Chapter 15 of LoF is finally out!! sitting at 29,824 words!
I also want to share my first cover art for LoF:
I had a lot of inspo for this cover!! I wanted it to have influence of a classic Spider-Man and Batman cover while also still being my art style. imagine my surprise to learn that Spider-Man has a cover similar to Dick Grayson...
Soooo yeah!! spent 9 hours on this cover and i'm glad to finally have it out. i hope to do more as the story progresses
Summary: You're given an update about recent events and encrypted activity from the organization you were once part of.
Word Count: 2.4k+
Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist
The lights in the small meeting room were dim, but the screen still glowed faint blue as Steve turned the last page of the file in his hand.
You sat across from him, arms loosely crossed, shoulders a little tighter than they’d been in days. This wasn’t a formal meeting, but you could tell he’d waited for the right time to share whatever this was. You weren’t sure if that meant he trusted you now or was just being cautious.
He set the file down and looked at you carefully. “I thought you should hear it from me.”
You nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“The intel team finished combing through what we recovered from the compound breach. What’s left of it, anyway.”
You held his gaze.
He continued. “There’s no indication that the woman–” He didn’t say her name “–opened the doors herself. But… access codes were routed through her comms badge. And some encrypted exchanges were found in her private server. She shared things, not everything but enough.”
You didn’t say anything. Your fingers curled tighter.
“She claims she believed it was the only way to keep the damage minimal. That she thought leaking outdated codes and half-plans would satisfy them without endangering us. She’s sticking to that version, for now.”
You raised a brow. “And do you believe her?”
Steve leaned back slightly, not answering right away.
“I think she believed she could control it,” He said. “And I think she was wrong.”
Your chest felt heavy. Somehow that was worse than outright betrayal.
“She’s being held in a secure facility. Not here or out in the open. Just… somewhere quiet. She hasn’t resisted nor asked for anyone.”
You looked down. “Not even Bucky?”
Steve’s pause was answer enough. You waited, expecting that to be the end of it. But then he pulled a second page from the folder and slid it across to you.
It was a list, a short one containing names and a few locations, all marked as compromised or abandoned. A red line through the name of the organization you’d been taken by.
“They’re fractured,” Steve explained. “Scattered after the breach. Whoever was running it is either in hiding or gone. They were using you and her as leverage. But without her intel, or your insight, they’ve lost any ground they had before.”
You stared at the paper.
“They might come back,” He continued. “But it won’t be soon. And if they do… they won’t be nearly as prepared.”
Something in your chest flickered, relief maybe. Or regret. You weren’t sure which weighed more.
“They used me,” You said quietly.
Steve didn’t argue.
“But I let them,” You added, even softer.
Still, he didn’t correct you.
He just said, gently, “We all get pulled into things. The question’s where we stand after.”
You looked at him. “And where do I stand?”
He gave a small nod toward the screen, now gone dim. “Wherever you want. That’s the thing. We’re not asking you to stay. But if you do… it won’t be as a ghost this time.”
You didn’t answer. Not yet. But something in the back of your mind finally stilled. Not resolved. Not fixed. Just… quiet.
You didn’t leave the briefing room right away.
After Steve left with a quiet nod and nothing more, you sat for a long time with the list in your hands. The names blurred together. The empty lines beneath the redacted titles felt like accusations.
When you finally stepped into the hallway, the air was cooler and quieter than it had been all day. No chatter from the kitchen. No movement near the elevators.
Just the soft hum of the tower breathing around you.
You didn’t know where to go. Not to your temporary room. Not to the balcony. Not to the quiet corners you used to sneak off to when you wanted to disappear. None of them felt like yours.
You didn’t realize Wanda was behind you until you turned the corner.
“Hey,” She called out gently.
You blinked. “Hey.”
She looked at you the way she always did like she already knew what was rattling around in your mind, but wouldn’t say it unless you asked her to.
“I heard about the update,” She said.
You nodded slowly. “Steve told me.”
