XI. Emris

The hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the grand hall of Avengers Tower. The afterparty was in full swing, the air thick with celebration, liquor, and the lingering adrenaline of victory. I walked in unnoticed, draped in a sleek black dress that clung to my frame, my heels clicking against the polished floor. No one gave me a second glance. It was almost laughable how easy it was to blend in.

I made my way to the bar, sliding onto one of the stools with a casual grace. The bartender barely looked at me before setting a drink down in front of me, assuming I belonged. I wrapped my fingers around the glass and took a sip, my eyes scanning the room.

Tony Stark stood in the center of the chaos, effortlessly charming everyone in his orbit. A whiskey glass was in his hand, his expression lively as he entertained the small crowd around him. Natasha Romanoff sat to the side, relaxed but ever watchful, her sharp eyes scanning the party, just as I was. Clint Barton laughed at something Sam Wilson said, both of them already deep in drinks, and Steve Rogers stood a little away from them, arms crossed, looking like he was trying to enjoy himself but not quite succeeding. Thor was loud as always, a drink in hand, retelling some tale of battle that had the crowd around him roaring in laughter. Bruce Banner was deep in conversation with someone, likely a scientist, the noise around him seemingly irrelevant.

I tilted my head slightly, watching the way the team interacted. The ease, the camaraderie—it was something I had never experienced, not truly. The Black Lotus didn't do camaraderie. You survived alone, or you didn't survive at all.

I took another sip of my drink and turned my gaze elsewhere, ensuring that no one had noticed me yet. But then, a shadow loomed beside me, and a deep, almost amused voice spoke.

"Now, I must say, Midgardian women never cease to surprise me."

I glanced up, arching a brow as I met the striking blue eyes of Thor himself. Up close, he was even more ridiculous—broad-shouldered, golden-haired, and standing with the kind of presence that could only belong to a god.

I smirked, setting my drink down. "I'm going to assume that's a compliment."

He chuckled, resting an arm against the bar as he looked me over. "It most certainly is. But forgive my curiosity, for I have not seen you before. And I doubt I would have forgotten such a face."

I rolled my eyes but let the corner of my lips twitch upward. "Smooth."

"I do try," he said, grinning. "Tell me, how is it that you have found yourself in the midst of our victory celebration?"

I took a slow sip of my drink, considering my answer. "Maybe I just enjoy a good party."

Thor hummed, tilting his head as he studied me. "Or perhaps you are more than you appear to be."

I let out a soft laugh. "Oh, I'm sure that applies to everyone in this room, don't you think?"

He grinned, amused by my words. "A fair point. But still, I find myself intrigued. You have the air of someone who does not quite belong here, yet you wear confidence like a queen wears her crown."

I shrugged, swirling the liquid in my glass. "Maybe I'm just good at pretending."

He considered that for a moment, then smirked. "You are a mystery, indeed. But I must ask—do you dance, or are you merely here to observe?"

I arched a brow. "That depends. Are you asking me to dance?"

"I would be honored," he said, offering his hand, his grin widening.

I stared at his outstretched hand for a moment, weighing my options. It wasn't every day that a literal god offered to dance with you, and if nothing else, it was entertaining. I placed my hand in his, allowing him to lead me to the open space where others were already swaying to the music.

Thor moved with surprising ease for someone his size, his grip firm but not overbearing. He twirled me effortlessly, a chuckle escaping him as I played along, keeping pace.

"I must say," he mused, "you move as if you were born for this."

"I've had practice," I replied vaguely, smirking up at him. "But you? I thought gods preferred grand battles over grand ballrooms."

He laughed. "Ah, but one must master both! There is no shame in the art of revelry."

I shook my head, amused. "I'll take your word for it."

The song shifted, slowing slightly, and I took that as my cue to step back. "As fun as this is, I think I'll retreat back to my drink before I get too carried away."

Thor pouted slightly. "And here I thought I was making progress in unraveling the mystery that is you."

I smirked, walking backward toward the bar. "Some mysteries are better left unsolved."

His grin widened. "Then I shall make it my quest to discover more."

