Night aboard the Helicarrier was even more oppressive than the day.
In the cold metal corridors, there was only the monotonous click-clack of patrol robots and the ever-present rumble of distant engines.
Natasha Romanoff had just finished another round of interrogation with Loki.
The result was exactly as expected—nothing.
The Asgardian God of Mischief was like a perfect actor, deflecting every probe with mocking words that dissolved into nothing.
He'd even turned the tables on her, using just a few carefully chosen phrases to strike at the deepest scars in Natasha's heart—that "red" she never wanted to mention, steeped in blood and darkness.
Natasha leaned against the cold wall, feeling a profound exhaustion rise from the depths of her soul.
As the Black Widow, as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most elite agent, she was accustomed to facing the world behind a hard shell of perfect disguise.
She could effortlessly navigate between foreign dignitaries, arms dealers, and terrorists, playing them all like puppets.
But today, she felt unprecedented confusion.
Loki's appearance. Thor's arrival. The Tesseract's loss of control. And that man.
That mysterious, powerful man who seemed not to belong to this world.
His arrival had struck her life like a meteorite hitting a calm lake, shattering every bit of knowledge and experience she'd built over more than twenty years.
The combat skills she prided herself on were riddled with holes in his eyes.
The disguises and psychological warfare she relied on for survival were transparent before him.
Even the most powerful organization in the world—S.H.I.E.L.D.—was nothing but a convenience store that could hand him a "lighter" or "iced coffee" on demand.
What unsettled her even more was what had happened in the conference room today. When everyone had been influenced by the Mind Scepter's power, descending into frenzied argument, it was he who had casually, in some incomprehensible way, smoothed away everyone's aggression.
Including her own.
Under that wave of spiritual energy, gentle as moonlight, she'd felt her heart—hardened and frozen from years of missions—warm just the slightest bit.
This feeling was strange to her. And frightening.
She didn't know how to define Cloud.
An enemy? But he'd never actively harmed anyone—he'd even saved Wanda.
A friend? But his very existence was the greatest threat to this world's order.
Her mind was a tangled mess.
Before she knew it, she found herself standing at the door of the luxurious suite that had been temporarily assigned to Cloud in Stark Tower—the one already remodeled into a "Chinese courtyard" style.
She stood there, hesitating for a long time.
She didn't know why she'd come.
Was it as an agent, executing Fury's mission to "probe for weaknesses"?
Or...
Just as a lost person who couldn't find her direction, wanting to get an answer from the only man who could see through all her disguises?
Finally, she took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something, and raised her hand to knock.
The door wasn't locked.
A gentle push, and it swung open.
The room was dark. Only the brilliant lights of New York City streamed through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a layer of silver radiance across the floor.
Cloud sat cross-legged in the center of the room, eyes closed, as if meditating.
Before him sat an antique tea tray. A purple clay teapot bubbled gently, steam rising, filling the air with fragrance.
He wasn't wearing his casual clothes, but had changed into a loose practice outfit that made his figure appear even more upright and otherworldly.
In the hazy moonlight and swirling tea mist, his profile was handsome beyond mortal measure—like an exiled immortal who had stepped out of an ancient painting.
Natasha's heart, for no reason at all, skipped a beat.
"You came?"
Cloud didn't open his eyes, just spoke quietly, as if he'd known she would come.
"...Am I disturbing you?" Natasha's voice was somewhat hoarse.
"No." Cloud opened his eyes, those orbs that seemed to contain stars and cosmos appearing especially deep in the darkness. He picked up the teapot and poured a cup of amber, steaming tea into the cushion across from him.
"Have a seat. I just brewed some Da Hong Pao, brought from my homeland. It's good for calming the mind and settling the spirit. From the look of you, you could use it."
Natasha hesitated, then removed her high heels and walked barefoot across the cool wooden floor to sit across from him in a standard kneeling position.
She picked up the teacup. The warmth of the tea seeped through the ceramic, warming her slightly cold fingertips.
She took a small sip.
A mellow, sweet fragrance she'd never experienced before bloomed in her mouth, sliding down her throat into her stomach, transforming into a warm current that instantly dispelled most of the fatigue and chill from her body.
Even her heart—always wound tight with vigilance and unease—miraculously began to relax.
"What... what kind of tea is this?" she asked, somewhat surprised.
"I told you, Da Hong Pao." Cloud smiled. "But this isn't something you can buy on the market. These tea trees were planted beside the spiritual spring at Infinite Manor, growing up listening to Athena's songs and watching Mai Shiranui practice her dances every day. Every leaf contains a trace of law-level power. Ordinary people who drink it can extend their lifespan and ward off all illness. For you, it'll improve your complexion and help with those dark circles."
Natasha unconsciously touched around her eyes.
Only then did she realize she'd been working for over forty-eight hours straight without sleep.
In front of this man, she could never seem to hide anything.
"You... knew everything?" She set down her cup and asked quietly.
"Knew what? That your heart-to-heart with Loki didn't go well? Or that you came looking for me because your one-eyed Director ordered Plan B—the honey trap?" Cloud's tone carried a hint of teasing.
Natasha's body instantly tensed.
"Relax, Agent Natasha Romanoff." Cloud waved his hand and poured himself a cup of tea. "I told you, I'm retired. I have no interest in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal affairs."
"I'm only... interested in you as a person."
His gaze fixed directly on Natasha's eyes.
That gaze was no longer playful or irreverent as it had been during the day, but had become deep and sharp, as if it could pierce through all her disguises and reach the deepest part of her soul—that darkness she'd deliberately tried to forget.
"Tell me, why did you really come looking for me?"
Natasha fell silent.
She looked at the man before her, at those eyes that seemed to see through everything, and suddenly felt that all her lies, all her disguises, had become so laughable, so pale and powerless.
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