At nine o’clock in the evening, the streets of Brooklyn had already lost the noise of daytime.
Only a few streetlights remained glowing along the road, casting warm yellow patches across the wet asphalt.
The evening breeze rolled fallen leaves along the sidewalk, and aside from the occasional passing car, the area was almost empty.
Emily walked slowly with her hands tucked inside her hoodie pockets.
She had just come out of the supermarket and was not in a hurry to return home.
Even though her body no longer needed digestion like an ordinary human, old habits were hard to change.
After eating, she still liked walking slowly in the cool evening air.
She was only two blocks away from her apartment.
Her mind was focused on a far more important question.
Should tonight’s braised pork be sweet and glossy, or rich and soy-sauce heavy?
Then—
Bang!
A sharp gunshot tore through the quiet street.
Emily stopped instantly.
A woman screamed.
Glass shattered.
A rough male voice shouted from the bank branch across the road.
Emily’s smile froze.
Her first thought was simple.
Really?
A bank robbery?
Two blocks from my apartment?
She had separated from Natasha Romanoff less than half an hour ago, and now she had run straight into a classic American crime scene.
At the bank entrance, four masked robbers rushed out with assault rifles.
Two of them dragged heavy money bags toward a black van parked by the curb.
One fired into the air to scare the crowd, and the few pedestrians nearby screamed and scattered.
Emily instinctively stepped back and pressed herself against the wall.
She did not want to get involved.
Not at all.
This was a job for the NYPD or FBI.
If she acted, she might expose her abilities.
Then S.H.I.E.L.D.
would raise her threat level, and her peaceful life would become far more troublesome.
It was just a bank robbery.
As long as they did not point a gun at her or blow up her apartment, it had nothing to do with her.
Emily silently repeated to herself:
Stay low.
Do not show off.
Do not get involved.
She was about to take a side alley and leave when several heavy thuds echoed from across the street.
Then came the robbers’ cries of pain.
Emily looked up.
A black figure had burst out from a nearby alley like a hunting cat.
The movement was fast, clean, and almost silent.
There were no gunshots, no wasted actions, only swift strikes.
In less than thirty seconds—
all four armed robbers were on the ground.
Their weapons and money bags lay scattered across the pavement.
Under the streetlight stood a woman with reddish-brown hair and a fitted black jacket.
Natasha Romanoff.
Black Widow.
Emily stared.
In her mind, she silently cursed fate again.
Natasha brushed dust from her hands, glanced at the unconscious robbers, and calmly called the NYPD, reporting the address as if she had merely handled a minor inconvenience.
After ending the call, Natasha turned—and saw Emily near the wall.
Surprise flashed across her face.
“Emily?” Natasha walked over quickly, looking her up and down to confirm she was unharmed.
“Why are you still here?
Didn’t you hear the gunshots?”
Emily showed just the right amount of lingering fear.
“I was about to take a detour,” she said softly.
“I didn’t have time.
“Don’t thank me.
I was passing by.” Natasha frowned slightly.
“This place isn’t safe right now.
Their accomplices could still be nearby.
I’ll walk you home.”
Emily froze.
Let Black Widow escort her home?
That sounded like inviting danger inside.
But refusing would look suspicious.
Worse, Natasha might secretly follow her anyway.
So Emily nodded politely.
“Then I’ll trouble you, Natasha.”
Natasha smiled.
“Just Natasha is fine.”
They walked side by side along the quiet street.
Sirens began approaching in the distance.
Natasha glanced back and sighed.
“The NYPD is always half a step slower than the criminals.”
“It is the land of the free,” Emily replied dryly.
“Before coming to America, I thought New York’s public security would be better.
I didn’t expect to see a bank robbery just by walking at night.”
Natasha laughed softly.
“You’ll get used to it.
Queens and Brooklyn are still decent.
In Hell’s Kitchen, most people know better than to walk alone after dark.”
As they walked, Natasha kept her pace slow to match Emily’s.
Her gaze occasionally drifted toward the girl beside her.
