The damp stone of the alcove dug into your spine as Bang Chan's grip tightened, his fingers grinding against the jagged ridges of your horns. His breath hissed against your ear, hot and unsteady, the scent of ash and burnt cinnamon clinging to him—a remnant of the firefight you'd both narrowly escaped. "You're not getting away that easily," he growled, voice low enough to vibrate through your scales.

Your tail lashed instinctively, scattering loose pebbles across the den floor, but he pressed closer, his wings flaring to cage you in. Moonlight filtered through the cracks in the cavern wall, glinting off the obsidian-black scales along his jaw, the faint glow of his venomous fangs bared in a snarl. You could've melted him where he stood—a flick of your tail, a surge of animus magic—but something in his eyes froze you: a wildfire of fury, yes, but beneath it, a flicker of raw desperation.

"You were with Spider-Man's team," he spat, talons digging into the base of your horns, a sensation that sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. "I saw you. Letting them touch you, strategize with you—like you're one of their pet heroes." His voice cracked, and for a heartbeat, the mask slipped. "Why? After everything we've built—the pack—why risk it all for them?"

Your claws flexed against the stone. He hadn't noticed the burn mark on your forearm, the one you'd earned shielding his reckless flank from a plasma blast hours ago. "You think I had a choice?" you hissed back, scales rippling crimson with frustration. "They have intel on the Scorching relics. Intel we need. Or did you forget what's at stake?"

His grip loosened, just slightly, but his glare didn't waver. "You could've told me," he muttered, the heat in his voice cooling to something jagged, almost wounded. "Instead of vanishing at dawn like some... some ghost."

A beat of silence. Somewhere in the tunnels, the distant echo of the pack's laughter drifted—Lixie arguing with Jisung over looted treasure, Felix's melodic snort cutting through the tension. You leaned in, close enough to watch his pupils dilate. "Since when do I owe you explanations, Chan?"

The challenge hung between you, electric. His gaze dropped to your mouth, fangs retracting as his breath hitched—a tell you'd memorized over countless battles. But before he could retaliate, a sharp crack echoed from the tunnel entrance.

"Uh... are we interrupting?" Hyunjin's voice, laced with a smirk, shattered the moment.

Chan reeled back as if scorched, wings snapping shut. You didn't miss the flush darkening his scales, the way his claws flexed open and closed, like he couldn't decide whether to fight or flee.

"Later," he muttered, the word a promise—or a threat—before stalking toward the others, leaving you to grapple with the lingering heat of his touch and the dangerous realization: He'd been scared. For you.

Felix stepped into your path, his clawed hand—still half-shifted from the earlier skirmish—curling around your scaled forearm. Moonlight caught the silvered tips of his wolfish fur, the same icy blonde as the bun tied hastily atop his head. Even in humanoid form, his amber eyes glowed with the feral edge of a beta challenging his alpha. "You okay, babe?" he asked, voice deceptively soft, but the low growl beneath it vibrated through your bones.

You flicked your spined tail in irritation, the barbed tip narrowly missing Hyunjin's boot as he prowled closer. The RainWing venom gland at the base of your throat pulsed, but you swallowed the acid rising in your jaws. "Just need rest," you lied, talons scraping the stone floor as you tried to sidestep.

He didn't relent. Behind him, Hyunjin's lips peeled back in a snarl, his canines elongated and glistening. The air thickened with the musk of agitated wolves. "Chan's right," Felix pressed, his claws digging into the softer scales of your inner wrist—a vulnerability only the pack knew. "First S.H.I.E.L.D., now Spider-Man's circus. You know what humans do to things they don't understand." His gaze dropped to the jagged scar across your chest, a relic from the Wolfsbane Purge five centuries ago. Your kind had been hunted to near extinction; theirs had been the hunters.

Hyunjin's growl deepened, his eyes flickering molten gold. "At least the spies had the decency to aim for your heart," he spat. "These 'heroes'? They'll carve out your soul and call it progress."

You stiffened. The Obsidian Mirror's whispers coiled in your mind, its visions of Scorching-era relics buried beneath Stark Tower. S.H.I.E.L.D. had promised access, but the cost—the pack's trust—seared sharper than dragonfire.