Wanda folded her arms, but not in a distant way. “And?”
“I don’t know,” You admitted. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”
She tilted her head. “Who said you have to feel anything yet?”
That caught you off guard.
You let out a breath. “It’s just–… everyone keeps saying I can stay or go. Or rebuild or choose. But I don’t even know where I’d go. I don’t think I ever… belonged anywhere.”
There was a pause. Not awkward, just full of your admission.
Then Wanda spoke, very softly, “Neither did I for a long time.”
You glanced up.
Her eyes were kind and steady. “Belonging isn’t something someone hands you. Sometimes it’s something you build when you don’t have anything else left.”
You didn’t answer.
Wanda smiled faintly. “Steve also said you’ve been keeping to your room lately.”
You nodded in agreement. “It’s quiet.”
“Too quiet?”
You shrugged. “Sometimes.”
She didn’t press. Instead, she looked down the hall, toward the residential wing. “It’s a good room. Private, warm. There’s good light in the mornings, if you leave the blinds up.”
You huffed a soft laugh. “I don’t.”
Wanda glanced back at you. “Not yet.”
There was something in her voice. Not a push, not a prod. Just… an understanding.
You crossed your arms loosely. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. The room, the time. Everyone’s been… patient.”
“But?”
You hesitated. “I don’t know if I’m waiting for something to change, or if I’m just too scared to choose.”
Wanda didn’t try to solve it. She just nodded, slow and knowing. “That room isn’t a decision,” She said softly. “It’s just a place to breathe.”
You looked away, throat tight.
“Whatever you do next,” She continued, “You don’t owe anyone a clean answer. You can stay in that room for a while or leave. You could knock on the door to the lab, the intel wing, or the rooftop garden. You can take your time finding your way back.”
You blinked hard. “What if I never do?”
“Then you still mattered,” She said simply with such certainty. “You still survived. You still changed the course of something bigger than yourself. That counts.”
You didn’t speak again.
But when she touched your arm gently and walked away, the silence that followed her felt… different.
The next morning, you woke slowly from your bed. That day there were no alarm, no summons. Just sunlight brushing across the floor, soft and gold. It was the first time in weeks you hadn’t jolted awake in a cold sweat, heart racing, and memories flooding your mind.
You almost let yourself enjoy it. Then came a knock.
You were still pulling on a hoodie when the door slid open, not urgent, but firm. Bruce stood there, already halfway through a sip of coffee, his tablet tucked under one arm.
“Morning,” He greeted before looking away quickly. “Sorry–are you decent?”
You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah. What’s up?”
He turned back, face neutral again, but the kind of neutral he used when something was bothering him.
“I got a ping through the back channels this morning. Not public or intercepted, but it came through one of the encrypted frequencies we flagged after the breach.”
You stilled. “From…”
Bruce nodded. “Yeah, them. But not from the core systems. Just one node, it’s almost like a… breadcrumb.”
Your throat tightened. “Do you know from who exactly?”
He shook his head as he glanced down at his tablet, swiped, and handed it to you.
The screen glowed with a short, single message:
Hope the quiet is treating you well. You always deserved that, you know. But I thought you might want to know not everyone made it out clean. If you’re wondering who to trust… you don’t have to wonder alone.
— M
You stared at it.
Simple, clean, but pointed in its warmth. No threats or demands, just that knife-edge intimacy Maren always had in her words. Sharp enough to make you feel known, soft enough to make you doubt what side she was really on.
You handed the tablet back slowly. “I see.”
Bruce took it back, hesitating with his next words. “We don’t know where they are. Whoever sent this covered their trail very well. Better than before, might be improving.”
That was… unsettling.
“It said not everyone made it out clean,” You repeated. “Does that mean this person did?”
Bruce’s voice was low. “Maybe. Or maybe they just want you to think they did.”
You sat down on the edge of the bed.
The quiet between the two of you stretched.
“They were kind to me,” You spoke quietly. “Not perfect. But they never made me feel like a ghost, a nobody…”
“I know,” Bruce said softly. “That’s what worries me.”
