Luke's POV
The blast hurled us out of the lab like rag dolls. I did what I could to soften the fall for Banner and Romanoff, bracing them with my arms and taking the brunt of the impact as we crashed through a collapsing corridor into the lower levels.
We hit the ground hard. My back slammed against the floor with a force that would've rattled the bones of an average person or worse, but I kept them shielded. Overhead, chunks of metal falling fast. One of them—a thick steel pipe—landed across Romanoff's leg with a sickening clang.
She hissed through gritted teeth, trying to pull herself free. "Damn it—come on..."
I shifted to cover them as more debris fell, catching the bulk of it on my back and shoulders. Not ideal, but I've taken worse.
Romanoff's focus shifted to Bruce, whose groans of pain were growing louder and less... human.
"Doctor?" she called out with a strained voice. "Bruce, you've gotta fight it. This is what Loki wants."
I spotted a few maintenance crew sprinting toward us through the smoke.
"Hey!" I barked, waving them off. "Get outta here. Clear the area!"
They hesitated for a second—just long enough to catch the rising growl behind us—then bolted.
Bruce clutched at his head, trembling violently. His fingers twitched and curled like they weren't sure whether to grip or crush.
"We're gonna be okay. Right?" Romanoff kept at it, inching closer. "I swear on my life, I'll get you out of this. You'll walk away from this, Bruce. We all will. And never—ever—"
"Your life?" Bruce cut her off, his voice suddenly deeper, guttural, almost mocking.
She froze.
He wasn't spazzing—he was losing control. His body contorted in jerky, unnatural movements. Green veins bulged across his arms. His face twisted as the transformation took hold. Shirt seams popped, bones cracked, and then—
The lights went out.
Without missing a beat, I snapped my gaze to Romanoff's leg, still pinned by the massive pipe.
"Brace yourself," I warned.
I drove my heel into the pipe with enough force to launch it halfway across the corridor. It slammed into the far wall, leaving a crater the size of a trash can lid.
"Little warning next time," she grunted, as I swept her up into my arms.
"Sorry! Priorities!" I called over my shoulder as we bolted, just as Bruce—no, Hulk—roared to life behind us.
His silhouette rose in the flickering red emergency lights. Towering, green, and furious.
And we were fresh out of time.
"Good luck getting him under control now," I muttered, shifting Romanoff awkwardly in my arms as I sprinted. The whole damsel-in-distress routine didn't suit me—and if the faint smirk playing on her lips was any indication, she found the whole thing just as ridiculous.
"Unconventional," she remarked dryly, pressing her earpiece as it hissed with static. A beat. "...Okay," she deadpanned, whatever came through the line clearly making her day even better.
"Define 'okay,'" I huffed, ducking under a collapsed bulkhead.
She didn't answer.
I felt it before I heard it—the shift in weight, the sudden imbalance in the floor beneath us. My steps wobbled for half a second.
"Port engine's down," I said grimly. "That's what that explosion was. Loki's plan is in motion."
"You sure?"
"Instability in pressure distribution, slight pitch to starboard, metal tension around the subframe... yeah, pretty sure. Also, more explosions."
A guttural roar shook the corridor behind us. The kind that didn't just echo—it pressed into your chest.
Romanoff tightened her grip around my neck. "He's behind us."
"No kidding." I rounded a corner, sprinting past broken pipes and dangling wires. A wall collapsed just behind us as Hulk came crashing through it—unstoppable, enraged, and way too fast.
I jumped over a fallen pipe as a chunk of the ceiling crashed down where we'd been seconds earlier. Hulk roared again. Not a warning—pure fury. And he was gaining.
"I *really* hate this part," I grumbled between ragged breaths.
"What part?"
"The part where I'm literally the only thing standing between you and a one-ton walking tantrum!"
"Then pick up the pace," she shot back, voice laced with amused irritation.
With a sharp exhale, I veered into a maintenance shaft, barely fitting through with her in my arms. The Hulk crashed into the opening behind us, the impact rattling the walls.
"Move!" she barked.
"I am moving!" I snapped, bolting down the cramped passage. The Hulk roared, fists plowing through steel and concrete like wet cardboard.
Ahead, the shaft dead-ended into open air.
"Brace yourself," I warned, slamming my boot through the vent cover and launching us into freefall.