"They need me," you said coldly, smoke curling from your nostrils. Your wings flared, casting a shadow over Felix's face. "Or would you rather the Talons of Power claim the last mirror? Turn your pack into statues?"

Felix recoiled as if struck. You'd both seen the aftermath of the Talons' work—entire wolf dens frozen mid-howl, their terror preserved in cursed obsidian. His grip loosened, and you yanked free, your horns nearly grazing the den's low ceiling.

Hyunjin lunged, but Felix barred him with an arm. "Let her go," he muttered, though his claws remained unsheathed. "She'll crawl back once the humans brand her a monster too."

You didn't look back. In your chamber, you collapsed against the wall, the enchanted steel of your prosthetic wing joint—a gift from Tony Stark after the Purge—clanking softly. The mirror shard hidden beneath your hoard pulsed, its surface reflecting not your draconic visage, but the face you'd worn centuries ago: human, fragile, mortal. A face the pack could never see.

Outside, their howls rose—mournful, furious. You curled tighter around the shard, its whispers a venomous lullaby. Liar. Outcast. Necessary.

The boar's charred ribs cracked between your fangs, its smoky blood doing little to soothe the acid still churning in your gullet. Dawn painted the forest in weak gold, but your scales remained dull obsidian—no RainWing shift today. Not when the pack's scent still clung to the clearing: pine and burnt fur and betrayal.

The footsteps were deliberate. Slow. You didn't look up until his shadow eclipsed your meal.

I.N crouched at the edge of the fire pit, his lanky frame still caught between human and wolf. Crimson eyes—a defect, the pack whispered, from his mother's forbidden tryst with a pyrokinetic demon—glinted as he tossed a water bottle into your lap. The plastic hissed where it touched your smoldering talons.

"You know you don't need to lie to my brothers, right?" he said, voice softer than the others', always edged with the faintest growl. His nails were still blackened claws from last night's patrol.

You stared at the bottle. The last time you'd shifted fully human was centuries ago, during the Wolfsbane Purge—when dragons burned and wolves howled for your kin's extinction. They'd rip your throat out if they knew, you told yourself. But I.N's gaze was a scalpel, dissecting.

Smoke curled from your nostrils as you willed the shift. Scales melted into feverish skin, horns retracting with a wet crack that made I.N wince. Your wings collapsed into scar tissue—a phantom ache from the Purge. When you finally gulped the water, it tasted of iron and regret.

"They'd kill me," you muttered, human voice foreign and fragile.

I.N snorted, lobbing a charred boar femur into the fire. "Doubt it. Chan's been sniffing around your hoard since winter. Found your stash of People magazines." He smirked at your choked inhale. "But hey, who am I to judge Taylor Swift's '1989' phase?"

Your claws—human hands, weak, trembling—crushed the bottle. "If the Talons learn I can infiltrate human cities—"

"They'll what? Forge more cursed relics? Too late." He leaned in, the wolf in him flattening his pupils to predatory slits. "You think we don't hear you screaming at night? That human voice begging for the burning to stop?" His claw tapped your chest, right over the scar Stark's tech had failed to erase. "You're not the only one who's tired of hiding, scales."

A branch snapped in the woods. Hyunjin's telltale growl rumbled in the distance. You shifted back in a panicked blaze, scales erupting like armor.

I.N stood, brushing ash from his jeans. "Jeongin," he corrected, sharp. The name he'd demanded you stop using when he'd presented as alpha-elect. "Tell them. Or I'll howl it at the next moon."

As he vanished into the pines, you stared at the warped bottle. Your reflection wavered—dragon, human, dragon—until you crushed it in your talons.

The holographic map of Latveria flickered above the briefing table, casting Stark's smirking face in eerie blue. You shifted subtly in your "human" skin, the illusion itching like a poorly healed scar. Across the room, Natasha's gaze lingered on your hands—claws retracted, but never fully human, not to her.

"—which means Doom's new toy is basically a dragon-sized taser," Stark concluded, pointing at the schematic. "So, Scales, you're benched."

