(Name) moved gracefully through the halls of the Avengers Tower, the rhythmic click of their footsteps echoing softly against the sleek floors. The towering glass walls reflected the bright New York skyline, but their mind wasn't on the view. Instead, it was on the faint sounds drifting from the kitchen—a gentle clatter of pans, the low murmur of conversation, and the unmistakable warmth of laughter.

Curiosity piqued, they followed the sound, their pace unhurried, the hem of their coat sweeping the floor behind them like a whisper. As they rounded the corner and stepped into the kitchen, the scent of something rich and savory filled the air. There, standing side by side in a casual harmony, were Natasha and Bruce.

Natasha stood at the stove, her red hair pulled into a loose braid, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she stirred the contents of a large pot. Bruce hovered nearby, a look of cautious concentration on his face as he carefully chopped herbs with a precision that suggested this wasn't his first time in the kitchen.

The sight of the two of them, so at ease in each other's company, was rare. It brought a smile to (Name)'s face as they leaned against the doorway, arms folded casually across their chest.

"Hey, you two," (Name) called out, their voice warm and teasing, cutting through the quiet domestic atmosphere.

Natasha glanced over her shoulder, her sharp green eyes softening at the sight of (Name). "Well, look who decided to join us," she said with a playful smirk, stirring the pot with a flick of her wrist.

Bruce glanced up from his cutting board, his expression shifting from focused to pleasantly surprised. "Didn't expect to see you up this early," he remarked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

(Name) chuckled, stepping further into the kitchen, the sunlight streaming through the windows catching the faint shimmer of their clothes. "Couldn't resist the smell of whatever you're making," they said, taking a seat at the island and resting their chin in their hand. "What's on the menu?"

Natasha turned back to the stove, her smirk deepening. "It's a secret."

Bruce shook his head with a light laugh. "Translation: she's experimenting again."

"Hey," Natasha shot him a look, though there was no real bite to it. "My experiments turn out better than yours, Dr. Banner."

(Name) grinned, enjoying the banter. "Well, if you need a taste tester, I volunteer."

Natasha gave a knowing nod. "Good. We'll need one, considering Clint refuses to try anything that doesn't come in a takeout box."

Bruce set down his knife, wiping his hands on a towel before leaning against the counter. "You'll regret volunteering if this one turns out spicy. Nat doesn't exactly have a low tolerance."

"Oh, I can handle spice," (Name) teased, their eyes glinting with a mischievous spark. "The question is, can you?"

Natasha chuckled, stirring the pot with renewed vigor. "Guess we're about to find out."

The doors to the common room slid open with a soft whoosh, and in strode Thor, his golden armor gleaming even in the muted light of the Tower. His presence commanded attention, but it wasn't Thor himself that drew (Name)'s gaze—it was the figure he dragged behind him.

Bound in heavy shackles, wrists clasped in enchanted steel, was a man with sleek black hair that cascaded to his shoulders like ink spilling across parchment. His sharp cheekbones cast shadows on his pale face, and his piercing green eyes glowed with a defiant fire, even in his current state of captivity. There was something both regal and dangerous about him—a fallen prince cloaked in bitterness.

Thor's steps were heavy, each one a statement of finality as he marched forward. The man at his side barely resisted, though there was an air of arrogance in the way he carried himself, even bound.

(Name) blinked, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest. She knew who this was. She knew without needing Thor's confirmation.

"Thor," she began, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her. "Is this... Loki?"

Thor stopped in his tracks, the slightest grimace crossing his face before he gave a solemn nod. "Aye. This is my brother."

Loki's eyes snapped toward her at the mention of his name, his gaze cutting through the room like a blade. His lips curled into a smirk, though there was no warmth in it. "You speak my name as though it's a curse," he drawled, his voice smooth and venomous. "How delightful."

(Name) stood rooted to the spot, her mind racing as she stared at him. It had been so long—so long since she'd allowed herself to think about Loki. The memories she'd buried deep, the secrets she'd vowed never to share, all threatened to resurface at once. Her mind scrambled to erect walls, mental barriers hastily thrown up to protect her thoughts.

She couldn't let him in. Not again.

Yet there he stood, alive and breathing. His presence was tangible, magnetic, and far more overwhelming than she had ever prepared for. The mischievous prince who had haunted her dreams, who had left an indelible mark on her past, was now before her, his gaze lingering on her like a brand.

Loki tilted his head, his expression curious now, like a cat studying a new toy. "And who might you be?" he asked, voice dripping with false charm. "Another one of my brother's little Midgardian friends?"

Thor stepped between them, his jaw clenched. "Do not speak to her, Loki."

But (Name) wasn't listening to Thor anymore. Her focus was entirely on Loki—the god who had once been her undoing.

Did he recognize her? Did he remember?

No. He couldn't possibly know. She had buried that past life deep, had reinvented herself in this new world. But as she stared into those cunning green eyes, a chill ran down her spine.

Loki's smirk widened, and he took a slow, deliberate step forward, his chains clinking softly. "There's something... familiar about you," he murmured, eyes narrowing as if trying to piece together a puzzle. "Ah, yes. You wear a mask well, but I wonder—how long will it last, I wonder?"

(Name) stiffened, her mental walls trembling but holding firm. She couldn't let him see. She couldn't let him know who she really was. Not yet.

Thor tightened his grip on Loki's chains, pulling him back with a growl. "Enough, Loki."

But Loki's gaze never left (Name). He chuckled softly, the sound dark and knowing.

"You and I, dear one," he said, his voice a whisper of silk and shadows. "We've met before. Haven't we?"

(Name) said nothing, but deep down, she knew the answer.

They had. And that meeting had changed everything.