We dropped fast—until I caught a lower ledge with a bone-jarring roll, twisting to take the impact on my side while shielding her. She let out a sharp *oof* on landing, but nothing sounded broken.
"—Could've stuck the landing better," she mused, breathless but grinning.
Hulk dove through the hole above, smashing into the deck just behind us and roaring with full fury.
"Run it by me one more time," Romanoff said, her voice dangerously calm. "Why exactly did Fury decide letting you serve coffee was a better use of your skills than, say, literally anything else?"
"I was wondering the same damn thing." I picked her up again. "Hang on tight."
I took off again, the Hulk's enraged growls shaking the corridor like an approaching earthquake.
The space was swallowed in darkness, the only light coming from sporadic emergency strips flickering weakly overhead. We moved low beneath the skeletal framework of dislodged engine parts, our footsteps muffled by the steady hiss of steam from a fractured pipeline. Romanoff dropped into a crouch beside me, her pistol drawn, grip unshaken. We both stilled as heavy, deliberate footfalls reverberated down the passage behind us—closer. Slower. Hunting.
I reached over and pressed my fingers against the barrel of her gun, easing it downward.
"Don't," I murmured. "He's not listening to anyone right now. Stick with me."
Her glare could've bored through vibranium, but she gave a sharp nod. Wordlessly, she straightened and stepped into the open, movements smooth, controlled—like she was taking a stroll.
The calm lasted three seconds.
With a deafening roar, the Hulk dropped from the upper deck, landing hard enough to buckle the floor beneath him, eyes burning with unchecked rage.
Romanoff didn't flinch. She snapped her pistol up and put a round straight into an overhead pressure valve. The pipe ruptured, engulfing the Hulk in a billowing curtain of superheated steam. He bellowed, swiping at the air like it had personally offended him.
"—Told you to follow my lead," I muttered.
She flashed me a look that was all teeth. "Worked, didn't it?"
"Go!" I yelled, stepping between them. "Run, now!"
She didn't argue this time.
Hulk lunged blindly. I caught his arm—bad idea. I dug my heels in, trying to hold my ground, but it was like grappling with a freight train. Even with the enhancements, I was nowhere near his league.
"Okay... oh, crap," I muttered—right before Hulk countered, slamming me into the wall like a rag doll.
Pain shot through me, but I stayed conscious, rolling over in time to see Romanoff sprinting down a narrow service corridor.
"Keep going!" I croaked, dragging myself up. "Don't stop!"
She didn't.
I pushed forward, catching up just in time as she neared the end of the walkway. Hulk was closing in—too fast. With no time to think, I grabbed a thick steel pipe from the debris, spun on my heel, and slammed it into his face with everything I had.
It bent in half.
Hulk barely flinched. Instead, he swatted me like an annoying bug. I crashed into a wall with a crunch. He stepped forward, one massive foot pinning me by the chest to the floor.
I couldn't move.
But Romanoff was gone. That part mattered.
Hulk raised a massive fist, snorting, preparing to end this—until, like divine timing, Thor tackled him from the side, as they crashed through the wall in a blur of muscle and fury.
I didn't waste the moment. Gritting my teeth, I wrapped my arms around Hulk's legs, adding my momentum to Thor's. The three of us tumbled through the breach and into the open hangar bay.
Personnel scattered like ants as we rolled across the floor, slamming into a crate of munitions. Sirens wailed, lights flickered.
The two of us circled the Hulk cautiously, like gladiators waiting for the beast to strike. The hangar echoed with distant alarms and crackling debris, but in that moment, it was just the three of us — predator, prey, and the fools who couldn't tell which was which.
Then Hulk roared and lunged.
His massive fists flew like wrecking balls, smashing crates and shattering steel. Thor ducked one, sidestepped another, moving with the grace of a warrior god. But then Hulk brought down both fists in a hammer-blow meant to flatten him. Thor dropped to one knee, arms locked above his head as he caught the blow, muscles straining beneath the force.
"We're not your enemies, Banner!" Thor shouted. "Try to think!"
But thinking was gone now. Reason had fled the scene.
From my side, I saw it plain as day — Banner wasn't coming back any time soon. Logic kicked in. If we were going to stop the Hulk, we had to put him down... To sleep of course.
Thor got sent flying through a metal container before I could even warn him. The impact bent the steel like cardboard. Hulk turned toward me next, this time, I was ready.
