she was ok since the others didn’t know about the Yelena situation.
“…Okay, fine.”
He took another bite of pizza, chewing slowly as if hoping that would somehow exempt him from responsibility.
Riri rolls her eyes at Peter stalling. “Bro we meant like now before she blows this place up. You also have superpowers and I'm not ruining my suit.”
Peter glanced down the hall. “…she’s threatening.”
“I would go,” Kamala said brightly. “But I don’t know what even happened.”
Peter sighed. “You’re all terrible. Mainly Kate and Riri.”
Kate crossed her arms faking being hurt. “Owch dude, this is how you treat the person who got you to ask out Mj?”
Peter rolled his eyes and looked at the pizza in his hand.
Then back down the hallway.
“…I’ll just—check. Real quick if I die and get mauled Kate tell Mj Ned CANT have my suit.”
He set the slice down, wiped his hands on a napkin, and headed off before anyone could add commentary.
As he disappeared the group went back to talking and eating pizza, Kate watched him go, unease creeping into her expression as she walked to grab a slice of pizza.
Riri leaned closer. “You okay?”
Kate nodded. “Yeah. I just—”
She glanced down the hall again.
“…I see why she kinda hates me now.. I hated my moms boyfriend. ”
Riri shook her head. “I still wonder to this day how you two are together like she’s at the top of the pyramid and you’re like not even on it.”
“Ok so my friends just hate me. I see how it is.” Kate laughed now joining the team as they talked about some new group on the streets.
Peter jogged down the hallway, sneakers barely making a sound against the polished floor.
“Anya,” he called out, slowing as he reached her door. “It’s me. Peter.”
He lifted his hand to knock—
Danger.
His spider-sense exploded.
The door cracked open and a knife came flying straight at his face.
“WH—”
Peter reacted on instinct, catching it inches from his nose. His heart slammed so hard he thought it might punch through his ribs.
“Oh my—okay, wow,” he breathed. “Hi to you too.”
“Give it back,” Anya said flatly.
She stood a few feet away, posture loose but ready, eyes sharp. The room behind her was dim, bare—just a bed, a box, and walls that told a violent story.
Peter glanced over her shoulder.
The door was destroyed.
Deep grooves, punctures, slashes—knife marks everywhere, overlapping like she’d been counting time with them.
“Uh… no,” Peter said, holding the knife away from her. “I’m keeping this. Also, your door has had enough.”
Anya rolled her eyes. “It’s a bad door.”
“You could’ve seriously hurt someone,” Peter said, voice still a little breathless.
“I knew it was you,” she replied calmly.
He blinked. “You… what?”
“Your footsteps are lighter,” she said. “And you hesitate outside doors. Riri cares but hates confrontation—she’d wait. Kate would knock and talk first.” Her gaze flicked back to him. “You always say yes that’s why they had you come check on me.”
Peter opened his mouth, then closed it.
“…Okay,” he admitted. “That’s unsettling.”
He held the knife more carefully now. “Why did you say yes to being on the team if you don’t want to be on it?”
Anya didn’t answer right away.
She moved past him and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor like it had personally offended her.
“That was the first time I’ve seen Yelena up close,” she said quietly. “Since… ever.”
Peter leaned against the wall, giving her space.
“I didn’t want to let Natasha down by not being on this team,” Anya continued. “ I didn’t want to let the—” She stopped, jaw tightening. “—the only person to treat me like a parent down.”
“Not to mention Yelena. Telling ME to honor Natasha’s wishes because Natasha left either of us nothing only her death. At least I got something she really got NOTHING.” She laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Yelena didn’t even know I existed. And somehow that hurt more than if she had and told me to stay on this team.”
Peter nodded slowly.
“I get that,” he said. “Tony did something similar. In a different way, but… still.”
She looked up at him.
“He was kind of my parent figure in this superhero world,” Peter went on. “Even though I had Aunt May. He had plans for me—big ones. Stuff he never told me until he was gone I found them out myself.”
He swallowed.
“Suddenly I was carrying the Stark legacy. The glasses. The expectations. Like I was supposed to be Iron Man. Like I was supposed to be him.”
