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𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 the back of the black SUV and closed the door behind her, looking around at her surroundings. "It's so hot," she said, fanning herself with her hand and letting out a breath. "Why did it have to be New Mexico?"
"Miss Stark." Grace turned when she heard her name and saw Phil walking toward her with a few agents behind him. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
She nodded with a shrug. "It was either this or contemplate my existence," she said. "This seemed more productive." Phil opened his mouth, seeming to be at a loss for words. "I'm kidding, don't worry. Geez, tough crowd. Have you made any progress?"
"Nobody can move it," Phil replied, shaking his head and beginning to lead her toward the hole where a crew of SHIELD agents were working. "We've tried everything. A civilian tried using his pickup truck and the back broke in half." Grace paused and looks at him. "We've done everything we can think of. Nothing works."
Grace let out a breath, carefully walked down the hole and saw a metal hammer in the center of it. She waved away the agents surrounding it and bent down to examine it. "This writing..." she said, gesturing to the inscription on the side. "Has anybody been able to translate it?"
"What writing?" an agent asked and she frowned.
"You people are SHIELD agents," she said, looking around at them. "Highly skilled operatives working for a powerful organization. None of you thought to look at it?"
"We just thought they were symbols," he replied and she shook her head, turning back to look at it. "Like a design or something."
"Or," she contradicted, looking at the agent. "It's writing. Symbols to us but a language to somebody else." She stood up and pulled out her phone. "Elliott, it's Grace."
"Grace! I haven't heard from you in ages. What can I do for you?"
"How soon can you get to New Mexico?" she asked, still looking at the hammer with an interested look in her eye. "I have something I think you'll be interested in."
"I thought you retired," Elliott said from the other end and she let out a breath. "What kind of thing?"
"A possible object from Norse Mythology."
⸻ ~~~ ⸻
"𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍, 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐀𝐌 I getting berated by a woman named Jane Foster?" Grace asked the agent a few hours later and he looked up in confusion.