I clenched my fists, surged forward, and landed a punch straight to his jaw.
This one hit different.
The force made the Hulk stagger, just a little — enough to surprise him. But then he swatted me like a fly. I went tumbling across the hangar floor, rolling hard until I came to a stop beside a thick support pipe ripped clean from the ceiling. Convenient.
I grabbed it.
"Round two," I muttered.
Hulk turned back to Thor, but I sprinted forward and shouted, "Thor! Clear!"
Thor barely rolled aside as I swung the pipe like a baseball bat—one, two, three, four brutal strikes, each one ringing out like a gong of war. Hulk snarled and stumbled, though even now, he tore the pipe from my grip, snapped it in two like a twig, and hurled the pieces aside.
Thor crashed into another stack of containers, sliding across the floor in a dramatic heap. He came to a halt on one knee, blood trickling from his nose. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, looked up at Hulk, and grinned.
Then he raised his hand.
I saw it coming. My instincts kicked in. I charged at Hulk again, and just as he barreled toward us with fury blazing in his eyes, I ducked at the perfect second.
Whoosh—CLANG.
Mjolnir screamed through the hangar like a thunderbolt, passed just inches over my head, and slammed squarely into the Hulk's jaw as Thor caught it mid-swing. The hit echoed through the docking bay like a canon blast.
Hulk flew backward and crashed straight into a parked fighter jet, denting the metal frame and caving in the side with his body.
The bay fell into a tense silence.
I straightened, panting lightly, my hand still throbbing from the earlier punch. "Well," I muttered, dusting myself off, "that escalated quickly."
The Hulk didn't fall. Not even after that god-tier hit from Mjolnir. Instead, he rose—slowly, seething.
Then, with a guttural roar, he ripped the wing off the jet he'd just crashed into and hurled it with terrifying force.
"Down!" I shouted.
Thor ducked, and I dove into a forward roll, narrowly clearing the trajectory. The wing sailed past my back, missing me by maybe two inches. It smashed into a nearby jeep with an earth-shaking crunch, sending flaming debris in every direction.
Thor hurled Mjolnir. Hulk caught it mid-air—huge mistake.
The hammer pulled him off balance and yanked him backward like being hooked to an anchor. He skidded across the floor, growling in frustration, trying to lift it. No dice. Worth a shot, big guy.
Thor marched toward him, ripped Mjolnir free, and in one fluid motion, locked his arms around the Hulk's neck in a crushing hold. "Yield!" he grunted through grit teeth.
Hulk thrashed violently, swinging Thor like a ragdoll. I took the opportunity and dove in, slamming a brutal combo of punches into his ribs—every strike calibrated for maximum internal disruption.
Didn't even slow him down.
With a monstrous roar, Hulk grabbed both of us and leapt—straight through the floor.
We crashed down into the lab below, taking out tables, wires, and a couple of reinforced support beams on the way. Equipment sparked and glass shattered.
Thor groaned, flat on his back. Before he could recover, Hulk was on him, one massive hand around his throat.
"Move," I growled to myself.
I lunged, spun in the air, and brought both my legs down with a powerful ax kick to the Hulk's shin. The impact reverberated through the floor—and it worked. Hulk's grip loosened just long enough for Thor to wrench free.
And then—movement.
Through the smashed windows of the lab, I caught sight of a jet hovering outside, weapons hot. Whoever was piloting it wasn't here to ask questions.
"Now, Thor!" I shouted.
Thor and I locked eyes and moved in perfect sync.
As the jet opened fire, we coordinated—me ducking low, sweeping Hulk's legs out just as Thor landed another crushing blow with Mjolnir. The bullets pinged off Hulk's skin like rain on metal, but the pressure from all sides began to drive him back.
"Keep him turning! Disorient him!" I called out, dodging a massive hand that nearly took my head off.
The Hulk roared again and charged straight at the shattered window.
"Hulk—no, no, no—" I barely managed before—
CRASH.
Glass exploded outward as the Hulk launched himself into the open sky like a living missile. He soared across the gap in one monstrous leap, angling toward the jet hovering in midair.
Thor and I rushed to the edge, just in time to witness the impact.
BOOM. Hulk landed dead center on the jet's nose, crumpling it like paper. The aircraft reeled sideways in a chaotic spiral, metal shrieking as the nose dipped and engines whined under sudden imbalance.