Anya watched him closely.
“I’m just Spider-Man,” Peter said quietly. “And all that pressure? It broke me.”
His voice dropped. “I made the world forget me. Everyone I loved forgot who I was. Or they died knowing me.”
The room fell silent.
Anya looked at the knife in his hand.
Then at the small gray box in the corner.
“…Do you still have the glasses?” she asked.
Peter shook his head. “No. I—uh—kind of gave them to a supervillain. And the Ai doesn’t remember me.”
She scoffed softly. “Of course you did.”
Then she stood.
She stepped closer, eyes steady now, resolved.
“Peter,” she said. “I need you to do something for me.”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah,” he said. “What is it?”
—-
Yelena was half-curled into the corner of the couch, shoes still on, feet propped up on the coffee table like she owned the place—because, lately, she kind of did.
The movie played in the background.
Maze Runner.
Bob sat on the other end of the couch, leaning forward a little too much, clearly invested.
“This part is better in the book,” he muttered.
Yelena smirked without looking away from the screen. “Of course it is. You people always say this.”
“It is,” Bob insisted. “They explain why the maze shifts.”
“They are trapped in giant death maze,” Yelena replied dryly. “That is explanation enough.”
The elevator dinged.
Then—
FWIP.
Webs shot across the room in a blur of white.
Bob yelped. “What the—”
Yelena was on her feet instantly, hand sliding toward the blade hidden at her hip. “If this is another surprise visitor, I swear—”
She stopped.
Laughter bubbled out of her instead.
A piece of paper was webbed neatly to the wall. The elevator doors were open, and inside, hanging from the ceiling by thick strands of webbing, was a small box swaying gently.
Bob stared. “…Is that normal?”
Yelena walked closer, peeling the paper off the wall and squinting at the handwriting.
“I can’t say.
I don’t want to say.
Not yet.
But you want to know—so this is the only things I can give.”
Yelena frowned slightly. “That is… dramatic.”
She flipped the paper over.
Different handwriting.
“Hey, it’s Peter. Did a delivery. This is from Anya but she didn’t want to write it was from her.”
There was a tiny spider doodled in the corner.
Yelena snorted. “Young Avengers,” she said fondly. “Always extra.”
Bob stood, pausing the movie automatically. “What is it?”
Yelena carefully lifted the box down, testing the weight. “From the girl who broke into tower earlier.”
Bob’s eyebrows shot up. “The angry one? You think it’s a bomb?”
Yelena considered that for a second. “Normally, yes, I would assume bomb.”
She tilted the box slightly, listening.
“But Spider-Boy does not deliver bombs,” she added. “And I trust Kate Bishop’s team.”
That was only… mostly true.
She opened the box.
Two photographs lay on top.
The first made her breath catch.
Natasha—soft, relaxed, happy—had an arm slung around a little girl wearing a mask that covered the bottom half of her face. The girl’s eyes were smiling. Her posture loose. Comfortable. The little girl looked to be Anya.
The litte girls hair was blonde.
The same shade as Yelena’s.
Natasha had a smile on her face, it was bright and alive.
Yelena swallowed. “…Nat.”
Bob leaned closer. “Dang the girl from earlier really grew up.”
Yelena didn’t answer.
She lifted the second photo.
Her hands froze.
It was old. Worn at the edges.
Natasha and Yelena as children.
A picture Yelena had thought lost forever.
“How…” she whispered. “How did she get this?”
Bob watched her carefully. “Yelena?”
She reached back into the box with trembling fingers.
The last item rested at the bottom.
A knife.
Small. Balanced. Deadly.
Just long enough to hit something vital. Just small enough to disappear in a sleeve.
Natasha’s kind of knife.
Yelena closed her hand around it slowly.
The room felt very quiet.
The maze runners on the screen were still frozen mid-escape.
“…The girl,” Yelena said softly. “She did not just remind me of myself.”
Bob said nothing.
Yelena stared at the knife, something heavy settling in her chest.
“She brought me pieces of my sister,” she murmured. “And she did not even show her face.”
