Between Time- MCU

The moonlight slips through the blinds, casting long lines across the hardwood floor of the safe house. Everything is still, the kind of quiet that only comes late at night, when the world is asleep and the weight of decisions feels heavier than ever.

Alex stands at the window, her hoodie already pulled on, her small duffel bag resting at her feet.

She hasn't slept. Not really.

After hours of pacing, thinking, and pretending she wasn't going to do exactly what she's about to do, she finally made up her mind.

She's leaving.

Not because she wants to. Not because she doesn't believe Natasha meant everything she said. But because trust like that? It's dangerous. It's a fire she can't afford to play with—not again.

They'll look at her and see potential. Power. A weapon they can polish and aim.

But they won't see her.

They won't see the kid who watched her parents die in an accident she still blames herself for. They won't see the girl who learned to freeze time out of desperation and fear, not strength. They won't see the nights she spent curled up on rooftops, trying to figure out if staying hidden meant surviving, or just delaying the inevitable.

They'll just see what they want to see.

Alex steps away from the window, her footsteps light as air as she moves to the door. She pauses there, hand on the knob, her heart pounding in her chest.

A part of her wants to go back. To sit on the couch and wait until morning. To give Natasha a chance to convince her it's safe. That she's safe.

But the larger part, the one that's louder and meaner and built on years of betrayal—tells her she can't risk it.

She opens the door.

A soft creak.

No alarm. No Natasha standing in the hall. Just darkness.

She slips out, moving like a shadow, duffel over her shoulder, hood up, breath held.

She doesn't take the elevator. That'd be too easy to trace. She heads for the fire escape, the metal freezing beneath her hands. The city air is cold, sharp in her lungs, but familiar. More familiar than the safe house. More honest.

She descends one floor at a time, carefully, silently, her heart hammering in her ears. The night welcomes her like an old friend, and by the time she hits the pavement, she's already fading into the streets.

She doesn't know where she's going. She never really does.

But she knows how to run.

And for now, that's enough.