"Guess he doesn't believe in seatbelts," I muttered, shielding my eyes from the sun glare.
Inside the cockpit, the pilot scrambled for the ejection lever—but too late.
With a primal snarl, Hulk reached in and ripped the canopy clean off. One hand grabbed the pilot and hurled him out of the seat like tossing a soda can. The man's parachute deployed just in time, spiraling him away to safety as the jet detonated midair in a blazing fireball.
For one heartbeat, all we saw was smoke and flame… until a massive green silhouette came hurtling out of it.
Hulk plummeted from the sky, falling past the clouds in a slow, spiraling descent—arms wide, like a furious meteor heading straight for Earth.
"Yeah," I muttered, shaking my head. "Definitely not sleepy."
Thor exhaled, resting Mjolnir on his shoulder. "He will survive the fall."
"I know," I said, glancing up at the thinning smoke trail. "That's what I'm worried about."
...
~Bridge~
Later, when things finally settled down, I found myself sitting at the table, an overwhelming sense of relief sinking into something far heavier—dread. The adrenaline was gone, and all that remained was reality.
Coulson was dead. Stabbed by Loki.
The bastard got away with the scepter.
We all sat in silence—Steve, Tony, and me. No words. Just bruises and the sting of failure. My regenerative healing had kicked in, slowly patching me back together, but I could still feel every blow the Hulk had landed. Not the pain, just all of it.
Fury stood across from us, his back turned as he stared down at the bridge. His posture said it all—we lost. Bruce had called it. So had I, truthfully. We were a disaster waiting to happen.
Then it happened.
There was still no word on Thor. He'd been separated from us when everything went to hell. Banner too.
Natasha—she asked me to start calling her that after I found her earlier tending to Barton—was off with Clint, checking if he was truly back to normal. My guess? Partially. Still twitchy. Mind-control leftovers.
Then Fury turned.
His eye locked on us as he stepped forward, holding something in his hand. A deck of Captain America trading cards—blood-stained, bent, and ruined.
"These were in Phil Coulson's jacket," he said, his voice low as he tossed the cards onto the table.
Steve picked one up, the blood smeared across its surface catching the light.
I glanced over. "Guess he never got you to sign them."
Fury leaned on the table, the gravity in his voice grounding the whole room. "We're dead in the air up here. Our communications, location of the cube, Banner, Thor. I got nothing
for you. Lost my one good eye." He exhaled. " Think I had that coming."
He began pacing, his words deliberate as he moved between us.
"Yeah, we were building an arsenal with the Tesseract. No point denying that. And yes, Luke—" he looked at me, "—I have intel. Jason's alive. I never put all my chips on that number, though, because I was playing something even riskier."
He paused beside my chair, gaze sharp. "And no—I never once considered using that failsafe on you. Even I'm not that cold."
He turned toward Stark and Rogers. "There was an idea. Stark knows this."
He moved to the empty chair between them.
"To bring together a group of remarkable people... and see if they could become something more. To see if they could work together when we needed them to. To fight the battles we never could."
He sat turning his gaze to me, then to the other two.
"Phil Coulson died believing in that idea, in heroes."
I noticed Tony abruptly stand muttering under his breath, "Well, it's an old-fashioned notion." then began walking out of the bridge.
Steve and I exchanged a glance before trailing after him. Eventually, we ended up where Loki's holding cell used to be—just open air now, the cylindrical glass cage destroyed like the illusion of control we'd all been clinging to.
Tony stood alone, staring out where the chamber once hovered, jaw clenched, his thoughts clearly miles away.
Steve approached quietly, leaning against the railing. "Was he married?"
Tony didn't look away. "No. There was an, uh... cellist. I think."
"I thought he was married," I said, casually hopping up to sit on the railing beside them.
Steve crossed his arms. "I had my doubts at first, but after talking to him... I realized he was a good man."
"He was an idiot," Tony said flatly.
I tilted my head. "Careful, Stark. That's rich coming from you."
Steve's eyes narrowed. "Why? For believing?"
Tony finally turned to face us. "For taking on Loki alone."
"He was following orders," I countered, meeting his gaze. "We all were."
Tony's voice sharpened. "He was out of his league. He should've waited. He should've—"
"Sometimes there isn't a way out," Steve interrupted.
Tony stepped forward, intense. "And how did that work out for him?"