Yelena didn’t even say goodbye to Bob.
She was already halfway down the hall, knife still in her hand, flipping it once, twice, muscle memory keeping it spinning as her brain ran ahead of her body.
Questions stacked on questions.
She stopped short in front of her father’s room and knocked once before pushing the door open.
Alexei sat exactly where she expected him to be—on the bed, leaning forward, eyes glued to an old, bulky television that hummed softly like it might give out any second. The thing looked painfully out of place among the sleek glass and metal of the tower.
“You know,” Yelena said immediately, “there are screens in this building that do not weigh more than small car.”
Alexei didn’t look away. “This one has soul.”
“It has static.”
“Character,” he corrected.
Yelena crossed the room in three quick steps. “Did you know a girl named Anya?”
That got his attention.
He muted the TV and turned to her. “Anya?”
“Yes. Russian. Teenager. Trained. Dangerous. Broke into tower like she was bored,” Yelena rattled off, gesturing with the knife without realizing it. “Did you know her?”
Alexei squinted, digging through decades of memories. “No. I would remember.”
“Red Room?” she pressed. “Any experiments? Any secret trainees? Any—”
“Yelena,” he interrupted, more serious now. “I was in prison by the time a child that young would have been born. And Anya is not uncommon name, but no—I knew no girl like that.”
Yelena exhaled sharply through her nose. “Okay. Fine.”
Alexei studied her face. “Why because of Natasha?”
“She knows Natasha,” Yelena said, already turning away. “That is problem.”
She didn’t wait for a response.
The knife flipped again as she walked, adrenaline keeping her moving. She reached her room, shut the door behind her, and immediately pulled out her phone.
Kate picked up on the second ring.
“Hey—”
“Do you know anything about the girl?” Yelena said, pacing. “Anything real. Not vibes. Facts.”
Kate paused. “Yelena, slow down.”
“No.”
Kate sighed. “Okay. What happened?”
“She had Spider-Boy deliver package,” Yelena said quickly. “Gabe things that says she knows things. About Natasha. About me. Things she should not know if she was some random girl. And I do not know her. At all.”
There was a beat.
“…Yeah,” Kate said carefully. “That tracks.”
“What tracks?” Yelena snapped, stopping mid-step.
“I tried to pull a file on her a few minutes ago to get more info about the new addition,” Kate admitted. “There’s nothing. No SHIELD. No Red Room records. No paper trail. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”
Yelena ran a hand through her hair. “Natasha erased a child.”
“Looks that way.”
“Why?” Yelena demanded. “She told me everything else. The widows. The cleanup. Who was missing. Who needed saving. She gave me all of that.”
Kate stayed quiet, letting her talk.
“She trusted me,” Yelena continued. “But she hid this? From me?”
“Yelena,” Kate said softly, “Nat didn’t want anyone looking for Anya clearly . Including you.”
Yelena scoffed. “Natasha hid Anya from me, her own sister.”
“You were gone five years,” Kate said gently.
“And before that?” Yelena shot back.
Silence.
Then Yelena said, quieter but sharper, “The girl was trained. I know it. Red Room does not just… leave marks like that by accident. But she’s also so young.”
“I believe you,” Kate said. “But if Nat hid her, she had a reason.”
“Then why put her on superhero team?” Yelena asked. “Public. Loud. Everyone watching.”
Kate hesitated. “Maybe Natasha didn’t think she was going to die.”
The words hit.
Yelena stopped pacing.
“…That is very irritatingly logical,” she muttered.
Kate gave a small, sad laugh. “She probably thought she’d explain it later.”
“But she didn’t,” Yelena said flatly.
“No,” Kate agreed. “And Anya? All she talks about is wanting answers.”
Yelena frowned. “She does?”
“Constantly,” Kate said. “She wants answers she can’t get.”
“…We have this in common,” Yelena said slowly.
Kate smiled despite herself. “Yeah. You do.”
Yelena inhaled, sharp and fast. “I love you.”
Kate blinked. “I—love you too?”
The call ended before Kate could say anything else.
