The sky was nearly pitch black as Mirage flew toward the Avengers Tower, her silhouette cutting through the clouds like a shadow. She circled the tower once, twice, her eyes scanning the area below before she dropped down silently, her massive wings folding tightly against her back. As she neared the ground, her form shifted. The air around her seemed to warp as she transformed from the terrifying, dragon-like creature into a human.

Her body landed with a soft thud, and she stumbled forward, pretending to falter, her hand clutching her chest. Mirage quickly conjured a deep, gaping wound on her chest, a simulated slash that bled heavily. She gasped and whimpered, ensuring that the wound appeared fresh, the blood running down her torso as she collapsed to the ground. Her eyes fluttered as she forced herself to fall into a position that appeared half-dead, vulnerable. The air was thick with the smell of blood and a faint, faint sense of desperation.

The sensors embedded around the Tower pinged instantly, triggering a response as the Avengers rushed into action. The doors to the main hangar burst open, and the team filed out, clad in their outfits, alert and ready for anything.

Tony, seeing the scene unfold, was the first to speak, his voice slightly incredulous. "Oh, it's her," he muttered under his breath, lifting his Iron Man helmet and sliding it back into place.

Natasha, sharp-eyed and quick to assess, knelt down beside Mirage, studying her with a practiced gaze. "Oh, wow," she said, her tone a mix of surprise and concern. She noted the wound on Mirage's chest with a raised eyebrow. "It seems she got quite the wound."

Mirage let out a soft, pitiful whimper, her breathing shallow and labored, but the entire time, her mind was working like clockwork. Every movement, every breath was calculated, designed to provoke exactly the right response from the Avengers. They would rush to her aid, thinking she was a victim, a person in need of saving. And in the chaos, the real mission would unfold.

But for now, she would play the part of the wounded, helpless woman.

Steve stepped forward with determination, scooping Mirage into his arms with practiced ease. Her form was deceptively light in his grasp, but beneath her human exterior, he felt the tension in her body. As he shifted her carefully, she couldn't resist the tiniest of grins that tugged at the corners of her lips—hidden from the others, but there nonetheless. The deception was working flawlessly, and she felt the rush of satisfaction.

"We better get her in and get Bruce to treat her," Steve said, his tone steady but filled with concern as he looked down at her, his protective instincts kicking in. He had no idea that he was carrying a calculated predator.

Mirage let out a soft whimper, her head resting against his chest in feigned exhaustion. She kept her breathing shallow, her eyes fluttering in a way that made her seem fragile, just broken enough to elicit the reaction she wanted.

Tony, watching closely, raised an eyebrow, still suspicious. "I don't know, Cap. She's a little too... convenient. Just showing up like this after a fight with a dragon?" He crossed his arms, his skepticism clear.

Natasha shot Tony a look, but she didn't comment, her gaze still on Mirage's face. "Let's not jump to conclusions," she said, her voice low. "We can figure it out once we get her inside." She turned to Steve and nodded. "I'll cover your back."

Steve nodded in return, still carrying Mirage carefully in his arms. "Alright, let's move."

As they started toward the entrance, Mirage kept her expression neutral, her mind racing through her next steps. She had to maintain the illusion a little longer, play the part of the injured one. But she knew how to handle this—she had done it before.

SCENEBREAK

Mirage allowed herself to drift into a light sleep, the low murmur of voices and the sterile scent of the Avengers' medical bay lulling her into a temporary reprieve. Bruce had worked quietly, his focus entirely on her wounds, but her mind was always alert. She stayed just below the surface, pretending to rest, waiting for the right moment to stir.

It wasn't long before she felt a gentle pressure on her hand. Her red eyes flickered open, their deep crimson hue catching the light of the room as she stared up into Steve's face. His smile was warm, sincere, and for a split second, she allowed herself to savor the image—though it was brief.

"You're doing alright, darling?" Steve's voice was soft and full of concern, his fingers gently brushing hers. He looked genuinely relieved to see her awake, but there was a glimmer of something else in his eyes, too—a faint trace of affection that she could use to her advantage.

Mirage blinked slowly, her voice rough from the fake exhaustion she'd been feigning. "Yes," she croaked out, her voice laced with the perfect mixture of vulnerability and gratitude. She gave a small, weak smile as she met his gaze. "Thank you for saving me," she added, the words coming out with just the right amount of sincerity to deepen the illusion.

She watched as Steve's expression softened further, a small sigh escaping his lips as if her gratitude was all the reassurance he needed. He gave her hand a slight squeeze, clearly pleased with her recovery, though still concerned. "Of course," he said, his voice steady but with an edge of tenderness. "We're a team. We look out for each other."

Mirage's smile remained, though inwardly, she was already plotting her next move. She was playing her part well, and soon enough, she would know exactly how to twist the situation to her advantage. For now, though, she played the innocent, grateful woman in Steve's arms.

The door to the medical bay slid open, and Mirage's heart skipped a beat as Tony and T'Challa stepped in. Her eyes instinctively locked onto the King of Wakanda. The moment she saw him, she felt a sudden flutter deep within her—a reaction she wasn't prepared for.

Oh, get it together, woman, she chided herself internally, forcing herself to remain calm. You already have a mate... and dragons are loyal to a fault!

Despite her inner reprimands, her gaze lingered on T'Challa for just a moment longer than it should have. The man carried himself with such quiet strength and poise that it was hard not to be drawn to him. She had known many powerful beings in her time, but there was something uniquely commanding about him. She couldn't help but be captivated by the way he moved, the aura of royal grace that surrounded him.

Tony was speaking, but Mirage's focus was split between him and the imposing figure of T'Challa. Tony waved a hand in front of her face, snapping her from her reverie. "Hey, Earth to Mirage. You okay?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed her distracted expression.

Mirage blinked rapidly, shaking herself free from her thoughts. "I'm fine," she replied, giving a soft laugh to mask her moment of weakness. She gave Steve's hand a gentle squeeze, then turned her attention to Tony and T'Challa, making sure to keep her expression neutral. "Just... a little disoriented, I guess."

T'Challa's eyes studied her with careful curiosity, his demeanor unreadable. "I trust you're recovering well," he said, his voice deep and composed, yet carrying an air of authority.

Mirage nodded, forcing herself to meet his gaze with confidence. "I'm getting there, Your Majesty," she said, using the title she knew would garner respect. Her voice was steady, though internally, her heart was still racing, the presence of the king stirring something within her that she wasn't quite ready to confront.