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It was no surprise when my dad, the history buff that he is, suggested Aranova, Rome, as the place we went into hiding, away from the rest of the world. Subtle, I'd told him. But it was far, and we had no ties there. Eventually, he convinced me it would be a good place to lie low. To start fresh.

And that was how the two of us ended up in Italy.

My dad took up a job at a museum—which were plentiful, believe it or not—in the city. For the first time, I didn't have to work some dead-end, minimum wage job to earn a living, and I eventually began to teach art classes at the same museum.

I wasn't able to tell Mae and Gale where I was going, but after seeing me all over the news, they understood why I needed to get away. My secret was out, and all the people of the world, both good and bad, knew who I was and where I lived. Staying in New York could very well have meant a death sentence.

So I cut my hair to my chin, took to wearing a contact to conceal my heterochromia, and I paid to have the worst of my scars covered with tattoos. I changed my name, and even began to wear fake glasses. And it all worked like a charm, because I was never once discovered.

That was, not until several months had gone by.

They were the first peaceful ones I'd had in a while. I'd made some friends—friends was kind of a stretch, they were more like good acquaintances— and I'd had plenty of time to devote to my art. I'd continued to practice my fire, but using the method Loki had shown me often left a sour taste in my mouth. I'd started trying to date again, something that had never gone well in the past, when I had no control of my powers and hardly any free time to devote to it.

Best of all, though, I began to rebuild my fractured relationship with my father.

"I'd wanted to give this to you for a while," my father had told me in the fall, when my twentieth birthday had arrived, holding out a small box to me. He hadn't said why he had never given it to me, we both knew why. It was because I'd left before he'd gotten the chance. "It was your mother's."

I'd opened the box, to see a small silver signet ring. Engraved in its centre was a sword with a pair of feathered wings emerging from behind it.

I'd slid it on my finger and wrapped him in a hug. It had been the first time I'd felt truly close to my mother. It had been the first time my father had willingly mentioned her without my pushing him to.

I slipped this same ring off of my finger now, preparing to teach my weekly ceramics class. My students were mainly old folk taking advantage of the senior's discount. The smiles on their faces as we worked the clay left me feeling warm. Finally, I'd found work that I truly loved to do.

The class went by quickly, coming to an end just as the sun began to sink past the horizon. I washed up and put my mother's ring back on as the class emptied out.

"You're dressed nicely for your pottery class this afternoon," my father's voice came from behind me, and I turned to see him lingering in the doorway.

"I've got a date," I wiggled my eyebrows at him, collecting my bag.

"With whom?" he nosed, folding his arms.

"With a guy who took my sketching anatomy class last week," I told him, rolling my eyes.

"What happened to that girl you were seeing?" he pressed.

"Didn't work out," I answered, quickly and vaguely.

"Shame," my dad responded, "She had cool hair. You should try pink hair."

"I'll do pink hair if you do it first," I said to him, as I sidled out the door, "Should be back by ten, I think. If not, I got murdered."

"Ten?" he asked, "You're missing Friday movie night?"

"It was my turn to pick anyways and you hate horror. I'm doing you a favour."

"That's very true," he nodded, "I'll see you in the morning then."

"Bye, dad," I waved, before turning through the door and exiting the museum.

The streets were bustling at this time, everyone darting into restaurants and coffee shops for lunch. I hailed a taxi, and had her take me to Rosso Ciliegino, some restaurant that Alessandro had picked out.

I arrived a few minutes to eight, and found him already seated at a table inside.

He was lean and tall, with dark brown hair that frisked his shoulders. Luckily, he had dark brown eyes, instead of blue, and his skin was a deep tan, instead of pale. Otherwise the resemblance he'd have shared to a certain somebody would have been extremely telling. Not to mention distracting.

I sat myself down across from him, and he flashed a winning smile.

"You look lovely," he said, his voice heavily accented.

"Hi," I smiled, picking up my menu, "Thanks."

We made small talk as the waiter delivered drinks, and my eyes surveyed the restaurant warily. It was a habit I couldn't shake, ever since we'd moved. Lately, it seemed, I was always looking for danger. Whether that be the danger of someone finding me, or the danger of an alien race I'd had no clue existed, was undecided.

"Who is it, that you're hiding from?" Alessandro asked, after the waiter had set down our glasses.

The question surprised me so much that I jolted, meeting his gaze frantically. "Excuse me?"

"You've been here all of ten minutes, and this is the first time you've actually looked at me," he explained, "Not to be vain, but usually on dates women tend to want to look at me. You, though, can't stop looking around. Like you're looking for someone. Or perhaps hiding from someone. An ex, maybe?"

"You are unbelievably creepy," I said, half joking as I lifted my glass to my lips.

"I get that a lot. I tend to be pretty perceptive, I study behavioral psychology." He smiled warmly at me, and I relaxed a little. Or at least tried to. Relaxing didn't come easy lately. "So," he went on, interrupting my thoughts, "Am I right?"

"There was a guy," I responded, semi-truthfully, "It ended poorly."

Only because he attempted to invade the planet, betrayed me, tried to destroy my home city, lied to me, and then ditched me. No big deal. I took another sip of wine.

"He live around here?" Alessandro asked, leaning forward, "You worried you might run into him?"

"Oh, no," I shook my head, "He's miles away. I moved pretty shortly after we split."

He nodded, thoughtfully.

Just as he opened his mouth again to say something, my cell rang. I frowned. I wasn't expecting any calls. The caller ID was unknown, and the location unspecified. I didn't answer.

"Your ring," Alessandro said, gesturing to it, "It is very nice."

"Oh, thanks," I smiled, stroking it idly with my thumb, "It was a gift. It used to be my mom's."

"Used to be?"

"I feel like I'm being evaluated by a shrink," I chuckled.

"Another thing I tend to hear a lot," he smiled sheepishly, "I'm not great at this whole dating thing."

"Would you believe me if I told you neither am I?"

"You seem to be doing just fine so far," his smile grew into a genuine one, as he leaned back, "Alivia, I—"

He stopped speaking when my phone rang again. I looked down at it. An unknown caller again.

"Maybe you should take that," he offered.

"I'm so sorry," I apologized as I stood up, "It'll be two seconds."

I picked up the phone as I strode into the empty reception area, where a large window overlooked the busy street.

"Hello?" I asked slowly, convinced it was probably just some overly determined scam caller.

"Al?"

My phone dropped out of my hand and I scrambled to catch it against my chest. I lifted it back up to my ear, my hand shaking violently. There was only one person who called me Al. Well, one person who didn't attach "little" to the beginning of the nickname.

"Nat?" I breathed out slowly.

"Nice one," her voice answered. For a moment I was confused as to what she was talking about. Then I remembered nearly dropping my phone. My stomach sank even lower.

"Are you... Are you here?" I asked.

My frame jolted at the sound of something hitting the glass of the window that looked out onto the road. I looked up.

There, beneath a street light, in the midst of the crowd, was a black car. Leaned against the side, they waved to me with overly wide smiles—Tony, Nat, and Steve.

"You've got to be kidding me," I cursed.

"Sorry to cut the date short," Nat said into the phone, meeting my gaze headlong across the road, "But The Avengers need their Firebyrd back."

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