Yelena slid the knife back into her pocket and headed for the elevator. The doors closed around her, trapping the silence.
She rode it down to the gym.
The moment the doors opened, she wrapped her hands, shoved her headphones on, and stepped up to the punching bag.
The first hit landed hard.
Then another.
She didn’t slow down.
Anya swore she wasn’t going to step foot in the tower again.
Not after earlier.
Not after the looks.
Not after her.
She hadn’t even wanted Peter to do the delivery. The idea of something connected to her—to Natasha—ending up in that place made her chest feel tight, like she’d miscalculated a jump and gravity was catching up too fast.
But promises were easy to make when you were numb.
They were harder to keep when the ache started crawling under your skin.
Natasha wasn’t coming back.
That truth didn’t hit all at once. It never had. It came in waves—sharp, then dull, then sharp again when Anya least expected it and she would normally pick up a mission once she felt that sharpness. But with no mission tonight it sat heavy enough that she needed something. A release. A reason. Maybe punishment.
That’s why she made Peter do the delivery, if Yelena was smart enough she might see their similar look. Or to get rid of Anya’s own pain she would go over there and say it herself.
The one thing she swore not to do was broken in a day.
Tell anyone who she was.
Broken.
Have Yelena see her face.
Broken.
Talk to Yelena
Broken
She broke enough of her rules why not break them all tonight. So now here she was on her way to the tower that meant so much and held so much memories of Natasha, and now Yelena.
When Anya was younger, she used to imagine this moment differently.
She’d meet Yelena somewhere quiet. Neutral. No weapons. She’d say it calmly—I’m your daughter—or maybe joke it away, something dry and sharp the way Natasha taught her. She’d explain the clone thing, the science, the lies, and it would be weird but manageable.
She never imagined saying it in a dark gym after breaking into the most secure building in the world.
Family wasn’t blood. Natasha taught her that early.
Blood was just DNA.
Blood was experiments.
Blood was the stains that never quite washed out of your hands no matter how much soap you used.
Natasha used to hold Anya’s wrists under running water and tell her, It doesn’t matter where it came from.
It matters what you choose to do next.
Still.
Sometimes Anya wanted to see her own blood reflected back at her. Just once.
Natasha was the only parent she ever had.
Zemo—Helmut Zemo—was a lesson, not a father. Natasha took Anya to see him when she was thirteen, when Anya was old enough to understand but still young enough to hope.
It went exactly how Natasha expected.
Zemo remembered the experiment. He remembered authorizing it. He looked at Anya like she was an equation that had already been solved. He didn’t deny her. Didn’t reject her either. Just… didn’t care.
He said things that made Natasha’s hand tighten on Anya’s shoulder.
Things about purpose. Control. Ownership.
They left early.
That night, Natasha talked more than she ever had before. About her parents. About how they died because they searched for her. About how she had no blood family left because of the Red Room—and why blood stopped meaning anything to her at all.
Anya understood then.
Zemo knew she existed and didn’t care.
Yelena didn’t know she existed at all.
And Natasha… Natasha gave her everything.
Natasha wasn’t the one who kept Anya a secret—not really. At first, yes. The Red Room had just fallen, the world was still cleaning up bodies and lies. But after that, Natasha asked. Again and again.
Do you want to tell her?
Anya always said no.
She didn’t want another Zemo.
She didn’t want to disrupt Yelena’s work.
She watched from a distance as Yelena freed widows, broke chains, carried guilt the same way Anya did—quietly and violently.
Then Natasha died.
And left her with almost nothing.
A knife.
A box.
And a letter to the Young Avengers that Natasha hadn’t even written herself.
It broke something in Anya.
Natasha had always stopped her from taking certain missions. Always drawn lines Anya didn’t understand until they were gone. After that, Anya drowned herself in work. In killing. In missions meant for adults not grieving children.
She watched Yelena spiral too.
Parallel grief. Parallel violence.
She wanted to reach out. A hundred times she almost did.
Fear always stopped her.
But tonight, fear lost.
