Chapter 154: The Westview Anomaly

Deep within the sterile, humming corridors of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Natasha Romanoff felt a cold dread settle in her bones. The deeper she dug, the more alarmed she became. The world's most secure intelligence agency, an organization that prided itself on being an impenetrable fortress, was compromised from within.

Her investigation into a man named Desmond and his network of contacts had unearthed a shadowy force operating within the agency's ranks. But just as she was closing in, the trail went dead.

Desmond was found dead on his boat. All leads evaporated with him. The few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents implicated in his network—men and women she had once worked alongside—had committed suicide before they could be apprehended, a final, chilling act of loyalty to their unseen masters.

The enemy's decisiveness was what unsettled Director Fury the most. A thunderous expression had been carved on his face for days. Businesses and funds tied to the network were abandoned without a second thought. The entire operation was scuttled with brutal efficiency.

"They anticipated our every move," Fury had grumbled, his one good eye scanning a monitor displaying the portraits of the dead agents. "Which means the leak was coming from inside this very room."

Now, with no witnesses and no leads, the investigation was unofficially considered a failure. Yet Fury couldn't shake a feeling of grim familiarity. This ruthless method—lying dormant for years before activating, then choosing suicide over capture—reminded him of an organization he thought had been wiped from the history books. A ghost from the past. He buried the suspicion deep, his face an unreadable mask as he looked at Natasha and Barton.

"Get some rest, Nat," Clint Barton said softly, seeing the exhaustion etched onto her face. He was geared up, ready for deployment.

"I'm fine," she lied, rubbing her temples. Seeing him armed, she asked, "Mission?"

"I need to leave for a while."

They shared a look of understanding, tacitly avoiding any mention of mission details. It was an unspoken rule between them. Even with their unbreakable trust, some knowledge was a burden best carried alone.

After Clint departed, Natasha stared at her computer screen for a long time before finally shutting it down. Her mind wasn't on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ghosts but on a more personal one.

"Why would you go there, Ariana?" she whispered to the empty room.

She had been tracking Ariana's itinerary. Westview, New Jersey, was not a planned destination. It wasn't even on the way to anywhere else she was supposed to be. But Ariana had gone there without warning, as if drawn by some unseen force.

Then, she had simply vanished.

Their relationship had become strained after Natasha revealed her identity, the danger it brought crashing into Ariana's life. But they had maintained contact. Natasha had even given her a special communicator. Not long ago, the signal from that device had been severed. It didn't feel like it was turned off; it felt like it had been destroyed. It felt like she had met with foul play.

The unease in Natasha's heart coiled tighter.

A soft shuffling sound drew her attention. From a slightly ajar desk drawer, a small teddy bear's head peeked out, its button eyes scanning the room cautiously. Seeing Natasha's somber mood, the bear, known only as Little Bear, scuttled out and climbed up her arm to her shoulder. It gently stroked her hair with a soft, furry paw, the gesture as comforting as a mother's touch.

A small, weary smile touched Natasha's lips. She gently scooped the enchanted bear into her arms, her mind racing.

"Magic…" she murmured.

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s research into the arcane was extensive, starting long before the so-called Wizard King had made his presence known on the world stage. Deep in their vaults sat a small, unassuming briefcase—the first magical artifact they had ever acquired. It was a pocket dimension, a warehouse containing countless strange items. And among those items had been a set of protective amulets.

Natasha opened her drawer and looked at the splinters of wood inside—the remains of the amulet John had given her. Her agent's intuition screamed at her. The craftsmanship was identical.

Tests had shown the amulets from the briefcase contained a potent defensive magic, capable of blocking heavy machine gun fire before shattering. It was, for all intents and purposes, the most effective personal shield in the world. But it was a single-use item. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s aggressive testing had depleted the original supply down to a mere ten.

She had never told Fury about the amulet John gave her. She had just quietly collected the pieces. According to a captured mage S.H.I.E.L.D. had interrogated years ago, creating such powerful charms required the skill of a master alchemist—a level of expertise that took a lifetime to accumulate.

Could John, a man barely out of his teens when the briefcase was first discovered, be its owner? The thought seemed absurd. He would have been a schoolboy. And yet, the evidence was undeniable.

What was John's true standing in the magical world?

Her thumb unconsciously stroked Little Bear's belly, and the bear swatted her hand away in a show of dissatisfaction before performing a swift somersault out of her arms. The bear's puffed-up indignation drew a small, tired laugh from Natasha. The toy, a gift from Ariana, was remarkably lifelike. To create such a thing… Ariana was no simple magic-user either.

The two siblings were an enigma.

No, she corrected herself, her eyes drifting to a file on her desk. It detailed the last known whereabouts of Mr. and Mrs. Wick. The entire family is an enigma.

Hattie Shaw stood in the top-floor office of Taran Industries, her expression as dark as a storm cloud. Her icy aura sent a chill through the building, and employees scurried out of her path, whispering amongst themselves. Her boss had vanished without a word.

"Looks like the assistant has a thing for the boss," Olov murmured, peering through a pair of binoculars from a rooftop across the street.

Danny, his partner, remained silent and expressionless, his eyes fixed on the scene. He was a guard dog, and his only duty was to watch.

Ignoring the whispers and the fear she inspired, Hattie stormed out, the roar of her motorcycle ripping through the city streets. She sped to John's penthouse, bypassing the doorbell entirely. "Moss, open the door."

The door slid open. She strode inside, but the apartment was empty.

"Where is he, Moss?" she demanded, her voice sharp.

"Mr. Wick is en route to New Jersey," the AI replied calmly.

"New Jersey?" Hattie repeated, bewildered. Fury burned in her chest. The man was infuriatingly irresponsible.

She turned to leave, but Moss's voice suddenly glitched. "Miss Hattie… static… Moss… entering… hibernation mode…"

The lights in the penthouse dimmed slightly as the AI system went dormant. At that exact moment, Hattie's phone buzzed. She glanced at the caller ID, and her entire demeanor shifted. The anger vanished, replaced by a cold, serious focus.

She answered. A man's calm, authoritative voice came through the line.

"You seem to have forgotten who your master is."

Westview, New Jersey.

The taxi pulled to a stop. John got out, pressing a few large bills into the driver's hand without looking. The town was quiet, almost unnaturally so, with a cozy, picture-perfect atmosphere. It was a strange place, surrounded on all sides by the skeletal remains of abandoned military bases.

He shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun, his gaze sweeping over the peaceful street.

"This is the place," he said to himself.

This was the last place Ariana had been.

(End of Chapter)

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