I rolled my eyes, but a small laugh escaped me as I turned and retook my seat, picking up my drink once more.

For the first time in a long while, I almost felt... normal. Like maybe Tony was right, I could belong here. But that was a dangerous thought. And one I couldn't afford to entertain for long.

The party buzzed with the low hum of conversation, bursts of laughter, and the steady clink of glasses. Music played softly in the background, a smooth jazz tune that blended effortlessly with the air of celebration. The Avengers, their allies, and an array of high-profile guests occupied the sprawling space, reveling in their recent victory.

I moved through the crowd like a ghost, slipping between groups with practiced ease. My sleek black dress hugged my form, elegant yet unassuming, allowing me to blend effortlessly into the throng of socialites and military officials. To anyone watching, I was just another guest, another face in a sea of self-congratulating heroes and politicians basking in borrowed glory.

A young officer stopped me near the bar, his confidence fueled by expensive whiskey. "Haven't seen you around before," he said with a grin, eyes scanning me with blatant appreciation.

I smiled, tilting my head slightly. "Maybe you weren't looking hard enough."

He chuckled, clearly encouraged, but before he could press further, I was already slipping away, my attention elsewhere.

The Avengers were scattered across the room, each engaged in their own celebrations. Steve now stood near the center, speaking with Sam and Rhodey, his posture relaxed but always aware. Natasha, draped in a fitted dress, sat on one of the sofas, sipping a drink as she chatted with Clint. Thor's booming laughter echoed as he entertained a group of admirers, and Bruce lingered near a quieter corner, nursing a drink with an amused smile as he listened to Tony animatedly telling some story.

I passed them multiple times, careful to keep my distance, my movements fluid as I blended seamlessly into the shifting crowd. Nobody noticed. Not yet.

As I wandered, I subtly planted the small listening devices I had brought with me, careful to tuck them into corners, under tables, and along decorative ledges. The bugs were nearly undetectable—small, sleek, and designed to pick up conversations within a reasonable radius.

A waiter passed, offering a tray of champagne flutes. I plucked one and raised it to my lips, letting the bubbles tingle against my tongue as I leaned against a marble column, watching.

It was an interesting thing, seeing them like this. In battle, they were soldiers, warriors, legends carved from fire and fury. But here, they were simply people. Laughing. Drinking. Living.

The thought curled uneasily in my chest.

I shook it off, turning my attention back to my task. The party had a natural flow, a rhythm, and I moved with it, ensuring I left no trace of my presence.

As the night stretched on, I started to feel it—that faint, crawling sensation along the back of my neck. The undeniable feeling of being watched.

My instincts went taut, and I casually scanned the room, careful not to appear too obvious. That's when I saw him.

Across the party, lounging against the bar with a glass in hand, Tony Stark was watching me.

He didn't look surprised. If anything, he looked amused.

Slowly, deliberately, he raised his glass in my direction, a small smirk playing on his lips.

I kept my expression neutral, tilting my head slightly as if acknowledging his silent toast. But inside, my mind was already working through the possibilities. Had he recognized me immediately? How long had he been watching? Was he going to cause a scene?

I decided I wouldn't wait to find out.

Finishing the last sip of my champagne, I set the empty glass on the nearest table and turned, slipping back into the shadows. Tony Stark might have noticed me, but I wasn't about to stick around to see what he would do about it.

I had gotten what I came for. Now, it was time to disappear.

The moment I turned to leave, I collided with something solid. Or rather, someone.

Steve Rogers.

I took a half-step back, my expression schooling itself into indifference even as his features darkened. Standing beside him was Sam Wilson, who had been mid-sentence before our unfortunate run-in. His brows lifted slightly, caught somewhere between curiosity and caution, but it was Steve who reacted first.

His entire posture stiffened, shoulders squaring like he was ready for a fight, but—bless him—he was trying not to make a scene. After all, this was a party, and Captain America couldn't go around brawling with random women in evening gowns. How tragic.

"Well, well," I mused, tilting my head. "If it isn't America's golden boy."

Steve's jaw tightened. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, just taking in the sights." I gestured vaguely around the room, then smirked. "You throw a good party, Rogers. I almost feel bad about crashing it."

