[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]

  I walked out of the grocery store, the automatic doors sliding open with a pneumatic hiss that sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief. The cool evening air of Westview hit my face, carrying the scent of asphalt and damp grass. I adjusted the paper bag in my arms, making sure the milk didn't crush the naan.

  I was halfway to my car, a black sedan that screamed "responsible citizen who definitely doesn't manipulate the fabric of spacetime"… when I felt it.

  That familiar feeling. That familiar static charge.

  I didn't turn around immediately. I unlocked my car, opened the back door and set the groceries down with the care of a bomb disposal technician. Only then, under the pretense of checking my reflection in the side mirror, did I look back.

  She was there.

  She was sitting in her car, a nondescript Buick rental parked three rows back. The engine was off, but the interior light was on. And she was looking straight ahead.

  At me.

  Okay, I thought, slipping into the driver's seat and closing the door. Don't panic. Don't flatter yourself.

  I gripped the steering wheel, staring at the dashboard.

  "Maybe she's just... taking a moment," I whispered to the speedometer. "Grief is exhausting. Maybe she needs to sit in a Buick and dissociate for ten minutes. We've all been there."

  I started the engine. It purred to life.

  "Or maybe her battery died. Should I go ask? 'Excuse me, Ms. Maximoff, do you require a jump start? Or perhaps an emotional anchor?' No, that's too forward."

  I glanced at the rearview mirror again. Her silhouette was still there, a shadow against the dim light of the parking lot.

  "Stop being so narcissistic, Aryan," I scolded myself. "She's the Scarlet Witch. She has bigger fish to fry than a guy buying yogurt. Does this t shirt have some kind of pheromone enchantment I didn't know about? Did I accidentally weave a 'Notice Me' spell into the cotton fibers?"

  I put the car in reverse and backed out slowly.

  As I pulled toward the exit, I kept one eye on the mirror.

  The Buick's headlights flickered on.

  My heart did a traitorous little flip. Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

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  She pulled out. She was following me.

  "Surprise, surprise," I muttered, fighting back a grin that threatened to split my face in two. "I have a stalker. And it's the Scarlet Witch herself. I really am the main character, aren't I?"

  I turned onto the main road leading toward the residential district. The speed limit was thirty five. I drove at twenty five.

  "Listen, Wanda," I thought, projecting the sentiment backward as if she could hear it. "You don't have to skulk in the shadows. You want to stare at my handsome mug? Be my guest. I'll even pose. Just... don't rewrite my personality while I'm not looking, okay?"

  I watched her headlights maintain a perfect distance behind me. Like a ghost haunting a very slow moving vehicle.

  "I should invite her," I debated with the air conditioning vent. "I should just pull over, roll down the window and say, 'Hey, since you're already going my way, want to watch me burn some chicken?'"

  No. That would force a confrontation. She was hiding. If I called her out on it, she'd feel exposed or embarrassed. She might flee, or worse, erase my memory of the last ten minutes to save face.

  "Okay," I decided. "We play the game. The oblivious neighbor. The lamb who doesn't know the wolf is trailing him."

  I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel in time to the blinker.

  "I'll drive smoothly. Consider this a VIP escort service, Wanda."

  We navigated the quiet streets of Westview. The town was settling in for the night. Porch lights were flickering on. Blue glows from television sets danced in living room windows. It was picturesque.

  I turned into my street. The Buick slowed down, increasing the gap between us. Clever girl. She didn't want to be seen turning into the same cul de sac right on my tail.

  I pulled into my driveway, the gravel crunching satisfyingly under the tires. I killed the engine and sat there for a second, listening to the ticking of the cooling metal.

  I felt her presence stop about fifty yards down the road. She had pulled over into a darkened spot beneath a large oak tree, just out of the direct line of sight from my house, but close enough to see everything.

  I got out, grabbing the grocery bags. I made a show of struggling with the keys, dropping them once and picking them up with a huff.

  Look at me, I thought. Just a clumsy and non threatening human. Nothing to see here. Definitely not a cosmic entity.

  I walked to the front door, unlocked it and stepped inside. I didn't turn on the hallway light immediately. Instead, I moved to the living room window and peered through the blinds.

  The Buick sat there.

  "You must be bored out of your mind," I whispered, a pang of genuine sympathy hitting me. "Sitting alone in a car, watching a stranger's house. Is that what grief does?"

  I sighed, turning away from the window. The house felt warm. I thought about her out there in the cold car.

  "I need to cook," I said to the empty room. "Maybe if I make enough noise, create enough of a smell... maybe fate will intervene. Or maybe I'll just have to accidentally on purpose leave the back door open."

  I headed for the kitchen.

  [Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]

  The engine of the rental car ticked as it cooled, a metallic heartbeat in the silence.

  Wanda slumped back in the driver's seat, pulling her hood further over her face, though there was no one around to see her. She felt pathetic.

  What are you doing, Wanda? she asked herself, the voice in her head sounding frighteningly like Pietro's mocking tone. Sitting in the dark? Stalking a man you met ten minutes ago?

  Her hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned.

  It was the noise. The noise in her head. Since Vision... since the Snap... since everything... her mind had been a cacophony of screaming. Not literal screams, but the deafening roar of absence. The silence where his voice should be. The void where his mind usually touched hers. It was a white noise of agony that never slept.

  Until she got near him.