Anya slipped through the vents like muscle memory, disabling security with the ease of someone who grew up inside cages. The Watchtower felt different at night—too quiet, too clean. She dropped down near the gym, staying in the shadows, heart steady despite everything.
She sat on the dark side of the room and waited.
If she knew anything about her mother, it was this: Yelena fought when she thought.
Minutes passed.
Then footsteps.
Yelena entered without turning on the lights, already wrapping her hands, already angry at something she hadn’t named yet. The punching bag took the first hit hard, the sound echoing through the room. Then another. And another.
Anya watched.
Then—
“I know you’re in here.”
Anya stiffened.
Her instincts screamed, but there was nowhere to hide now.
She stepped out of the corner slowly. “Hi.”
Yelena turned, breath still heavy, eyes sharp even in the dim light. Her stance shifted—not aggressive, but ready.
“Who are you really, no more of this lying?” Yelena asked.
Anya swallowed.
Every plan she’d ever made evaporated.
“I’m your daughter,” she said.
The words hung there, fragile and dangerous, waiting to be shattered.
Yelena stared at her.
Not in anger.
Not in disbelief exactly.
In pure, frozen confusion.
“…How,” Yelena said slowly, like the word itself might explode if she said it too fast, “-is that possible?”
Her brow furrowed, eyes scanning Anya from head to toe in the dim gym lighting. “Because I don’t recall having my organs to do that. And also—” she gestured vaguely at Anya’s face, “—I do not remember having child. Especially one that is… already this tall.”
Anya let out a breath that sounded halfway to a laugh and halfway to a panic response.
“Okay, yeah, no, that’s—fair,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean like—that way. God, that would be weird. Not weird—just—wrong. Impossible. Science-wise.”
She rubbed the back of her neck, fingers twitching like she wanted something to hold. “It’s—Red Room. Well. Red Room, technically. They used your DNA. Without consent. Which, shocker, was kind of their whole thing.”
Yelena didn’t move.
Anya kept talking. Too fast now.
“They took samples when you were still under mind control. Combined it with—other stuff. Smart Russian guy too.he was Loyal. Too loyal. Genetically modified embryo. I’m not one hundred percent you, but close enough that it’s creepy, apparently.”
She gestured vaguely between their faces. “Ninety-ish percent. Give or take.”
Yelena blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“…They cloned me,” she said flatly.
“Okay Not—clone clone,” Anya corrected immediately. “More like—copy and paste with edits. Like when you find a bad apple but you use the seeds to make a better one.”
“I am not a bad apple,,” Yelena muttered automatically.
Anya winced. “Sorry. Bad example.”
Silence stretched.
Yelena’s gaze sharpened, really looking now.
Anya’s posture—loose but coiled. The way she shifted her weight onto one hip without realizing it. The way her hands moved when she talked, expressive but restrained. The cadence of her voice—dry, sharp, defensive humor layered over something raw.
Too familiar.
Anya noticed her staring and immediately got self-conscious. “I—Natasha raised me,” she said, softer now. “So if I sound like you, or her, or like… a bad mix of both, that’s probably why.”
That did it.
Something flickered across Yelena’s face.
“You roll your eyes when you are nervous,” Yelena said slowly.
Anya froze. “…I do?”
“Yes,” Yelena replied. “And you ramble when cornered. And you say okay before explaining things you are not actually okay with.”
Anya swallowed. “I—yeah. That tracks.”
“And,” Yelena added quietly, “you stand like you are expecting someone to attack you at any second.”
Anya’s shoulders tensed. “Habit.”
Yelena took a step closer.
Then another.
Anya didn’t back away, but her hands curled into fists at her sides.
“You have my face,” Yelena said, almost to herself. “Not exactly. But enough.”
Anya nodded quickly. “Yeah. I tried to change things. Dyed my hair. Cut it short but then you kinda did the same.. Mask usually helps. I didn’t want you to—” she stopped herself. “I didn’t want to be a problem.”
Yelena’s jaw tightened. “How long have you known?”
“Always,” Anya said. “As long as I can remember.”
“And Natasha?”