"Almost?" he repeated, voice laced with irritation.

Beside him, Sam exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Man, don't do this here."

Steve ignored him, taking a step forward, lowering his voice. "I should drag you out of here myself."

"Ah, but then you'd cause a scene," I pointed out, delighting in the way his fingers twitched at his sides, like he was dying to grab me but knew better. "Not very dignified of Captain America, is it?"

Steve's glare could have burned a hole through steel. "You shouldn't be here."

"Yet here I am." I flashed him a saccharine smile, loving every second of his barely contained anger.

Sam sighed, clearly already over this conversation. "Look, I don't know who you are—"

"Emris." I offered my name casually, I could tell he recognized me from my run in with them before Sokovia. "And I know who you are, Sam Wilson. You're new to the team, aren't you? I have to say, the wings are a nice touch."

Sam gave me a once-over, assessing. "Right. And how exactly do you know that?"

"Please." I rolled my eyes. "You've been trailing Steve like a lost puppy for weeks. You're hard to miss."

Steve stepped closer, his voice like gravel. "You have no business being here."

"And yet, here I am," I repeated, toying with the hem of my dress. "What's wrong, Steve? Afraid I might learn something you don't want me to?"

His expression darkened. "That's not gonna happen."

"Oh? And who's going to stop me? You?" I laughed, enjoying the way his fists clenched. "You really don't like me, do you?"

"I don't like people who play games."

I hummed, pretending to consider. "Well, I do. And lucky for me, I'm very good at them."

"Steve, just let it go," Sam muttered, side-eyeing him. "It's not worth it."

Steve inhaled sharply, clearly trying to rein himself in, but I could tell I was getting under his skin. That only made it more fun.

As I prepared to deliver another snide remark, I caught movement from the corner of my eye. Several people were leaving the party, filtering towards the elevators and exits. The night was winding down. Time to make my exit.

But before I could slip away, Tony Stark strolled up to Steve, drink in hand, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Rogers, buddy, you're looking a little tense. What's the problem?"

Steve exhaled through his nose, clearly irritated. "Nothing."

Tony followed his line of sight and landed on me. His eyes narrowed slightly before he smirked. "Ah. I see."

I raised a glass to him in a silent toast. "Evening, Stark."

Tony gave me a long look, clearly debating whether he wanted to engage. Then he turned to Steve. "Seriously, take a breath. If she was up to something, she'd be a little less obvious about it, don't you think?"

Steve didn't look convinced, but his stance shifted slightly, less rigid, though his glare remained unwavering.

Seeing my moment, I smiled sweetly. "As much fun as this has been, I really must be going."

Steve's jaw tightened. "You're not—"

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a whisper only he could hear. "You should be grateful I'm choosing to walk away, Stars and Stripes," Mocking him from our last encounter.

Then, before he could react, I slipped away, blending seamlessly into the departing crowd. No one gave me a second glance. Just another nameless face in the sea of guests.

Little did the Avengers know, I wasn't truly leaving.

I had every intention of sticking around. Just outside, in the shadows, where I could listen to what they had to say next.

From the shadows of the upper balcony, I watched as the Avengers settled around a table, still riding the high of their victory. The room was bathed in the dim glow of the Tower's lighting, the air thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Tony was still trying to ease Steve's temper from our previous encounter, a smirk playing on his lips as he clapped the super soldier on the back. Steve, of course, was less amused, his jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

From my vantage point, I had a perfect view of the scene unfolding. They looked relaxed, comfortable even. The kind of camaraderie that came from years of fighting side by side. Tony, Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Thor, Clint, Maria, Rhodey, and Dr. Cho—an odd assortment of personalities, yet somehow they fit together seamlessly.

I watched as Thor, ever the boastful god, placed Mjolnir at the center of the table, a playful gleam in his eye. "Anyone feeling worthy?" he challenged, crossing his arms.

Tony was the first to step up, cracking his knuckles dramatically. "Oh, this is happening," he declared before gripping the handle of the hammer with both hands. He yanked, his expression shifting from confidence to mild concern when it didn't budge. He tried again, adjusting his stance, his face twisting in effort.

