The car hummed steadily as Zemo gripped the wheel, his jaw clenched in frustration. In the trunk, Jaige's muffled protests echoed, but Zemo had little patience for the girl's cries. His mind raced with the rapid shifts in their plan. "This is not how it was supposed to go, Lorea," he said, glancing at her in the passenger seat.

Lorea sat beside him, her gaze unfocused, lost in a tempest of emotions. Her fingers trembled as she traced the outline of her wedding ring, a ghost of her past.

"Emotion is a liability," Zemo snapped, irritation flaring.

Her eyes flickered with a manic intensity. "But don't you see? This is chaos! It's beautiful in its own way. We're taking control!" She turned her head sharply to look at him, a wild grin spreading across her lips. "It's poetic, Zemo. Like a dark ballet."

"Lorea, just—" Zemo rolled his eyes. "I'm taking you to Sokovia, a refuge established in the mountains. We need to lay low."

"Lay low?" Lorea echoed, her voice dipping into an eerie whisper. "Why hide when I can make them feel what I felt? We can dance in their pain." Her eyes gleamed with hysterical light, the lines of reality blurring in her mind. "The Soldier will come for her. He'll come for me. He has to."

Zemo's voice was tight. "And when he brings the Avengers with him? We now need to prepare for that. You've made this personal, and it's reckless. This isn't about you."

Lorea leaned back, her smile unsettling. "This is very much about me. The love I lost. It's practically ethereal to make him suffer the way I did. Don't you feel it, Zemo? The thrill of revenge?" She heaved a cartoonish sigh. "It courses through me."

"We need to remain undetected," Zemo replied, his annoyance palpable. "Once we're in Sokovia, we will split up. You can hold her there, torment her, break Bucky's spirit—I won't partake. But it needs to be methodical, not frantic."

Her eyes sparkled with dark delight. "Methodical. Yes. I can be methodical." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just imagine the despair. The hopelessness. The Soldier will be begging for mercy."

Zemo's expression softened, if only slightly. "I understand your grief, but you must keep your emotions in check. When we reach the safehouse, we can set traps and create diversions. I have contacts who can assist us in securing the area. If all goes well, we can ensure that the Avengers are so busy chasing shadows they won't see us coming."

Lorea's laughter filled the car, a sound that was both effervescent and unnerving. "Yes, shadows... Let them chase shadows."

As he parked the car behind the warehouse, Zemo glanced back at the trunk, her muffled cries now an irritating reminder of their new predicament. "Get ready. We'll grab her and head to the airstrip immediately. I've arranged for a private flight. This needs to be quick."

"What if the Avengers are waiting?" Lorea asked, her voice low, tinged with a dark thrill.

"They won't be. I told you—you've created problems while I've created solutions. We'll use the chaos I've created to slip through their fingers," Zemo replied, the weight of his annoyance heavy in the air. "First, a distraction at the Chesapeake docks—a controlled explosion. It will divert their attention, giving us the window we need."

With one last glance around the desolate area, Zemo opened the trunk and pulled Jaige out, tossing her over his shoulder with little ceremony. Lorea followed, her laughter echoing in the stillness, a chilling blend of madness and excitement.

"Let's go," he said, his voice steady but laced with irritation. "We have a long way to go—control yourself, Lorea. We're not done yet."

As they moved toward the hidden vehicle, the weight of their plan settled heavily in the air. Zemo knew the stakes were higher now, and every moment brought them closer to either triumph or disaster. And in the twisted paths of vengeance and grief, Lorea was willing to do whatever it took to reclaim what had been stolen from her.

________________

The old sedan bumped along the uneven dirt road, each jolt sending fresh waves of pain through Jaige's body. She bit down hard on the gag, refusing to make a sound, though the effort left her vision swimming. Her shoulder throbbed where the bullet had torn through it in Budapest, the wound poorly tended to and likely close to infection. Every twist and turn in the road was agony, but she refused to give her captors the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Zemo glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Jaige's pale face and trembling form. The sight made his stomach twist, but he forced his attention back to the road. Beside him, Lorea sat stiffly, her eyes fixed on the horizon, her hands wringing together in restless agitation.

The house finally came into view, a dilapidated structure perched on the edge of a hill, surrounded by little more than trees and rolling fields. Sokovia had many places like this—forgotten remnants of lives abandoned in the wake of war. This one, however, would serve their purpose. Remote. Isolated. Far from anyone who might hear screams in the night.

