My suspicions about Steve revealing the mysterious woman in armour to Colonel Phillips were confirmed when I found myself sitting in the Colonel's office, his gaze fixed and intense. He hadn't figured out that I was the one who had been there, and I knew it was my job to uncover more about this unknown figure.

"Do you honestly think a woman could accomplish all of that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as he examined the report Steve had written and handed over to the Colonel.

"He saw her," Phillips replied, adding, "And so did Barnes." Both of them had indeed witnessed me, and I had saved their lives in the process.

"I've read the report, sir," I said, my gaze shifting to the file they were compiling. It was small for now, but in time, it would grow much larger. "It sounds like she was there to help, and she did save them," Phillips let out a frustrated sigh, tossing the paper back onto the desk before meeting my gaze.

"This time," he began, his voice laced with suspicion, as if he was already anticipating that this woman would eventually turn on us, doing something that would jeopardize everything. "We don't know who she is, where the hell she came from. If she's working with Hydra, making it seem like she's on our side..." His scepticism was real, though I supposed it came with the territory of his job. "We need to learn everything we can about this woman," Phillips continued. "Because women can't--" his voice trailed off as he picked up Steve's report again, squinting at it as if searching for the words Steve used. "Leap fifty feet into the air, land without a scratch, and use a sword to slice through metal?" He slammed the paper back onto the desk, his eyes wide in disbelief, clearly having trouble accepting what he was reading even if he'd read it about a hundred times.

"No, I don't believe we can, sir," I replied softly, my eyes drifting to the report he had thrown down. Beneath it, something caught my attention—a sketch. I reached out, pulling it free from under the paper and holding it up to examine. As I turned it around, it became clear that it was Steve's work. The rough outline captured the details of the armour I wore: the gauntlets, the sword, and the headband. The sketch included some facial features, but they were clearly not a match for my own.

"So, your task, Agent Reverdin," Phillips began, his voice low and firm, "is to speak with Rogers, Barnes, and anyone else who may have seen... this." He reached across the desk and snatched the sketch of the woman from my hands, his fingers brushing against mine for a brief moment. He studied the drawing intently, his brow furrowing as he examined every line and curve. After a moment, he scoffed, clearly unsettled by what he was seeing. "This... Golden Lady," he muttered, spitting out the words as he made the name on the spot.

He shook his head slightly, still holding the sketch, the edges crinkling under his tight grip. His eyes never left the drawing as if searching for answers in the messy lines Steve had made.

"Golden Lady, sir?" I repeated, a slight frown forming at the unexpected name he had assigned her. It wasn't exactly the title I would have chosen.

"Yes. She wears gold," he replied curtly, his tone sharp and bordering on impatience.

The room felt tense as Phillips looked back at me, his expression hardening. "I want to know everything about her, Agent."

"I'll see what I can find out, sir," I responded, meeting his gaze with a nod. I could tell Phillips was struggling with his own thoughts on this Golden Lady, his brow furrowed in uncertainty as he weighed the implications of her existence. There was a clear unease in the air, the tension thick as he stared at the sketch, almost as if he could make sense of her just by staring.

"Dismissed, Agent Reverdin," he said, his voice firm as he carefully slid the sketch back into the folder with Steve's report. His gaze lingered on the folder for a moment before he looked up at me, signalling that our conversation was over.

I rose from the chair, straightening my uniform as I turned toward the door. With a quiet sigh, I made my way out of the Colonel's office, the weight of my task pressing down on me. I knew it would likely lead nowhere—after all, there wasn't much to be learned about the Golden Lady.

..........................

Steve had assembled a team of his own, and they were gathered at a lively pub, their laughter and camaraderie filling the air as they downed their beers like it was their last night on earth. I observed from a distance, perched on a barstool, beside of James. I was still clad in my army uniform, I had come straight from the base, not bothering to change.

Steve stood at the centre of his group, deep in conversation with the men he had heroically rescued from the Hydra base. Turning away from the sight, I shifted on the stool, reaching for my glass of whiskey. The amber liquid swirled over the clinking ice cubes as I took a contemplative sip.

"What do you remember about her?" I asked, lowering my glass back onto the bar counter. My head turned slightly to the left, my gaze locking onto Sergeant Barnes' piercing blue eyes.

Steve and Sergeant Barnes were the last two on my list. The others had no direct knowledge of her, only the fragments of information Steve and Barnes had shared. That left me with only two viable leads—James and Steve.

"She was badass," James remarked with a smug grin, though the expression quickly faltered as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his tone. "I mean, she saved Steve and me. She cut through that metal like it was paper," he added, his voice tinged with genuine awe. "It sounds impossible, I know, but she did it," James said, his voice laced with disbelief. "She leapt through a window without a second thought, like she knew she'd land safely like she was certain nothing could hurt her."