The Avengers chuckled. You didn't. Your tailbone ached from suppressing the urge to lash out, and the scent of Ward's wolfblood-oil cologne (a relic from his undercover days with the pack) was fraying your focus. Chan would raze this tower if he knew you were here.

"Meeting adjourned," Coulson said, ever the peacemaker. As the agents dispersed, Ward materialized at your elbow, his grip tight enough to bruise a human.

"Skye's bleeding out," he hissed, pupils dilated with panic. "Medics can't stabilize her. It's the curse—from the Obsidian Mirror shard."

Your illusion faltered. Scales rippled up your neck. "I told you to destroy that relic—"

"We tried." His thumb brushed your pulse point, a gesture stolen from your nights patrolling the pack's borders. "Your fire purged the Talons' venom from me. Maybe it can..." He trailed off, but the unspoken plea hung between you: Save her. Like you saved me.

The elevator doors closed on Stark's raised eyebrow. You let the shift take you halfway—talons erupting, horns piercing through your human glamour. Ward didn't flinch. He'd seen worse during the Wolfsbane Purge, when you'd scorched a path through HYDRA's cages to free him.

"Chan finds out, he'll challenge you for treason," you growled, even as you followed him into the medical bay. Skye lay cocooned in bioluminescent IVs, her veins blackened by the Mirror's corruption. It reeked of Talon magic—your magic, perverted.

Ward pressed his forehead to yours, a wolf's plea. "You're the only one who walks both worlds."

Fire gathered in your throat, molten and dangerous. Outside the bay windows, the city glittered, oblivious. Somewhere in the Adirondacks, your pack howled at a blood moon. You breathed flame into Skye's shuddering chest, praying it wouldn't burn her—or summon him.

Skye lurched forward with a wet, rattling cough, obsidian-black blood splattering the medbay sheets. Ward caught her before she could collapse, his calloused hands—still marked from last month's moon-shift claws—cradling her shoulders. "Easy," he murmured, but his eyes locked onto yours, wide with a mix of awe and dread. The stench of burnt ozone and dragonfire clung to the air, unmistakable to any supernatural nose.

Coulson skidded into the room, his polished shoes slipping on frost creeping across the floor—a side effect of your fire neutralizing the Talons' curse. "What happened?!" he demanded, gaze darting between Skye's ashen face and your hastily reconstructed human glamour. You clenched your fists, still steaming faintly, the taste of Skye's corrupted blood like rot on your tongue.

"Skye took a cursed round during the Latveria op," Ward lied smoothly, his beta instincts for pack deception kicking in. He didn't mention the hexed bullet had been meant for him—or that Skye had taken it mid-leap, her human fragility no match for Talon alchemy. "Y/N... stabilized her."

Coulson's stare lingered on your hands, where scales glittered just beneath the skin. "Stabilized. Right." He reached for the comms on his belt. "Stark needs to run scans. Whatever you did—"

"Will kill her if you prod," you snapped, voice layered with a subharmonic growl. The lights flickered—your magic destabilizing the tower's grid. "The fire purges. It burns. Do you really want Stark dissecting that?"

A beat of silence. Somewhere thirty floors below, the pack's emergency beacon vibrated against your thigh—Chan's latest "Where the hell are you?" message, ignored. Ward stiffened; he could smell the lie, the risk.

Skye's fingers brushed your wrist, ice-cold. "Th...anks," she rasped, her pupils still slit from residual magic. Too close. Too human.

You yanked your arm back. "Don't thank me. Burn the sheets. Salt the room. And never touch Talon relics again."

As you stormed out, Ward's voice followed—a low, pack-born warning. "They'll come for you now. The Talons felt that."

You didn't turn. Let them come. Let Chan rage. Let the Talons hunt.

But as the elevator doors closed, your glamour finally shattered. Scales erupted, horns piercing the ceiling panels. In the warped reflection, you saw it—a single obsidian feather lodged in Skye's IV line, glowing with familiar malice.

Ward's secret. The pack's betrayal. Your undoing.