𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The training room was thick with tension the moment Lia stepped inside. Her boots echoed on the mats as she crossed to the center, pulling her hair up into a loose bun and tying it off with a quick flick of her fingers. Everyone else was already stretching or partnered off, but she had only one assignment today—spar with Bucky. Tony called it "controlled training," but with how the last few weeks had gone, it felt more like "contain the explosion." "Lia. You're with Barnes," Steve called out from the far side of the room. "Of course I am," she muttered under her breath, shooting a tight-lipped smile toward Clint, who gave her a sympathetic wince from his own match with Peter.

Bucky stood across from her, arms crossed, jaw locked. Ever since the dinner, the fallout, the shouting match—he'd kept his distance. Mostly. But there was always this undercurrent. Eyes following her. Breath hitching when Cade's name came up. Something unspoken, festering like a wound left to rot. "Ready?" Bucky asked, voice flat. "Absolutely," Lia replied, rolling her shoulders. They circled each other slowly. The room seemed to fall quiet even though others were still training. Sam leaned over to Natasha and whispered, "I give it five seconds before someone ends up on their back." "Three," Nat replied, eyes sharp on the duo. Bucky struck first. A test—simple jab, fast hook. Lia deflected easily, countering with a sweep of her leg. He dodged it, but she came in again, faster this time. The blows exchanged quickly became more than training—they were sharp, practiced, angry. Lia's blood was boiling. He had ruined everything. Torn her down. Watched her fall apart and offered nothing but cold indifference. And now he stood here, expecting her to play nice? "You're holding back," she snapped, grabbing his forearm and twisting sharply. He grunted, shifting to counter, but she ducked under and shoved him back. "You always this mouthy in combat?" he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Or just when you're pissed?" "I'd say you bring out the best in me," she snarled.

They clashed again, faster this time. Lia struck high, he blocked. She ducked his swing and slammed her palm into his chest, forcing him back a few feet. Something inside her surged—burning like wildfire behind her eyes. She saw red, quite literally. And without warning, her hand ignited in glowing, crackling energy. The red magic curled around her fingers in waves. Bucky froze. So did the room. "Uh... Wanda isn't here," Sam muttered, stunned. Lia didn't notice. Not at first. She threw her hand forward, and a wave of telekinetic force sent Bucky flying back onto the mats, sliding a good five feet before he stopped himself. "What the hell?" he barked, sitting up and coughing slightly. She blinked. Her eyes flicked to her hand, then around the room. Everyone was watching. Bruce stepped forward, eyes wide behind his glasses. "Lia... you're using Wanda's powers, but she's not even on this floor." "I didn't mean to," Lia said quickly, the energy fizzling as she closed her hand. "She—she's not even nearby?" "Not unless she turned invisible," Clint muttered. "Can you still feel it?" Steve asked, stepping closer. Lia nodded slowly. "It's faint, but... yeah. It's still there. I didn't copy it in the moment. I still have it."

The realization struck her hard. Her mimicry had limits—or at least she thought it did. Her powers usually faded quickly once the source was gone. But Wanda hadn't been near her in over an hour. And yet here it was—still flickering in her fingertips like it belonged to her. Bucky stood, dusting himself off. His jaw clenched, but his tone shifted ever so slightly. "That was impressive," he admitted, eyes locked on her hands. "Scary as hell... but impressive." Lia met his gaze, something unreadable behind her eyes. She didn't thank him. Didn't smirk. She just nodded once, composed, controlled. "I'm done for the day," she said calmly, turning and walking out before anyone could stop her. Behind her, the team exchanged looks of quiet awe and growing concern. Whatever was happening to Lia—whatever she was becoming—it was no longer just mimicry. It was something else. Something powerful. And permanent.