You looked up at him.
“They know how to make you feel seen when we couldn’t,” He paused for a moment before continuing, “But that doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. It just means they’re good at picking their angle.”
You swallowed. “So what do I do?”
Bruce hesitated before taking a seat beside you, not quite touching. But his tone was gentle.
“You don’t have to do anything yet. But we thought you should know. Because whatever their angle is… it involves you.”
You didn’t say it out loud, but you knew it already. Whatever happened next, you were the variable again.
You were back in the center of it. This time, you just didn’t know if you wanted to run from it… or step into it fully.
You hadn’t moved much since Bruce left. The sun was starting to go down by now as the message still hung in the back of your mind, echoing in an old, familiar voice: You don’t have to wonder alone. You weren’t sure if it was a warning or a comfort.
The message replayed over and over in your mind, each word tugging at something raw beneath your skin, signed with a simple M.
Just the initial, but you didn’t need a full name. You knew who it was. The only person in that whole twisted place who had brought you books, who made you feel like you weren’t just a pawn in a much bigger game. You hadn’t told the others her name. You didn’t even know if she’d told anyone in the Avengers who she really was. To them, she was a faceless remnant of a dismantled group. A loose end. A risk.
To you, she was more complicated than that.
A knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts.
Then came the voice you’d recognize any time of the day, low and hesitant: “It’s me.”
You didn’t answer, but the door opened anyway.
Bucky stepped inside, slower than usual, wearing that same guarded expression he always wore when he wasn’t sure what space he was walking into. His eyes swept the room, then dropped to where you sat, knees pulled up loosely to your chest.
“I heard you got a message,” He said.
You stared forward, not looking at him. “Bruce told you?”
“He told all of us,” Bucky admitted. “Just the basics, something encrypted with unknown origin. Likely personal to you…”
His voice didn’t press, but his presence filled the room. Then he took a slow step. “You want me to go?”
You didn’t answer. That seemed to be enough for him to stay.
He crossed the room and moved to sit near you. He didn’t sit too close, just a few feet away. Legs bent, arms resting loosely across his knees.
“I don’t have the right to ask,” He started, voice low, “But are you okay?”
You didn’t mean to laugh but the breath that left you was sharp, humorless.
“No.”
He nodded like he expected that. “Fair.”
It was quiet for a moment before you finally spoke. “They don’t know who it’s from.”
He paused. “Do you?”
You nodded faintly.
“She worked with them,” You admitted. “The people who took me, but she wasn’t like the rest of them.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“She didn’t push. She didn’t interrogate. She just… talked. About books, music. Nothing that really mattered, but somehow it did.”
Bucky’s jaw shifted. “And now she’s reaching out.”
“She said I don’t have to wonder alone, who to trust.” Your voice was quieter now. “And I hate that a part of me finds comfort in that.”
“That doesn’t make you weak,” Bucky said after a beat. “Just human.”
You turned your head toward him. “None of you know her. You only see a name on a report.”
He didn’t deny it. “That’s true.”
“Then why are you here?”
He glanced away, sighing a little. “Because I know what it’s like to have people in your life that others don’t understand. People who saw you when no one else did. Even if they were… wrong for you.”
You swallowed hard.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do,” He continued. “But I didn’t want you to sit here thinking no one gives a damn what that message did to you.”
Something cracked at the edge of your chest. Not broken. Just loosened.
You murmured. “I don’t even know what I’d say.”
“You don’t owe her a response,” Bucky said. “Not tonight, not ever.”
You nodded faintly. “I just… I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions again. One side that made me feel invisible. Another that made me feel useful but only because they needed something.”
He didn’t reach for your hand, didn’t move closer.
Just said softly, “Maybe this time, the direction is your own.”
You didn’t answer right away, but your breathing had evened out. The walls of the room felt a little less suffocating.
Then: “Do you still think I was worth seeing?”
