The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Four

Nyx POV

The business man hits the ground with a dull thud.

"Cut camera." I yell over the terrified screams of the other hostages, blocking them out.

I hesitate over the man's body, trying and failing to avoid looking into his eyes, which stare unseeing and unfeeling.

Dead.

Murdered.

Stop thinking.

Turning on my heel, I start to shout orders to the other agents. Ten are to stay with the hostages while the rest split into two groups. One set goes to the top and works their way down, the other come with me and we meet in the middle.

Whatever those explosions were, they're nothing lethal. No rescue mission would risk killing their quarry. Instead, they were set off to draw us out.

And that's what they'll get.

The agents split up, ten of them fanning out over the space, keeping their eyes open for hostiles. The six remaining divide into two groups and head out different doors.

Anger bubbles in my stomach. I can't let another mission go wrong. Not again.

Images of chains and blood and a man in a mask flash across my mind, threatening to overwhelm me as something unnatural brews in my blood, begging to be released.

Not now.

I force myself to concentrate, taking deep breaths to slow my racing heart.

Ok.

I scan the bridges above me one more time before following the men out of the door.

It doesn't take me long to catch up to the other agents, who move soundlessly through the deserted corridors. I stay further back, paying close attention to their movements, gun drawn and ready.

Each floor has two hallways to search, which meet in a T. And each time we come to the junction I expect the patter of bullets.

The halls remain silent.

We clear five floors before the sound of shouting and gunfire echos from somewhere above us. The men in front of me freeze, shifting uneasily. Murmurs start as they glance back at me, looking for answers. I doubt they want to put a foot wrong after what happened with 7. Then again, he hadn't worked with me before, these have.

I motion for them to continue on to the next floor. They start forwards again, slower this time, more cautious, as the sounds of a faint battle fill their ears. I watch as they open the door to the next stairwell, all three guns trained skywards in readiness. There's a pause before they move upward again.

Movement behind me sends me spinning round. My finger itches on the trigger of my gun, loose with apprehension. The hairs on my neck stand on end as an scan the empty hall, eyeing each doorway in turn.

My stomach twists uneasily; something is watching me.

I wait, but nothing moves.