-?Caught in her Web?- (black widow)

Cleo's POV

"Yelena—Yelena, stop!" I tugged at her arm, stumbling as I limped along beside her. Every step made my side scream where I'd hit the floor, but I didn't care. Not really. Not when Natasha was still in there. "We have to go back. He's gonna get away!"

"No." Her voice was cold steel, even as she kept her arm wrapped around my waist, practically dragging me down the corridor. "You're hurt. You're bleeding. We are getting out."

I twisted in her grip, trying to plant my heels against the tile. "So what? Nat's in there alone! What if he kills her?!"

Yelena didn't even flinch. "She told me to get you out. So that's what I'm doing."

"I'm not a kid—!"

"You are fifteen, Cleo!" she snapped suddenly, stopping so fast I nearly fell over. Her face was tight with something between anger and fear, and her eyes glittered. "You're a kid. And if we go back, you'll just get hurt again. You were unconscious five minutes ago."

"I can fight."

"Not like this. Not against him." Her jaw clenched. "She'll be okay. She's Natasha."

I blinked up at her, my chest burning. "But what if she's not?"

Yelena didn't answer right away. Just looked down the dark hall behind us. The faint echo of the fight still bounced off the walls. It sounded bad. Too bad.

Then she turned her head slightly and muttered, "She will be. Because she has to be."

I swallowed hard, my fists clenched. I hated this feeling—helpless and dragged along like baggage. But Yelena's grip didn't loosen, and my legs were trembling anyway.

We kept going, fast but quiet, slipping through the corridors she'd memorized. I could hear shouting behind us now. Alarms. Gunfire.

Still no word from Natasha on the comms.

I glanced up at Yelena again. "If something happens to her—"

She didn't let me finish. Her arm just pulled me tighter against her side.

"I know," she said.

And we ran.

We were just turning a corner, the sound of boots and shouting fading slightly behind us, when a panel on the wall slammed open with a hiss of hydraulics. Yelena raised her gun instantly—reflexes razor-sharp—but lowered it just as fast when the figure stepped out.

"Melina!" Yelena breathed in relief.

Melina looked like she'd fought through hell—her braid was half undone, a gash on her temple trailing blood, and her tactical suit was torn in three places. But her eyes locked straight onto us.

"Where's Natasha?" she demanded, already scanning our surroundings for threats.

"She stayed behind," Yelena muttered. "She told me to get Cleo out."

Melina's eyes flicked to me, quickly assessing. "You're hurt."

"Nothing important," I gritted, even though my ribs disagreed strongly with that assessment. "But we need to go back—she's in there with him."

"She's not answering the comms," Yelena added, jaw clenched.

Melina didn't respond right away. Her eyes narrowed. Calculating. Planning.

"We can't leave without her," I said, louder now. "She wouldn't leave us."

Melina's gaze softened—just a flicker—and then her voice snapped into that cool, clinical tone she used when taking charge.