Bucky’s breath caught just slightly. When he answered, his voice was quieter. “I think you were already worth more than any of us were paying attention to.”
You looked down at your hands. They weren’t shaking anymore.
“I don’t know if I’ll stay,” You said softly. “But I haven’t answered her and I don’t think I want to. Not yet.”
“That’s your choice,” He said. “Not hers, not mine.”
You nodded once.
Bucky leaned back against the wall and let the silence settle between you, this time not sharp or cold.
Just… steady.
He stayed until the room darkened around you and the message on Bruce’s tablet stopped buzzing in your thoughts.
And when the sun had long gone down and he finally stood to leave, you didn’t stop him. But you also didn’t feel as alone.
Here I am with a longer than intended “drabble” (it’s 2.6k words is it really a drabble at this point?) of Gale’s rude and misguided thoughts during his convo at the Everlark house on Tupelo street from Monday’s chapter of my fic, Uncross Our Stars. Brace yourself for some male nonsense. Bone apple teeth
I've waited too long to do this, I know that, but it's been so much harder to find time to talk to her since we can't meet in the woods. We're trapped inside the district fence like rabbits in a snare. We don't even have the Hob anymore. I see her on the road sometimes, which is no place to really talk, and half the time that baker kid is following her around like a lost puppy anyway.
He's probably here right now, those odds are not in my favor, but it's several weeks into spring and if I don't get her out now I never will. I tried to find a time when she would be alone but Rory only knew that when Prim goes over on Saturdays they're always both there. Useless.
It's a damn big house. I knew it would be but the sight of it still burns a bit. White washed too, and with a proper shingles roof. I shake my head as I climb the porch steps and rap my knuckles against the front door. I guess some people would do a lot to live in a place like this, but I know I wouldn't.
When the door creeks open it's Mellark who answers. Of fucking course. He's all shock and confusion when he sees me, as if it's so odd for Katniss's oldest friend to come knocking.
For a moment all he can manage is my name, but then he adds, "Come on in. We haven’t had a chance to have you over yet. Welcome to our home."
I tense at the word "our" and the over polite merchant manners are nearly enough for me to roll my eyes but instead I step into the house and look around, tracking coal dust into the merchant house for the first time. The living room and kitchen are the size of my whole house and there are several doors off a hallway. Painted walls, curtains on the windows, she's even got flowers on the table like she's Madge Undersee or something. Playing the good wife, I suppose. It makes my jaw tick.
The hall doors hang open to reveal one emtpy room and one with furniture. There go my dreams of her sleeping alone all winter. I stand feet apart and straighten to my full height, hands in my pockets to keep them from doing anything reckless, and scowl down at the guy. Blond, broad, that vacant, friendly face. Three days in my world would eat him alive.
At the sound of my footsteps, Catnip appears from the kitchen, hair pulled back and face flushed from the heat of the stove, the perfect picture of a pretty Seam girl but in the totally wrong frame. She looks good, I have to admit. Bakery bread has done good work on her figure and she's no longer the scrawny little girl I found alone and scared in the woods all those years ago, she's a woman grown. The woman I want. I'm about to give her a smile and call her by our old nickname when I notice the shirt. It's not one I've ever seen before, and she isn't frivelous with her wardrobe, she wouldn't buy new clothes at a time like this. No it's not hers, it's too big for her, hiding some of the curves I'd like to see, and it has buttons down the front like a mans shirt. I ought to knock Mellark's teeth in. I have several inches on his height, it wouldn't be hard to put him on the floor.
I knew there was some performance to this arrangement, that she'd have to pretend, but how far did that go? Katniss isn't the type of girl to sleep around. She's never at the slag heep, never messed around with boys in school. I thought she was better than that but maybe if she was desperate enough, if he pushed for more… the thought of his hands on her makes me sick.
"Did something happen?" She asks me.
"No, nothing like that," I assure her.
Peeta offers me something to drink with a smug look as he moves around the table to stand closer to Katniss. He even mentions adding lemon which confirms everything I needed to know about him. While Seam children starve and rot, he sips citrus in his tea.
