@deancipher
The cabin was quiet — too quiet for someone who’d once warped an entire town with grief. Wanda Maximoff stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the treeline sway in the mountain wind. The world had finally stopped whispering monster under its breath, but silence had its own kind of cruelty.
When the knock came, it wasn’t unexpected. She’d felt the ripple before it reached her door — that strange, electric tug in the air that didn’t belong to this plane.
“Dean Cipher,” she said, not turning around. Her voice was calm, practiced. “You made quite the entrance last time.”
The door opened with a low creak, the scent of sulfur and rain curling into the room.
Her eyes glowed faintly red as she turned to face him — not in threat, but in curiosity. “I didn’t call for help,” she said. “I called for understanding.”
And for the first time since Westview, she didn’t sound lost. She sounded dangerous — and ready.