Zemo parked the car and stepped out, his boots crunching against the gravel. The chill of the Sokovian night wrapped around him like a shroud, the wind whispering through the skeletal branches of the nearby trees. He opened the back door and reached for Jaige, his movements careful, almost hesitant.

"Come on," he said quietly, gripping her bound arm and helping her out of the car. She stumbled, her legs weak beneath her, and he caught her before she fell. His hands lingered for a moment, steadying her, before he guided her toward the house.

"Don't coddle her," Lorea snapped, already halfway to the door. Her tone was sharp, but there was a tremor in her voice, the adrenaline from their long journey still coursing through her.

Zemo didn't respond. Instead, he ushered Jaige inside, the creak of the door breaking the eerie silence. The interior of the house was dark and cold, the air thick with the musty smell of neglect. Zemo flicked a switch, and a dim overhead bulb sputtered to life, casting weak light across the room. The sparse furnishings—an old couch, a rickety table, and a single chair—were coated in a thin layer of dust. A wood-burning stove sat in the corner, its surface streaked with rust.

"This isn't permanent," Zemo muttered as he guided Jaige to the chair and lowered her into it. Her breathing was labored, her face slick with sweat from the exertion of the journey. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, gently dabbing at her forehead.

Lorea stood near the doorway, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You're wasting time," she said, her voice cutting through the stillness.

Zemo shot her a warning glance but said nothing. He turned back to Jaige, crouching down to meet her eye level. "I'll untie your hands so you can eat, but you need to stay calm. Understand?"

Jaige glared at him, her defiance unbroken despite the pain etched across her face. Slowly, Zemo reached for the duct tape around her wrists, pulling it free. Her arms fell limp to her sides, her fingers curling weakly as she fought to regain sensation.

Lorea strode forward, her boots echoing against the wooden floor. "You don't actually believe she's going to cooperate, do you?"

"She's in no condition to fight," Zemo said calmly, though his words did little to hide his unease. He rose to his feet and crossed to the cupboard, pulling out a can of soup and a loaf of bread that had gone stale.

As he worked, Lorea began pacing the room, her movements agitated. "This place is a pit," she muttered, her eyes scanning the peeling wallpaper and cracked ceiling. "Are you sure no one knows we're here?"

Zemo set the food on the table and turned to her, his voice firm. "No one knows. But you'll need to keep a low profile. If anyone sees you, if they hear her"—he gestured to Jaige—"we're finished."

Lorea stopped pacing, her gaze flicking to Jaige, who sat slumped in the chair, her breathing shallow. "She's not going anywhere," Lorea said, her tone laced with venom. "I'll make sure of that."

Zemo's jaw tightened. He crossed the room to stand in front of Lorea, his voice lowering. "This isn't a game, Lorea. You've already complicated things enough."

"She's the key," Lorea shot back, her eyes blazing. "Don't you see that? She's—"

"She's a person," Zemo interrupted, his tone sharp. 

For a moment, the two locked eyes, the weight of their shared desperation hanging heavily between them. Finally, Zemo turned away, his hands gripping the back of a chair as he steadied himself.

"I have to go," he said, his voice quieter now. "There are things I need to take care of. Things that can't wait."

Lorea's expression hardened. "You're just going to leave me here?"

Zemo turned to face her, his gaze steady. "I'll be back. Until then, you need to stay here. Keep her alive. And keep her quiet."

He approached Jaige, who lifted her head weakly to meet his gaze. For the first time, there was something almost human in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or guilt.

"I'm truly sorry for this," he said softly, his words meant for Jaige alone. "If I didn't have other things to take care of before this all comes to a head, I'd strategize getting you out of here."

Jaige's lips twitched, the faintest hint of a bitter smile crossing her face. "You don't fool me," she rasped, her voice raw but strong.

Zemo didn't respond. He turned away and grabbed his coat, pulling it tightly around him as he stepped out into the cold.

The night was quiet, the sound of the wind the only accompaniment as Zemo made his way to the car. He hesitated for a moment, his hand resting on the door handle. The memory of Jaige's defiant gaze lingered in his mind, a sharp reminder of the person he used to be—and the man he had become.

Shaking off the thought, he climbed into the car and started the engine. The old house disappeared in the rearview mirror as he drove into the darkness, his focus shifting to the next stage of his plan. In Siberia, the Avengers would destroy each other—or he would die trying to make sure of it.