“She knew before I did,” Anya answered. “She found me during cleanup after the Red Room fell. She… kept me safe.”
Yelena’s chest rose sharply at Natasha’s name.
“You should have told me,” Yelena said.
Anya’s voice cracked despite herself. “I know.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Two mirrors facing each other.
Finally, Yelena asked, “Why now?”
Anya hesitated. Then, honest and small, “Because she’s gone. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t care.”
Her voice wobbled, then steadied. “And because I’m running out of places to hide. That’s why I finally went through with the letter I got… about the Young Avengers and they stopped my missions until I joined the team.”
Yelena closed her eyes briefly.
When she opened them again, her voice was softer—but no less intense.
Yelena then laughed like fully laughed.
Anya blinked. “What?”
“I am not saying we are 100% same,” Yelena clarified. “But you are shaking.”
Anya looked down at her hands, surprised to see that she was.
“…Yeah,” she admitted quietly.
Yelena let out a sharp breath that turned halfway into a laugh and halfway into a scoff.
“So,” Yelena said, pacing now, the shock finally burning down into something hotter and sharper, “my sister saves the world, dismantles the Red Room, hides a child—my clone—and never tells me.”
Her hands cut through the air as she spoke, restless, furious, unable to stay still.
Anya gave a small, helpless shrug. Not dismissive—just exhausted. Like she’d replayed this conversation a thousand times alone.
“She always did this,” Yelena went on, voice rising. “She decided what information people could handle. What was ‘too much.’ What she would carry so no one else had to.”
She laughed once, bitter. “She did it to Clint. To Steve. To me.”
The last word cracked despite her effort to keep it sharp.
Anya swallowed, throat tight. “She wanted to tell you.”
Yelena stopped pacing so abruptly it was like she hit a wall. She turned on Anya, eyes blazing.
“Do not protect her.”
“I’m not,” Anya said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “I swear. I’m just—explaining. She asked me. A lot. Like every few months.” She hesitated, then added, “Especially after the widows started getting free. After things were… quieter.”
Her gaze dropped to her hands. She rubbed her thumb against her knuckle, skin already raw from the habit. “I kept saying no.”
Yelena blinked, the anger stalling mid-stride. “…You said no.”
Anya nodded once. “Yeah.”
The word came out small.
“I was scared.”
Yelena’s expression shifted, confusion cutting through the fury. “Of me?”
“No,” Anya said immediately, shaking her head hard. “Never you.”
She inhaled, steadying herself. “Of him.”
It clicked.
“The loyal Russian, your father” Yelena said, voice low but using air quotes around father.
Anya nodded again. “Nat took me to see him when I was thirteen. I thought—” She let out a shaky breath. “I thought blood might mean something to him. That he’d feel… anything.”
Her jaw tightened. “He didn’t hate me. He didn’t care.”
She looked up then, eyes sharp with something like old hurt. “That was worse.”
Silence stretched between them.
“I didn’t want that again,” Anya continued, quieter now. “I didn’t want to show up in your life and ruin it. You were doing important things. Freeing widows. Fixing what they broke.” Her voice wavered despite her attempt to keep it flat. “I didn’t want to be another problem. Another secret. Another burden.”
Yelena stared at her, chest tight, something painful twisting behind her ribs.
“A burden,” she echoed, disbelief threaded through the word.
She swallowed and asked, more carefully now, “And after Natasha died?”
Anya hesitated.
Her shoulders slumped just a little, like the fight drained out of her all at once.
“I wanted to tell you then.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly, like admitting it cost her something. “But you weren’t okay. Neither was I. You were… spiraling. So was I. Practically the same way.”
Yelena huffed a humorless laugh. “Yes. That checks out.”
“I kept tabs on you,” Anya admitted. “Not in a creepy way. Okay—maybe a little creepy. But mostly professional.”
“Of course,” Yelena muttered. “The child assassin stalks me gently.”
Anya almost smiled. “I waited until you seemed… lighter. Busy. Like you were building something instead of destroying everything around you.”
Yelena’s jaw tightened. “And today?”
“Today was the first time I said it out loud,” Anya said. “To anyone. Riri. Peter. Kate.”
