Rani Barnes, the daughter of Bucky Barnes, was raised in the shadows of Hydra-trained to hunt, obey, and survive. Now 19 and rescued from that life, she's thrown into a quiet existence she doesn't understand, living with a father still grieving the...
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PRESENT DAY
She sat quietly in the corner of a small café, tucked beneath a soft yellow awning, the kind that flapped slightly with the breeze. Her coffee had gone cold. She hadn’t touched it. Instead, her eyes—half-hidden behind dark sunglasses—were locked on a table across from her. A family of four. A mother with soft laugh lines, a father with tired eyes that lit up whenever his children spoke. Twin boys, maybe six or seven, wearing matching cartoon T-shirts and trading bites of cake like it was treasure.
They were laughing. God, they were laughing.
Rani didn’t realize how long she’d been watching until the waitress passed by her table a second time, giving her a quick glance of mild concern before hurrying along. She didn’t care. She barely registered it. That strange, hollow feeling had returned—like a coil tightening in her stomach. Not hunger. Not jealousy.
Grief.
A quiet, aching grief that throbbed behind her ribs.
She thought of the facility. Of steel floors and humming lights. Of the damp air in the cell where she lived, breathed, learned pain before she learned language. She thought of her father’s back turned toward her, of the distance between them that was more than inches. He had been the closest thing she had to family in that place. And even he had been a ghost.
There were no birthdays. No cakes. No laughter that wasn't laced with fear. Her only presents had been bruises, needles, and silence. The only lullabies she knew were screams muffled through concrete walls.
And now—now she was free. At least that's what people would call it. Freedom.
But she didn’t feel free.
She didn’t know how to heal, because no one ever showed her how.
Her fingers curled lightly around the warm ceramic mug. It was chipped at the rim, stained in the center, but solid. It was real. She was real. The fire on that man’s face, the echo of his screams—it was all real too.