"Sounds like you admire her," I remarked, a playful smirk tugging at my lips as I caught the glimmer of admiration written all over his expression.

"There was something about her," he said, his eyes meeting mine. "A sense of purpose... like she was driven by something bigger. She was there to do good," His words carried conviction, every syllable laced with his unwavering belief that she wasn't evil.

"Colonel Phillips seems to think otherwise," I replied quietly, my tone careful. "He believes she's a risk—thinks she'll go rogue or become a problem."

James shot me a sharp, almost incredulous look, his expression bordering on disbelief. It was as if he knew something about her that he looked at me sharply, almost incredulously her turning rogue was absurd to him.

Before I could respond, I noticed Steve approaching, his gaze briefly settling on me before shifting to James.

"I'll leave you two to talk," I said with a polite smile, finishing off the last of my whiskey in one smooth motion and setting the empty glass on the counter. A few curious stares followed my action, but I paid them no mind. James, on the other hand, looked faintly impressed, a hint of amusement in his expression.

"I'll speak with you tomorrow, Captain," I added with a nod to Steve before rising gracefully from the stool.

I wove my way through the crowded pub, acutely aware of the gazes following me. Steve's newly recruited team watched with quiet curiosity, while Sergeant Barnes' eyes lingered with an intensity that felt almost real, burning into the back of my head.

Stepping out into the crisp night air, I turned onto the street, only to spot Peggy approaching. She was a vision in a stunning red dress, her dark lipstick perfectly matching the ensemble. Her hair, styled in elegant waves, framed her face beautifully, complementing her confident stride.

"Don't you look stunning tonight," I said as soon as she was within earshot, earning a playful smirk from her. "You're bound to turn heads," I added smoothly, the words rolling effortlessly off my tongue as she came to a graceful stop in front of me.

"You have the night off; why don't you stay?" Peggy suggested, her tone warm and inviting. I gave a casual shrug, considering her words. After all, my current assignment from Colonel Phillips was no secret to her—I'd already filled her in on the orders I'd been given. While the investigation into this mysterious 'Golden Lady' wasn't my primary focus, it was a side project, secondary to our joint mission to bring down Hydra.

"Maybe another night," I replied with a faint smile, keeping my tone light. Peggy reached out, clasping my hands in hers with a warm gesture.

"I've never known anyone who works quite like you," she remarked, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. Her sincerity was evident, and I couldn't help but play along, matching her smile with one of my own.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said warmly, pulling her into a tight hug. She welcomed the embrace, holding me just as firmly.

"O-eight-hundred," she reminded me with a small smile as she leaned back. I nodded in acknowledgement, and we both released each other from the embrace. She turned and began walking toward the pub, her figure blending seamlessly into the lively night. I stood for a moment, watching as the echoes of laughter and singing from Steve's team abruptly quieted—her presence commanding the room the moment she stepped inside. She was a true vision of grace.

I turned away from the lights and noise, allowing the lively chatter to fade behind me as I wandered the streets alone. People often say women shouldn't walk alone at night, but they're wrong. Women should have the right to walk freely, to feel safe in their own city, without the looming threat of danger—without the shadow of fear following every step.

Just as I let that thought settle, a piercing scream shattered the quiet. It was sharp and desperate, but it was cut short almost instantly, as though someone had stifled it—silencing the voice with a cruel hand.

I reacted instantly, my eyes looked up and down the pavement finding no life at all, and with a single thought, I stepped into a nearby alleyway, and was engulfed in the shadows, as if they were embracing me. As my vision sharpened, I found myself standing in another alleyway. Just a few feet away, a man was gripping a woman tightly by her forearm, his knuckles white with the force of his hold. She struggled against him, her fear evident in the way her eyes darted around, searching for help.

"Give me the purse!" he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice low and venomous, clearly trying to avoid drawing unwanted attention to the scene. "Or else," he growled, his eyes darkening with a menacing intensity I recognized all too well.

"I suggest you let her go," I said firmly, my voice steady. In an instant, the man yanked the woman in front of him, using her as a human shield. His eyes flicked nervously left and right, searching for the source of my voice.

I stepped out of the shadows, the faint glow from a nearby streetlamp catching the gleam of my armour. The metallic surface reflected the light, casting a sharp, shine as I moved closer.

The man seemed to relax slightly, noticing that I was a woman, dressed in what he clearly thought was a ridiculous outfit. He let out a mocking laugh, his thick London accent cutting through the night. "Not Halloween yet, darling," he sneered.

