Brooke Rosier should have died in that lab. The radiation tore her apart, but her blood refused to let her go - rewriting itself and draining the life from everyone nearby to keep her alive.
Now, her heartbeat isn't hers to claim. When Loki twists h...
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JAZ SINCLAIR as BROOKE ROSIER
—
It was Brooke Rosier's first time in Germany, and unfortunately, she wasn't here for pleasure. If she were, she wouldn't be sitting alone in a narrow hallway of a marble-floored mansion, half-hidden behind a pillar, listening to the hum of a string quartet.
The air was heavy with perfume, expensive champagne, and smugness. Guests floated through the ballroom, draped in silk and smiling too wide. The entire party was too perfect, too polished, like a painting she'd been forced to stand outside of.
No one noticed her, and that was how she preferred it.
The gown she'd borrowed was deliberately plain. Her hair was unstyled, her heels too low. She didn't want to be here any longer than she had to. This wasn't a night for blending in, it was a night for watching.
Fury had called two days ago, his tone sharper than usual. A god from space, a stolen cube, and something about forming a "team." The Avengers Initiative.
It had sounded ridiculous.
She wasn't a hero, and she wasn't built for bright lights and codenames.
She'd refused him, of course. But refusing Fury never meant the problem went away. If she couldn't stop him from sending his shiny soldiers and billionaire toys, she could at least get to the god first.
Fury had been watching her since the accident.
That day was carved into her memory – the screaming alarms, the stench of burning metal, the blistering heat. A containment failure, a blinding flash, and then nothing.
When she woke, everything around her was still, too still. The air felt heavier, wrong. The people who had tried to save her lay motionless, their skin pale, their veins blackened. Their blood, their life, had left them to fill her emptying veins.
She'd never meant to live at their expense, but she had.
Every heartbeat since then carried their memory, echoing in her chest like a confession.
She hadn't accused Fury of lying when he'd told her the world was changing. Gods walking among men, soldiers thawed from ice, monsters turned green. If the universe could bend for them, then maybe it had bent for her too, just in a crueler direction.
She pulled her glove off and stared down at her hand. The faint scar across her palm pulsed beneath the skin, a reminder of what she could do and what she shouldn't.
