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I often struggled to summon flame at will, because once I had, it was difficult to control. But the day I returned from Asgard, I decided the risk was worth it.

Mae and Gale had looked at me like I was crazy when I showed up dressed in Asgardian clothing. And they looked at me like I was certifiably insane when I explained what happened. I'd never told either of them anything. Not about my powers, not about my mother. And I didn't blame them for not believing me. I remembered not believing Loki about Asgard when it was right in front of me.

But when I kindled flames at my fingertips that washed their faces in a warm orange glow, they were more inclined to accept my story. It took the both of them a long time to stop looking at me as though I had three heads. But there was no other way I could think of covering up a three month long disappearance. And I didn't want to cover it up. I wanted my friends to know who I was. What I was. Because I knew that being deprived of the unrelenting support that Sigrid and Bodil had shown me would tear me apart piece by piece.

It was the beginning of 2011 when I arrived back in Midgard. Three months had passed since my sudden disappearance, and my friends slowly walked me through the events that followed. The gas station had, in fact, blown up when the fire had spread to the tankards. However, there had been no casualties. Alivia Byrd, the cashier working that night, was not discovered at the scene. It was all written off as a robbery gone bad.

A month passed, and I took up a job at a small internet café. I fell into an easy routine. The same I'd had before. I had no connection to the accident at the station, the Asgardians hadn't come after me, and I had a home, a job, and friends. I rested easy, comfortable that I was in the clear.

But a single phone call would change that.

It came one day while I was at work, from a woman named Hill. She explained that she worked for an agency by the name of S.H.I.E.L.D. According to her, they'd been the ones to cover my tracks at the gas station when they'd observed through a street camera the events of that night.

"What do you want?" I asked into the phone, my throat tight with fear.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is an agency comprised of special skills agents tasked with international peacekeeping. When a potential candidate with unique abilities catches our interest, we reach out and recruit them," she told me.

"So, you're asking me if I'd like a job?" I asked slowly, "What if I say no?"

"We don't hire people against their will," she responded, "The choice is yours."

"Then I'll have to decline," I answered, going to hang up, "I'm sorry."

"If you change your mind, you know how to reach me." I caught her parting words just before the dial tone sounded.

I recorded the number on a slip of paper, and made a mental note to put it somewhere safe. Then, I spared a glance out the window. I looked up to the sky, wondering what Loki was doing, worlds away. Was he thinking of me too?

I shook my head and got back to work.

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A year could pass like an eternity when you spent it missing something. Wanting and waiting. But word never came from Loki or Thor regarding what had happened after I'd left. And eventually, it all faded into memory, like some crazy dream. My life returned to the mundane, and I moved on.

Across the room, Mae's alarm clock sounded, the same as every morning. But I was already wide awake, waiting with Gale.

Mae's eyes flickered open.

"Happy birthday!" Gale and I shouted simultaneously.

Mae rolled her eyes and groaned. "I don't want to be old."

"Yeah, but you're old enough to drink now," Gale pointed out, "Which is why the three of us are going out for dinner tonight."

"Drinks are good, yes," Mae nodded thoughtful, "They might persuade me to turn twenty-one."

"And Alivia will just tag along with her sippy cup of orange juice," Gale nudged me in the side.

I scoffed. "Hilarious."

"I'd watch my words, Gale. You do remember she can turn you into a rotisserie chicken at the drop of a hat, right?"

We all laughed.

"I'm getting much better," I boasted, flicking my wrist so that an arc of flame came down, dispersing before it touched anything.

"I thought we agreed you'd only practice near the water," Gale looked down their nose at me.

"I bought an extra fire extinguisher," I responded, gesturing to where it hung on the wall, "I have safety at top of mind, Gale."

"Speaking of rotisserie chicken, when is our reservation?" Mae asked, pushing out of bed.

"We'll pick you up straight from work and head over," Gale answered.

Mae nodded, and the three of us dispersed to get on with our days. I had work in a few hours, so I pulled on my uniform and did my hair in the mirror. When I was finished, I looked at my reflection, smiling as I lifted my hand and conjured a flame which curled around my fingers.

Since leaving Asgard, and having any hope of getting rid of these powers crushed, I'd been determined to get control of them. After a long year, I'd learned to light the fire on my own. But that still didn't stop it from sometimes getting the better of me.

I learned that strategies designed to prevent panic attacks were actually helpful in quelling outbursts, when strong emotions caused my power to overwhelm me. And the scars across my arms and back were an ugly reminder that learning to control them, was essential.

I got my fair share of odd looks for the scars, on hot days when my arms were exposed. I'd learned to cover them up. Wear turtlenecks and long sleeves under shirts. Get intimate with partners in dark rooms. Wear coverups when swimming.

Well, at least the scars took attention away from my eyes.

When I was finished, I sat down at the desk, opening my drawer and rifling through my drawings. Some were of Asgard, of Thor, my friends, the palace. But a lot were of Loki. As much as I wanted to believe I'd moved on from it all, it seemed there was seldom anything else I wanted to draw. I sighed, finding my sketchbook and scribbling away for the better part of the morning, until I had to go to work.

I arrived at noon, a fairly busy hour when everyone was on their lunchbreaks. I ducked behind the counter, plastering on a smile and getting to work. I had to admit, it was a lot more enjoyable than working at the gas station. The hours got along better with my social life, and I was also having my life threatened quite a lot less, so that was good. Although I sometimes wondered if having a gun in my face was favourable to dealing with some of the Karens that waltzed in with their blonde bobs and snooty attitudes. It was definitely a draw, at best.

I got off at five, and glanced at the clock above the door continuously throughout my shift, excited for tonight. A quick peek told me I had about an hour to go. That was when she walked in. A tall woman, deep chestnut hair swept into a neat bun behind her head. Her face was slender, brown eyes immediately moving to me the moment she entered.

She moved to the counter, and I slowly opened my mouth. "What will it be, ma'am?"

"Um," she paused as she looked over the menu, "I'll take two of whatever you recommend."

"Well," I spoke slowly, weary of her piercing gaze, "The caramel macchiatos are pretty popular."

"Two of those then."

"That will be five twenty-five," I said, extending a debit machine for her to tap her card, "Can I have a name?"

"Put it down for Hill, Maria," she said, before waltzing over to the pick-up counter.

My heart leapt into my throat, and I prepared the drinks in a daze. I scribbled down her name, my handwriting barely legible due to how badly my hands were shaking.

"Maria," I called out softly as I placed the drinks on a counter. She stepped forward and collected them, before leaning in close.

"Meet me at Washington Square Park in ten minutes."

With that, she turned and walked out. My eyes stayed glued to her retreating figure until the door had closed behind her, nothing but the soft tinkle of the bell above the door as proof she'd been here at all.

I glanced at the clock. My shift was still another forty-five minutes. But this was a literal S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I'm pretty sure that took precedence over my job. I tossed off my apron, mumbling some made up excuse to my supervisor and ducking outside. Washington Square Park was only a short trip from the café, and I got to walking. My legs moved automatically, without the input from my brain, which still seemed frozen on the moment she'd said her name.

What did she want with me? S.H.E.I.L.D. had seemed willing to leave me be when I'd declined their offer for a job. What had changed? What did they want with me now? Had they simply changed their minds? Nausea crept into my throat as I finally turned into the park.

I immediately spotted the back of her head, seated at a bench. I waltzed over, hands in my pockets. She looked up at me. Smiled.

"Sit," she said, offering me one of the steaming drinks she'd just purchased, "You and I have got a lot to talk about."

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