There was a beat of silence. Then Steve spoke again, "Is this the first time you've lost a soldier?"
Tony flinched like he'd been slapped, "We're not soldiers. I'm not marching to Fury's fife."
"Neither are we," I said, and both turned to look at me. "Fury's got the same blood on his hands that Loki does. He's got agendas, strings, secrets. Though none of that matters right now. We don't need to trust him. We need to stop Loki. And to do that, we have to be smarter. Loki needs power. A lot of it. So if we can track that—"
Tony cut me off. "He made it personal!"
I blinked, something clicking. "Wait... wait a second."
Tony and Steve paused, eyes shifting back to me.
I stood slowly, thoughts racing, dots connecting. "Think about it. Loki's whole act—every move—it's theatrical. It's all flash and ego. The entire spectacle. The drama. The grand entrance. The monologues. The chaos in Germany—it wasn't just tactical. It was intentional. It's like a movie trailer."
"A preview," Tony said quietly, the realization dawning.
"This... this was opening night," I continued, voice picking up speed. "And Loki? He's the full-tail diva. He wants flowers. Applause. He wants monuments. He wants people to look up and see his name—literally. Oh, my God..."
I turned to Tony, eyes wide. "He's using Stark Tower."
Tony's eyes widened. "Son of a bitch."
"Everything—his need for power, for an energy source, the scepter, the cube—he needs infrastructure. High-altitude, wide broadcast, self-sustaining power grid..." I pointed at Tony. "And you just so happen to have the one building in New York that runs completely on clean, self-contained energy."
Tony didn't even hesitate—he was already moving. "JARVIS, get me the weather patterns over Manhattan, cross-check for heat signatures and unusual radiation spikes—now!"
...
I got into my suit.
With a soft hiss and a sharp metallic click, the segmented plates slid and locked into place. The helmet closed around my head in a seamless fold—smooth, reactive alloy shifting into a battle-ready mask, the visor flickering to life with a soft blue glow. The interface synced with my neural feedback system instantly, locking me into full tactical mode.
Inside the HUD, my vitals pulsed calmly. Outside, I looked like I was headed to a walking storm about to break loose.
"Kid, I'm heading out first to buy us some time," Tony's voice buzzed in my comms just as his repulsors roared to life.
"Don't die doing so," I called after him.
His voice came through a beat later. "No promises."
"Luke, pick up Romanoff and Barton along the way," Steve said firmly, now fully suited in a modernized version of the classic red, white, and blue. He adjusted his shield on his back and turned toward the hangar. "I'll meet you three on the hangar."
"On it, Cap."
I turned back to my locker to finish suiting up. As I reached for my gear, something caught my eye. A small hidden compartment clicked open. Inside was a folded note and a compact black case with Coulson scratched onto a metal plate.
I unfolded the note.
"Thought you might need this one day. It's not standard issue, but neither are you. Stay sharp. - Phil."
My throat tightened just a little. I opened the case.
Inside, a collapsible Bo Staff rested neatly, etched with faint circuitry and custom joints. Definitely not S.H.I.E.L.D. standard.
Definitely very me.
I pulled it out, pressed the central node, and with a satisfying shh-thunk, the staff extended fully, locking into place. Light blue accents pulsed at the seams. I strapped it across my back; it clicked into the magnetic sheath instantly.
I exhaled, "Right."
I turned and walked down the corridor, past scrambling agents, flickering lights, and red emergency strobes.
Eventually, I reached the room. Natasha and Clint were seated across from each other, the air still and quiet, like weirdly quiet.
They both looked up as I entered, Natasha was the first to speak.
"What's going on?"
"It's time," I said. "We know where Loki's staging his grand finale."
"Where?" she asked.
I shook my head. "No time. Just suit up. And tell me—are either of you good fly?"
Clint stood, rolling his shoulder. "Yeah. I can fly."
"Perfect. Cap's waiting at the hangar. Move fast."
As they stood, Natasha glanced at me as she holstered her weapons. "You look like you're heading into a warzone."
I smiled under the mask. "That's because we are."
...
We were now in the hangar, walking behind Captain America as he led us through the lower bay. Everyone was suited, strapped, and silent—the kind of silence that always came right before something loud and world-altering.
We approached one of the quinjets, its ramp lowered. Inside, a lone S.H.I.E.L.D. engineer was hunched over a console, working through a systems check.