Emily looked harmless—quiet, polite, small, and calm.
But Natasha could never fully relax around her.
A normal student would have panicked after hearing gunshots.
Emily had looked frightened, yes, but not truly shaken.
There was always something controlled about her.
Too controlled.
To break the silence, Natasha asked, “How are your grades at school?
You’re still in high school, right?”
The question was so ordinary that Emily nearly paused.
Even Natasha seemed to realize how strange it sounded.
Emily answered calmly, “They’re fine.
Straight As.”
“Straight As?” Natasha raised an eyebrow.
“Then Columbia’s pre-college programs should be easy for you.”
“I’m considering it,” Emily said.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
She knew Natasha was probing again.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
had surely checked her school records, her friendship with Peter and Gwen, and her academic performance.
This was not simple small talk.
But Emily played along.
Soon, they arrived at her apartment building.
Emily stopped at the entrance.
“We’re here.
Thank you for walking me back.
Would you like to come up for a glass of water?”
It was meant as polite courtesy.
To her surprise, Natasha nodded.
“Sure.
I’m a little thirsty.
Hope I’m not intruding.”
Emily’s heart skipped once.
But her face remained calm.
“Not at all. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
Come in.”
She led Natasha upstairs, opened the apartment door, and turned on the light.
Warm yellow light filled the room.
The apartment was clean, simple, and lived-in.
A desk sat near the window, holding a laptop and several textbooks.
The bookshelf was half-filled with school materials and half-filled with computer science, physics, and a few old Chinese literature books.
The kitchen was neatly arranged with pots, pans, a wok, and rows of seasonings.
A blanket lay over the sofa.
A half-finished glass of water and a small bag of strawberries sat on the coffee table.
It looked like the home of an ordinary student who studied hard and cooked often.
Natasha looked around with interest.
“Your apartment is lovely.
I expected a computer genius to have servers and wires everywhere.”
“That’s only in movies,” Emily said, pouring warm water in the kitchen.
“I’m just a student.”
She handed Natasha the glass.
Natasha accepted it and took a sip.
Then her gaze moved casually across the room.
“By the way,” she said, smiling, “where are the two large grocery bags from the supermarket?”
Emily had expected this.
“A neighbor helped me carry them up,” she replied calmly.
“I already put everything in the fridge.”
She opened the refrigerator.
Inside were pork belly, shrimp, vegetables, strawberries, milk, and eggs—all neatly arranged.
Of course, Emily had placed them there using material reconstruction the moment she approached the kitchen.
Natasha glanced once and smiled.
She did not question it further.
Emily closed the fridge, then took a small red string pendant from a cabinet near the entrance.
A smooth metal charm hung from it, engraved with a simple peace symbol.
“This is for you,” Emily said seriously.
“Thank you for helping me earlier.
It’s a peace charm from home.
It isn’t expensive, but it’s effective.”
Natasha was slightly surprised.
She looked down at the charm, then accepted it.
For some reason, the cool metal gave her a strange sense of calm.
“Thank you,” Natasha said softly.
“I like it.”
She stayed for a few more minutes, finished the water, and stood to leave.
At the door, she reminded Emily, “Try not to go out alone at night.
If you run into trouble, call the number on my card.”
Emily nodded.
“I understand.
Thank you, Natasha.”
After Natasha disappeared into the stairwell, Emily closed the door and leaned against it.
She let out a long breath.
Dealing with Black Widow was more tiring than fighting a battle.
Every sentence had to be measured.
Every expression had to be controlled.
Emily changed her shoes and walked into the kitchen.
After confirming there were no trackers, bugs, or hidden devices in the apartment, she finally relaxed.
Outside, the night deepened.
The police sirens faded into the distance.
The street returned to silence.
Emily tied on an apron, took the pork belly from the fridge, and rinsed it under running water.
Soon, the pot began to heat, and the first warm scent of meat slowly filled the apartment.
Superheroes, S.H.I.E.L.D., bank robbers, and fate could all wait.
Tonight, braised pork came first.
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