But I didn't come here to reprimand the baker's kid about how he spends all his money, I came to talk to Katniss. I haven't had much time with her this year but I know there are things left unanswered between us. She might be standing in Peeta's kitchen wearing his shirt, but last autumn when I told her she should leave him in the spring, she didn't say no. She didn't say she loved him. All she's ever wanted him for was help and rescue during a winter she didn't think she could survive. I don't approve, but I do understand. Maybe this is her coal mine.
"No, thank you," I say to the offered tea. Then, looking Katniss in her pretty, chilly, eyes, I ask, "You got a minute?"
"I have food on the stove," she answers, nodding over her shoulder. I can smell pork and potatoes and it makes the hollow in my gut ache. I haven't eaten since yesterday and haven't had meat in weeks.
"You're welcome to stay and have dinner with us, if you have time," he says. So he won't let her be alone with me. I wondered if that was why I haven't seen her much.
"Didn't come for that. I just need to talk to you," I say.
I have to get her out of here. I need her by my side if rebellion and a new world are really possible. A world where our siblings don't have to go to reapings and neither of us have to suffer indignities to get enough to eat. Mining or marriage.
"What about?" She asks.
"Come walk with me. Just for a minute," I plead.
I need to talk to her alone, give her a chance to tell me the truth. So we can work together on finding a way out for her. So I can explain what's being planned in the mines without Peeta getting in her head and turning her against it. I have to make her see what our future could be together in a free world. But she glances at him and shakes her head. Alright then, I'll have to tell them both.
I square my shoulders, and I tell her everything I can. I remind her of the Seam, of the people there. I tell her what we're going to do to make things right. I think for a moment that she hears me. I know the capitol makes her angry too, I know she's got the fire and the fight to see what I see, to do this with me. She's one of two people in all of district twelve with a weapon, she's great with it, and I trust her more than I trust anyone. I need her in this. I need her to understand.
But she doesn't. She gets snippy and angry too fast, arms crossed over her chest like she used to in the woods, when I'd say something too hot headed for her tastes, eyebrows low and scowling.
"How do I get ready for you to get yourself killed?" She snaps. I groan inwardly. If she'd only point that thunder storm at someone other than me for once.
"If that's what you think then maybe you shouldn't join us," I tell her.
It's going horribly. She's digging her heals in further the more I talk, demanding answers, waving her hands. When I tell her she has the ability to move people to action she laughs at me. Peeta, of course, has something to say here. He actually has the stones to tell me how she interacts with people at the Hob, as if I don't know.
I knew he was trading there before it burned. I've seen him a few times and Greasy Sae gives me updates. He's playing some sort of game at being Katniss's helper, acting like he understands our world. I've been trading at the Hob with Katniss since she was twelve years old, side by side our whole lives as we fought and struggled for every mouthful we needed to grow taller, to grow up. I know how she holds herself above it all, how quiet and unyielding her steady gaze can be. I know her deadly aim, her clever negotiation, her stubborn sense of justice. I know the way the traders have always respected her. And only I know the way the woods beyond the fence leaves her light and smiling. Only I have seen the wilderness illuminate her up from the inside out, the peace of our trees and long walks, the comfort of finding the food we need in the earth and the company we need in each other. Only I can give her that.
"What do you imagine killing does to you?" Peeta asks when I remind Katniss that she's been a fighter long before this. "Do you think it's something you can just clean off your hands when it's over?"
"If it needed to happen? Yes. If someone doesn't do this it'll never get done." I am tired of waiting for someone to come and save us. It's not going to happen. When my father died, the only thing I could do was step up, be the man he trained me to be, and handle the bloody, difficult task myself. Katniss did the same. Its clear Mellark was raised too soft to know what it means to get your hands dirty for the sake of your family, but she will understand this.
"What if you make things worse?" she asks, in a quiet voice. Her eyes cut to the side and she pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth.
