After the funeral, Steve and Sharon went back to the hotel together and strolled through the lobby. He was enjoying the conversation, but he also wanted to know more about Sharon. She was a connection to Peggy he’d never known about. “My mom tried to talk me out of enlisting,” Sharon was saying, with a wistful smile at the memory. “But not Aunt Peggy. She bought me my first knife holster.”

“Very practical,” Steve commented.

“And stylish,” she added. They had reached the elevators and she pressed the Up button.

“They have you stationed over here now?”

She nodded. “In Berlin, Joint Terrorism Task Force.”

“Right. Sounds fun.”

She smiled. “I know, right?”

Before she went into her room and he lost his nerve, Steve had one more thing he needed to know. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. When you were spying on me from across the hall . . .”

“You mean when I was doing my job?” she said, gently correcting him.

Fair enough , Steve thought. “Did Peggy know?”

“She kept so many secrets. I didn’t want her to have one from you.” It was a hard thing for Steve to hear, but he understood. “Thanks for walking me back.”

“Sure,” Steve said. He paused, and so did she, like they both might have had something else to say.

But whatever it was, they didn’t get a chance. Sam Wilson showed up then from the lobby, his face anxious. “Steve. There’s something you got to see.”

In Sharon’s hotel room, Steve and Sam watched the shocking news. The government building in Vienna, its facade blown away and fires burning inside, dominated the TV screen. A British voice reported that a bomb hidden in a news van had partially destroyed the building.

Behind them, they heard Sharon talking with the Terrorism Task Force command center. “Who’s coordinating?” she asked, and paused.

“More than seventy people have been injured,” the broadcaster said. “At least twelve are dead, including Wakanda’s King T’Chaka. Officials have released a video of a suspect, identified as James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier.”

When Steve saw Bucky’s picture, his first thought was, No. That’s impossible.

Then he realized just how possible it was. “The infamous Hydra agent, linked to numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations . . .” the broadcaster droned on.

How could Bucky have done this? Why would he do it? Why did Hydra care about Vienna?

Or was this an attack aimed at T’Chaka? Would Hydra go after Wakanda’s Vibranium supply again?

Too many questions, not enough information. But Steve knew he had to find Bucky.

Sharon appeared between them, now off the phone. She watched with them for another moment and then said, “I have to go to work.”

An emergency helicopter flew over Natasha as she found T’Challa sitting on a bench near the site of the explosion. Rescue and forensics personnel coordinated their response in a swirl of people around the devastated block.

She sat at the next bench over, facing him at an angle. There was blood on his clothes and dust in his hair. He had a heavy ring in his fingers, turning it over and over. She could see a pattern on the ring but couldn’t quite tell what it was. “I’m very sorry,” she said.

“In my culture, death is not the end. It’s more of a . . . ​stepping-off point. You reach out with both hands, and Bast and Sekhmet—​they lead you into the green veld, where you can run forever.” He said it with a distant expression, his voice following the cadence of someone repeating a childhood story.

“That sounds very peaceful.”

“My father thought so.” He put the ring on and stood. “I am not my father.”

Something about him seemed suddenly dangerous, and Natasha realized how little she knew about him. “T’Challa,” she said, in case he had any crazy ideas, “the task force will decide who brings in Barnes.”

“Don’t bother, Miss Romanoff.” T’Challa flexed his fingers, settling his father’s ring into place. “I’ll kill him myself.”

As the grieving prince—​now king—​walked away, Natasha thought he was getting himself in way over his head if he believed he could take on the Winter Soldier. Her phone rang. It was Steve. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, thanks. I got lucky.” She looked around. Was Steve in Vienna? He’d been in London for Peggy Carter’s funeral. “I know how much Barnes means to you. I really do,” she said. “Stay at home. You’ll only make this worse for all of us. Please.”

“Are you saying you’ll arrest me?”

“No. Someone will, if you interfere. That’s how it works now.”

“If he’s this far gone, Nat . . . ​I should be the one to bring him in.”

“Why?” This was no time for Steve Rogers to be working out his guilt, she thought. Things had gone way past that.

“Because I’m the one least likely to die trying.”

He hung up then, and Natasha had two notions. One, Steve was probably right.

Two, a lot of other people would not agree.

There was going to be trouble. rDYjY7NBaD2UVNIJPM/MoTZCS5dHBdtyJ+goaXNzJAkcKK3VR56UFObYSzcyA1tr