I ignored his taunt and moved closer, noticing the fear in the woman's eyes as she braced herself for harm.

"I said," I began, my voice dropping low and dangerous, "Let her go." My tone darkened, and with each step I took, the tension in the air grew thicker.

"What are you going to do, sweetheart?" he mocked, his smirk widening. I could easily use my magic to end this, but no, this guy needed a lesson he wouldn't forget.

I continued to walk toward him, not giving an inch. His eyes flickered with uncertainty, but he quickly discarded it. Without warning, he shoved the woman aside. She hit the ground with a dull thud, falling into a pile of discarded bags. Panic flashed in her eyes as she scrambled to get out of the way.

The man wasted no time. In one fluid motion, he yanked a knife from his pocket, the blade catching the faint light of the streetlamp above. A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes, and he raised the knife in a menacing arc toward me.

His attack was quick, but I was quicker. As he swung, I sidestepped with a smooth, calculated movement, barely feeling the rush of air as the blade whooshed past me. I could hear him grunt in frustration, but his next move came almost immediately. He lunged again, swinging the knife wildly in an attempt to catch me off guard.

I could see the desperation in his eyes, a man realizing he wasn't as fast or skilled as he thought. This time, I didn't just dodge. I danced around his strike, my own movements fluid and precise, almost as though the space between us had become a stage and we were performing a deadly waltz. He growled, his rage mounting with each failed attempt, but he was only digging his own grave.

I stepped forward just as he swung again, this time aiming for my side. Without hesitation, I raised my gauntlet arm, positioning it perfectly to intercept the blade. The moment the steel met the enchanted metal, there was a sharp, grinding noise, like a harsh screech of metal against metal. Sparks erupted from the collision, lighting up the dark alleyway with a flash of silver and orange.

The force of the impact jolted through my arm, but I didn't flinch. My gauntlet absorbed the blow effortlessly, and I pushed forward, using my own momentum to add pressure. The man's grip faltered, and I saw his fingers twitch, struggling to maintain control of the blade. Another jolt of force sent a shockwave through the blade, and suddenly, it slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground with a sharp clang.

He stumbled back, eyes wide in disbelief, staring at the empty space where his weapon had been just moments before. His chest heaved in frustration, his eyes burning with anger. With a grunt, he lunged at me, hoping that his brute strength would be enough to overpower me. His fists were clenched, aiming for my head, but his wild swings were sloppy, driven more by rage than technique.

I sidestepped his first punch with ease, letting the momentum of his charge carry him forward. His body lurched past me, and in that instant, I struck. I pivoted on my heel, bringing my gauntlet up in a swift, calculated motion. My fist connected with his ribs, and the impact was like a thunderclap—his body jerking backwards with the force.

He staggered, gasping for breath, but didn't back off. He was persistent, trying to regain his balance and throwing another wild punch. This time, I caught his wrist with my free hand, twisting it sharply. His growl of pain filled the alley as I yanked his arm back, using his own weight against him. With a quick, fluid motion, I spun him around, slamming his chest into the nearest dumpster. The metal groaned under the pressure, but it held.

I stepped back, observing his ragged breathing, as he tried to shake off the blow. He wasn't going to give up that easily, and I knew I had to be careful. If I put my full strength into this, I would be shattering his bones in an instant.

He turned, fury and desperation in his eyes, and swung a fist at me once more. I ducked under the punch, the wind from his strike brushing past my face. My knee shot up, connecting hard with his abdomen, knocking the air out of his lungs. He gasped, staggering backwards again, but before he could recover, I grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and slammed his back into the alley wall.

With the sheer force of the impact, his head slammed into the wall, and a sharp groan of pain escaped his lips. His body went slack, disoriented from the blow, and he crumpled, going limp in my grasp. He began to slide down the wall, his legs buckling beneath him.

I adjusted my stance, maintaining a firm hold on him as he sank to the ground. Slowly, I lowered myself down with him, ensuring he didn't collapse in an uncontrolled heap. He rested against the alley wall, his head hanging loosely, his breathing shallow and ragged.

"Thank you," the woman's voice echoed in the stillness of the alley, drawing my attention. I straightened up and turned to face her. She was clutching her purse tightly, her wide eyes still filled with a mix of relief and curiosity. "Who are you?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she took me in.

"The Golden Lady," I replied calmly, offering her a reassuring smile, the faintest glint of warmth in my eyes.

Maybe the name Phillips had given me wasn't so bad after all. I knew the woman would share the story of what happened here tonight, probably even tell the police about the 'Golden Lady.'

If Phillips truly believed I'd become a threat or go rogue, let him think that. It wouldn't change my resolve—I was going to keep helping people, no matter what.

*******