"How much worse can it get?" I ask. I'm nearly shouting. She's been gone too long, under his thumb too long. She's forgotten where we came from and what we've seen. I'll make her see. I will make her.
I tell her about the people we know who have been hurt. Hard working, family people, with siblings and children to protect and care for, who aren't able to because of the hell the capitol has rained down on our heads. I remind her of the pain and the death that's wounding everyone around us. She hisses that she knows all that, that it doesn't mean she has to be the one to help. I really thought she'd be braver by now, especially after all we've seen in the district this year. I thought she'd be over this childish hesitation. She's younger than me, yes, and she was never as quick to lash out against the capitol with her words. But she's never been weak or timid like this.
"Yes. It does," I say sternly. It does have to be her.
"Why, because you two think I’m the next Finnick Odair?" She ask. "People aren’t going to pick up rocks and throw them at peacekeepers because I ask them to."
I'm at my wits end. What's gotten into her? I thought there would be some trouble getting her out of her marriage and I'm not suprised she doesn't like every detail of this plan, but fucks sake. She's acting like she'd be happy to lick peacekeeper boots and send kids off to the reaping with a smile and a Mellark cupcake. This isn't her, it's not the girl I know.
I need to get her out of this house, away from this boy who's filling her up with fear and dosing her fire. I'm not sure I can. I never was particularly certain but now. Fuck. I can't even talk to her alone to poperly ask her.
Well, it's now or never. I dig the heel of my boots into the floor boards of this stupid towny house and ask,"How long are you going to be here?"
"We'll go to the bakery tomorrow morning but we're always home by sun down," she says with some confusion in her voice.
No, Katniss. Listen. "Are you leaving?"
She turns her face down and away, like she does when she's looking for an argument inside her skull. So much rides on this question that I'm not even sure she understands. Her freedom, my hopes, our entire future I've had planned for years, the life I could give her after the revolution. In the world I'm going to build I could even take her away from District Twelve, and everything she ever said she wouln't want to do while living here would suddenly be possible for us. Marriage, children, a shot at a real life. All she has to do right now is give me a look that says she's unsure, or she can't speak here. A flicker of hesitation or fear in her eyes when they meet mine, would be enough.
"Katniss?" I insist.
That's not what she gives me. When she looks up her gaze is steady and stern, piercing and determined as an arrow. "No," she says with a shake of her head.
No? A flat no?! No explanation, no apology in her face. In fact she seems angry I even asked. As if she didn't tell me to my face she married this kid for his money, that it wasn't what she wanted. I offer her a way out, a better option, and all she says is no? I don't know what he did to her, or how he got her mind so clouded with his soft, buttered up life. Lemon rinds and a decent meal sure did take the fight out of her quick. Every muscle in my body tenses and I clench my jaw and flex my fingers. I'd really, really like to hit him. His smug, doughy face could use a few bruises. Maybe a broken nose would ruin his looks and change her mind.
But Katniss isn't the only person I'm responsible for. There are others I need to save, and she can still help me from this house. So I shove it down, hold the anger in my shoulders and my hands as I talk, and I tell them what they can do. If they give even one shit about District Twelve, they can put this house to good use at least. But somehow even that is too much.
Mellark speaks for her and says no, they don't have room to store a few essentials for those who would risk their lives for all of our freedom and when all she does is glance at him and say nothing I fully give up on the conversation.
"Fine," I say, no longer able to hide how angery I am at the way she's acting, what a disappointment she's been. "I thought you'd at least want to help. For Prim. You're going to let her go to the reaping this summer and not even try to stop it?"
She stands there, silent and grave, and says nothing in response. So I shake my head and walk out the front door. It's what I always seem to do when I talk to her, get angry then walk away. I leave her to her big house and her soft life. It won't last. Even if she doesn't help, revolution is coming. Change will be purchased in blood and her world will shake and shatter along with everyone else's. Maybe when it's done, she'll see why I did it, that it was for her, for all of us. Maybe eventually she'll be grateful.