Yelena froze. “…Kate knows.”
“Not officially,” Anya said quickly. “They figured it out. I threatened them. It was a whole thing.”
Yelena let out a surprised laugh, sharp and genuine this time. “That explains so much.”
“What?” Anya asked.
“Katie Bishop sounded like she was lying through her teeth on the phone earlier,” Yelena said. “She is terrible at it. Because she changes her tone and you can practically hear that she knows the answer your asking.”
Anya snorted despite herself. “Yeah. Another reason why I came here, I knew Kate couldn’t keep a secret for long.”
They stood there in silence for a moment, the punching bag swaying slightly behind Yelena from earlier blows.
“You know,” Yelena said finally, quieter now, “I am angry.”
“I know,” Anya said.
“I am angry at Natasha,” Yelena continued, voice steady but loaded, like every word had weight behind it. “And at the Red Room. And at every scientist who thought my body was something they could take apart and reuse. Like it was not mine.”
Her jaw tightened. Her hands curled, then relaxed, then curled again.
Anya nodded immediately. No hesitation. “Me too.”
It was the first thing she’d said all night that didn’t feel defensive.
Yelena looked at her then—really looked. Not as a threat. Not as a mystery. Not as a reminder of everything she’d lost.
“But,” Yelena said, slower now, more deliberate, “I am not angry at you.”
Anya’s breath caught so sharply it hurt. She hadn’t realized she’d been bracing for that verdict until it didn’t come.
“That might change,” Yelena added, pointing a finger half-warning, half-joking. “I am very emotional person. My moods are… dramatic.”
A beat.
“But right now?” She shook her head. “No.”
She stepped closer again, stopping just short of touching distance, close enough that Anya could see the faint scar near her eyebrow.
“You survived,” Yelena said quietly. “She protected you.”
“She tried,” Anya whispered, the words scraping out of her throat.
Yelena’s voice softened even more. “That is all she ever did.”
Anya looked away, blinking hard. “I didn’t come here to, like… fix everything. Or do the whole ‘mother-daughter bonding’ thing.”
The words mother and daughter tasted wrong. Too big. Too fragile. Like saying them out loud might break something permanently.
Yelena raised an eyebrow, a familiar expression that made Anya’s chest ache. “Of course you didn’t. I would have been suspicious if you had.”
Anya let out a shaky breath. “I just—needed to say it. Before I lost my nerve again. Before I convinced myself it was a bad idea.”
Yelena studied her for a long moment, eyes searching, calculating, softening.
Then she nodded once.
“Okay,” she said simply. “You have said it.”
“…Okay?” Anya echoed, uncertain, like she was waiting for the ground to drop out from under her.
“Yes,” Yelena replied. “We do not fix this tonight. We do not pretend it is simple, or clean, or fair.” She paused, then added firmly, “But you do not disappear again.”
Anya hesitated, instinct screaming retreat. “I can’t promise—”
Yelena cut her off immediately. “You can promise you will not vanish without warning. That is bare minimum. I am not asking for miracles.”
Anya exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging as the tension eased just a little. “I can do that.”
Yelena’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. “Good. Because I have many questions.”
Anya winced. “I figured.”
“And,” Yelena added, completely deadpan, “we will discuss therapy.”
Anya blinked, thrown. “…I’m sorry, what? I don’t do therapy.”
Yelena smirked, unmistakably pleased. “We are definitely similar. Which is exactly why you should. Otherwise you push everything way down and end up like Bob. Or me before this team.”
She gestured vaguely toward the tower. “You need to find purpose or you’ll end up like Alexi”
Anya groaned under her breath. “Wow. That was a threat.”
Yelena’s smile widened just a fraction. “Yes.”
Anya took a step back, then another, already putting distance between them like instinct.
“I’m—” she exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face, “I’m done for today. That was… a lot.”
Yelena didn’t stop her.
She just nodded once, arms folding, expression still complicated but steadier than before. “That is fair. I feel like I have lived three emotional lifetimes in last twenty minutes.”
