The rental car hummed over the uneven Colombian road, kicking up dust in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. Matt stared out at the endless stretch of jungle, jaw tight, fingers gripping the armrest. He wasn't used to feeling this out of control.

"You're quiet," Shemar noted from the driver's seat.

Matt huffed. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"How we still don't have a real plan," Matt muttered. "We have a Sokovian arms dealer to track down, sure. But what if we're wrong? What if we're wasting time?"

Shemar didn't answer right away. Because Matt wasn't wrong—not about the risk, at least. Every second wasted could mean Jaige slipping further away. But Shemar had leads he wasn't sharing. Leads that weren't just about Jaige.

"We're not wrong," he said finally. "Lorea is the key. If Zemo has her, or knows where she is, this is the fastest way to find out."

Matt exhaled sharply. "Yeah. I just..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

Shemar didn't push. He knew what Matt wanted to say—I just hate not knowing if she's okay.

He felt it too. But there was more weighing on him. The CIA had made it clear: when the Winter Soldier resurfaced, Shemar was to make contact. Capture, if possible. Kill, if necessary.

And now, deep in his gut, Shemar had the sinking feeling that all these threads—Jaige, Lorea, the missing pieces—were leading to one inevitable collision.

He just didn't know how to stop it.

They reached the city limits of Cartagena just before dawn. The lights of the port flickered ahead, casting long shadows over the waterfront.

"We need to be smart about this," Shemar said as he parked. "We're not the only ones looking for these... criminals."

Matt unbuckled his seatbelt, glancing at him. "What does that mean?"

Shemar hesitated. Then he shook his head. "It means we keep moving."

Because if Matt found out the real reason they weren't alone in this search, Shemar might not get another chance to tell him anything at all.

_________________

Emily paced the dimly lit house, arms crossed, frustration burning under her skin.

"You're making a mistake," she told Fury.

Fury, who was calmly pouring himself a cup of coffee, didn't even look up. "Wouldn't be my first."

"Matt needs to know about Sokovia. About what we found."

"Matt doesn't need to know you're even involved," Fury corrected, taking a slow sip. "He'd blow a gasket."

Emily's hands curled into fists. "So? I don't care if he's mad. This is real intel, Fury. It's not just some hunch—we decoded their accounts, and the payments lead to a site in Sokovia. That's not a coincidence. That's a trail."

Fury set down his cup. "And you think your brother's gonna calmly listen to that after he told you to stay the hell out of this?"

Emily faltered for half a second. She knew Matt. Knew his protectiveness. Knew that if he found out she was involved at all, he'd drop everything to keep her out of it—even if it meant ignoring what she'd found.

"He'll listen if you tell him," she tried.

Fury just gave her a long, measured look. "Not my job to fix family drama."

Emily clenched her jaw.

"So what, we just sit on this? Hope Matt and Shemar figure it out on their own?"

Fury sighed. "No. We find our own way in."

"Meaning?"

He looked her dead in the eye. "Pack a bag, kid. We're going to Sokovia."