Rhodey laughed, stepping up beside him. "Alright, let's double-team this." Together, the two of them strained, but the hammer didn't so much as wobble.

Natasha simply waved off the challenge when offered, smirking. "I know better," she said, sipping her drink.

Clint gave it a shot, grumbling when nothing happened, and then Bruce—ever the scientist—half-heartedly attempted to lift it before feigning an attempted transformation into the Hulk, earning an eye roll from Natasha and amused chuckles from the others.

But then, Steve.

He wrapped his fingers around the handle, and the air in the room shifted. It was subtle, barely noticeable at first, but then the hammer twitched. Moved.

Thor's smug expression faltered for just a moment before Steve released the handle, shaking his head. "Nope, not happening," he said with a casual shrug.

The moment passed, but I saw the flicker of unease in Thor's expression before he quickly covered it up.

I smirked. It was amusing to watch, to see them like this—off duty, just people rather than warriors.

Then, the moment shattered.

A sound, sharp and piercing, rang through the air. At first, the Avengers merely stiffened, looking around for the source. But for me? It was a full-body assault.

A white-hot pain exploded in my skull, the frequency digging into my mind like a blade. I clutched my head, a scream tearing from my throat before I even registered it. My vision blurred, the world spinning as my balance gave way.

I felt my body plummet before I could catch myself. The last thing I saw before impact was the startled expressions of the Avengers below.

Then, I crashed.

The impact was brutal. My body slammed into a table, shattering it beneath me. Pain exploded across my ribs, my back, my legs. The world spun around me, the laughter and conversation of the Avengers now replaced with stunned silence. My breathing was ragged as I struggled to move, my limbs screaming in protest. I could feel their eyes on me, watching, confused, wary.

Tony was the first to move. He stepped forward, his brows furrowed as he looked down at me. I could barely make out his face through the haze of pain, but I saw the concern flicker across his expression.

Before anyone could say a word, the air shifted. A distorted voice, metallic and unnatural, echoed through the room.

"How could you be worthy? You're all killers."

Heads snapped toward the source of the voice. The broken remains of one of Tony's bots shambled forward, its body twisted and barely holding together. Wires dangled, sparks flickering where its limbs had been crudely reattached.

"Ultron?" Tony muttered, his confusion mirroring the others'.

The bot—Ultron—tilted its head, regarding them all with eerie intelligence. "I had to kill the other guy. He was too naive." The voice was hollow, laced with something almost... sad. "But don't worry. I'm going to fix everything."

The room tensed. Instinctively, the Avengers shifted, their hands hovering near weapons, ready for a fight. I pushed myself onto my elbows, my body still aching from the fall, but I wasn't about to sit there like a wounded animal while this unfolded.

Ultron raised a hand. "I know you mean well. But you just didn't think it through. You want to protect the world... but you don't want it to change."

The second the words left his mouth, the walls of the tower shuddered. The security bots around the room suddenly came to life, their blue optics flickering red.

Then they attacked.

Chaos erupted as the robots lunged for the Avengers. Steve's shield was up in an instant, deflecting a blast from one of the bots. Thor's hammer crackled with lightning as he swung it, shattering one of the machines into scrap metal. Natasha and Clint moved in tandem, taking down bots with lethal precision.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to my feet, pain flaring through every nerve in my body. I needed to get out of here. The last thing I wanted was to get dragged into an Avengers fight.

I slipped through the shadows, dodging debris and weaving between the fighting. My head still pounded, my muscles protested every movement, but I pressed on. I was nearly to the exit when one of Ultron's bots stepped into my path, its red eyes locking onto me.

I braced myself, but before I could react, a repulsor blast struck the bot, sending it flying into the wall. I turned sharply, my gaze landing on Tony, his repulsor still raised.

For a split second, our eyes met. There was no smugness, no taunts—just a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

I hesitated. Why did he help me? Why does he care?

But I didn't have time to dwell on it.

With one last glance at the chaos, I slipped into the shadows, vanishing from Stark Tower.