Anya almost smiled.
“Thank you,” Yelena added, quieter. “For telling me. About you.”
Anya paused at the doorway. “Yeah. You’re… welcome. I think.”
They stood there for a beat, the unspoken things filling the space.
“And,” Yelena said, casual but pointed, “you should stay on Young Avengers team.”
Anya huffed. “I already tried to quit.”
“Yes. I heard,” Yelena replied dryly. “You are bad at subtle exits, dragging everyone into the elevator. You should’ve seen Kate’s face she looked horrified.” Yelena laughed slightly.
Anya shrugged. “I’m not quitting anymore.”
That got Yelena’s attention.
“I realized,” Anya continued, voice steady but tired, “if Natasha put me on the team without even telling me why… then she did it for a reason. Same way she did everything. Even if I don’t get it yet.”
Yelena nodded slowly. “She always thought ten steps ahead.”
“I’ll tell Kate she doesn’t have to keep the secret anymore,” Anya added. “Or at least—stop lying badly.”
Yelena smirked. “Good. She is terrible at it.”
Anya hesitated, then added, “And… I’m sorry I threatened her.”
“Only a little sorry?” Yelena teased.
“…Only a little.”
Yelena stepped aside. “Go. We will talk again.”
“Yeah,” Anya said. “See you later.”
She didn’t look back.
The motorcycle was old. Loud. Beautiful.
Anya stole it from the compound without guilt, kicking it to life and tearing through the city, the wind biting at her face and clearing her head. By the time she reached the Young Avengers compound across town, her hands were shaking—but lighter.
Inside, the lights were dim.
The kitchen, however, was very much occupied.
Tommy Maximoff sat on the counter in pajama pants and a hoodie, demolishing a carton of ice cream with the focus of a professional athlete.
Anya stepped in. “Hi.”
Tommy startled so hard he nearly dropped the carton. He whipped around, eyes wide, then looked behind him.
“…You talking to me?” he asked, grinning.
“Yes,” Anya deadpanned. “There is no one else here.”
“Well, okay then,” he said, clearly delighted. “That was dramatic.”
He eyed her. “You vanish, come back late, say hi like nothing happened. Very mysterious.”
She shrugged. “Long night.”
Tommy squinted. “You were kinda mean earlier, you know.”
“I know,” Anya admitted.
“But,” he continued quickly, “I get it. I’ve wanted to yell at Kate too. She makes us train for hours.”
Anya snorted.
He held up the carton. “Ice cream?”
She hesitated for half a second, then grabbed a spoon and took a bite straight from it.
Tommy gasped. “Wow. Straight from the source. Respect.”
They ate in silence for a moment.
“So,” Tommy said, swinging his legs, “what’s your deal? You’re like… stabby.”
“I kill people,” Anya said flatly.
“Cool,” he replied easily. “I’m fast. And I eat a lot because my body burns energy like crazy. Billy says I’m basically a walking metabolism.”
Anya nodded. “Makes sense.”
He brightened. “What do you do when you’re not killing people?”
“…Surveillance. Planning. Waiting.”
“Wow,” Tommy said. “That sounds boring.”
“It is.”
He laughed
. “Why are you up so late?” Anya asked scooping another bite of ice cream.
“Hunger,” he said simply. “Also I slept all day except training. You?”
She leaned against the counter. “I talked to Yelena.”
Tommy paused mid-bite. “Ohhh.”
She sighed. “Clone situation. Mom-adjacent. It’s complicated.”
He nodded like this was totally normal. “Yeah, I kinda wondered why you look like her. Kamala pointed it out earlier when you guys were gone. Everyone noticed.”
“Of course they did,” Anya muttered.
“You gonna tell them?” he asked.
“Eventually… but you, Peter, Kate and Riri are the only ones I’ve told,” she said. “I’ll just tell the truth if they ask.”
Tommy grinned. “Good. Secrets always explode.”
She glanced at him. “Luckily I don’t have many.”
“Smart thinking,” he said with nodding.
They shared the ice cream in comfortable silence.
For the first time all day, Anya didn’t feel like running.