"Hey, you guys aren't authorized to be in here," he snapped, not even looking up. "This craft's not ready for deployment. You can't just—"
"Please, get out," I said flatly, before calmly grabbing the back of his collar and dragging him out of the jet with as much resistance as a stubborn cat.
Steve raised an eyebrow at me as the ramp sealed shut behind us.
"You could've been a little more genuine with the please," he said dryly.
I shot him a look and shrugged. "It was that or I toss him out at a 45-degree angle. Thought I'd be nice."
Up in the cockpit, Clint was already flipping switches. "Buckle up, folks," he called out.
He glanced back at me, squinting slightly through the mirror. "Hey—what's your name again?"
"Lieutenant Shadow," I replied as I took a seat, locking in the restraints with a practiced click. "Maybe you've heard the rumors."
Clint's eyes lit up. "No way. You're that guy?"
I arched an eyebrow under the helmet. "Depends. Which guy?"
"The guy who saved the president's daughter—Ashley Graham, right? That rural village in Spain, 2004? That was you?"
I gave him a slow nod. "Yeah. Wild summer vacation."
He snapped his fingers, visibly excited now. "And West Berlin, late '80s. That CIA black site. You pulled three field agents out right under the Soviets' noses. That was you."
"That was cold, literal and political. The extraction took three minutes. The run took six. The fallout lasted months."
"And Project Sentinel—that was real?"
"Most of it," I replied with a smirk. "The part about genetic experiments creating possibly super soldiers? The part where I survived it? Entirely me."
Natasha, seated on the co-pilot, just sighed and muttered, "Yes, Clint. We get it. You're a fanboy."
Clint grinned and nudged her. "Told you, Nat. Kid's real. I knew it."
I leaned back as the jet's engines ignited with a deafening roar. Vibrations rattled through the frame as we lifted off, slicing through the open hangar bay into the sky.
...
Third POV
Iron Man soared through the skies toward New York City, the skyline growing larger with every second. His suit flickered—warning signs blinking rapidly across the HUD—as power levels dipped dangerously low. But Tony Stark wasn't the type to back down. Not when everything was on the line. Not when the world was hanging by a thread and Loki was at the center of it.
He pushed the suit harder.
"Sir," JARVIS spoke, his voice clipped and precise, "I've shut down the arc reactor feeding the device, but it appears the mechanism has become self-sustaining."
Tony angled downward and saw the source—Dr. Selvig on the rooftop of Stark Tower, hunched beside the portal device, the Tesseract glowing with raw, unfiltered power.
Tony flew over the structure, eyes narrowing behind the visor. "Shut it down, Dr. Selvig."
The scientist didn't even flinch. His voice was flat, eerily calm, twisted by whatever lingering control Loki still had over him. "It's too late. She can't stop now. She wants to show us something… a new universe."
Tony's jaw clenched. "Okay," he muttered—and fired.
The repulsor blast slammed into the energy barrier, but the pulse bounced off like a rubber bullet. The energy crackled outward with force, knocking Selvig unconscious and leaving the Tesseract glowing brighter than ever.
"The barrier is pure energy," JARVIS reported calmly. "It's unbreachable."
"Yeah, I got that," Tony snapped, brushing soot off his forearm. He checked the suit status. "I'm completely drained."
Below, Loki stood at the edge of the penthouse, scepter in hand, radiating smugness like it was a second skin. Tony took a breath, then exhaled. No time for subtlety. No time for plan B.
"Sir, the Mark Seven is not ready for deployment," JARVIS added.
"Then skip spinning the rims," Tony grumbled. "We've got a god to knock off his pedestal, and I'm not doing it in loafers. Were running on clock"
He landed on the tower's terrace. His armor hissed, clicked, and folded away piece by piece as he stepped forward, unarmored. The penthouse doors opened, and Tony entered like he owned the place—which, to be fair, he did.
Inside, sleek steel met marble, accented with sharp lines and floor-to-ceiling glass. The city stretched out beneath them like a stage, and Loki stepped into the room with theatrical grace, scepter twirling in hand.
Tony went behind the bar without breaking stride. He grabbed a bottle, poured himself a drink, and looked up just as Loki approached.
There were no words yet—just the sound of glass clinking and two men who knew of what was about to come...
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To be continued...
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