[A few hours before the present time]
Dinner at the Frost estate was as cold and mechanical as ever. Emma sat stiffly at the long mahogany table with her mother, her older sister, and her younger brother. As usual, their father's seat at the head of the table sat empty. The only sounds were the clinking of silverware against porcelain—no music, no television, not even a whispered conversation. Just silence. Until the front door slammed open.
Winston Frost stormed into the dining room, shouting into his phone loud enough to rattle the windows.
"How many times do I have to tell you?!" he bellowed. "Tony Stark's out! Playing house with his wife and brat! And you're telling me our so-called engineers—who I'm paying a goddamn fortune—still can't come up with anything to compete?!"
He didn't wait for an answer. With a furious snarl, he hurled the phone to the floor, smashing it into pieces. His chest heaved, face red, hands trembling with rage.
At the table, the Frost children flinched as if they'd been slapped. Their mother, however, calmly continued cutting her steak, utterly unbothered.
After a few ragged breaths, Winston smoothed back his hair and turned to his secretary.
"Buy a new one."
"Understood, sir," the secretary said quickly, already retreating to carry out the order.
Winston yanked off his tie and dropped into the master chair at the head of the table. A line of servants immediately descended, refilling his wine glass and placing a fresh plate in front of him.
"I'm guessing the meeting didn't go well?" his wife said, voice mild and detached.
"Incompetent fools," he muttered between gritted teeth. He jabbed a fork into his food, then turned his hard gaze toward his children.
"You remember what I always tell you?"
One of Emma's siblings answered dully, with an eye-roll so slight it was almost invisible.
"Always strive for achievement."
"Exactly," Winston said, stabbing his fork in the air. "We're not like everyone else. We're Frosts. We are better. And you will prove it. I will not have my bloodline watered down with mediocrity."
For a moment, no one spoke. Until Emma, her voice quiet but firm, broke the fragile atmosphere.
"What if I don't want to be a Frost?"
The room went still. Even the servants froze, glancing nervously at one another.
Winston slowly set down his fork. His eyes locked onto Emma like a predator spotting prey.
"What did you just say?" Winston demanded, his voice slicing through the room like a knife.
Emma immediately regretted opening her mouth. "N-Nothing," she stammered.
Winston's frown deepened. He leaned in across the table, eyes narrowing.
"How's your Harvard Business School application coming along?"
Emma dropped her gaze to her plate, saying nothing.
"Answer me," Winston pressed, his voice now a low, threatening rumble.
"I... I haven't submitted it yet," Emma whispered.
"What was that?" Winston growled, leaning closer.
"I said, I haven't submitted it yet!" she said louder, nearly choking on the words.
A heavy silence fell over the room. Winston's fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to keep control.
"Why?" he finally asked, his voice trembling with barely contained fury.
Emma's heart pounded in her chest. But there was no point hiding it now.
"Because I don't want to follow your path, Dad," she said, her voice shaking but steady. "I want to be a teacher."
Winston let out a dark, humorless chuckle, the sound thick with rage.
"This about that little crush you have on that—"
"No, it isn't!" Emma shouted, shooting to her feet and sending her chair screeching back. Her dinner plate clattered to the ground. "I want to teach! I don't want to spend my life chasing Tony Stark or building weapons or clawing for power I don't even care about—"
"You will NOT!" Winston roared, slamming his fist into the table with such force that dishes and glasses jumped, food scattering everywhere.
"You are a Frost!" he bellowed. "You will not disgrace this family by chasing after some pathetic low-paying job! You will work under me, you will inherit the company, and you will carry this name forward!"
Emma's hands curled into fists at her sides, her face hot with anger and humiliation. "Well, I don't care!" she shouted back.
"I care!" Winston thundered, rising to tower over her. "It's not just about you, Emma! It's about the family—"
"It's about you!" Emma screamed, her voice cracking. "It's always about you!"
Before anyone could react, Winston lunged forward. His backhand struck Emma across the face with a sickening crack. She stumbled, blood dripping from her nose as she crashed to the floor, the world spinning around her.
For a moment, no one moved. The room hung in stunned, heavy silence.
"Do not cut me off while I'm talking!" Winston roared, his voice shaking the walls. "Do you understand me?"
Emma stood frozen, fear locking her in place.
"Y-Yes, Dad," she managed to whisper.
"Now get back to your room!" he barked. "You will enroll in business school. You will uphold the Frost name. Do you hear me?!"
"Y-Yes."
Winston sneered, his face twisted with contempt.
'Out of all my children, you are the least accomplished,'
He didn't say it outright. He thought it in his mind. And Emma could read it. Very clearly.
This time, he actually spoke out. "Pull another stunt like this, and I swear—I will not recognize you as my daughter."
Without waiting for a response, he stormed out, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall. The house fell into a thick, oppressive silence.
Emma stood trembling until she felt a soft hand on her cheek. Her mother had come to her side, dabbing gently at the blood trickling from Emma's nose.
"Oh, dear..." her mother murmured, voice filled with a hollow sadness. "How many times must I tell you? Don't make him angry. Just do what he says. He knows what's best for you."
'Stupid girl, now I got to calm him down now that you pulled that stunt.' was the true thought in her mother's mind.
Emma slapped her mother's hand away, glaring at her through watery eyes.
"Why do you always take his side?" she snapped.
"Emma—"
But Emma didn't stay to hear the rest. She bolted from the dining room, her mother's voice chasing after her, calling her back. Emma didn't listen. She couldn't. She just kept running.
—
Emma sat hunched in front of her mirror, sobbing so hard she barely recognized her own reflection. Her cheek, still red and swelling from her father's blow, seemed to burn under the harsh light. She touched it gingerly, then let her gaze roam over the rest of her face—her plain brown hair, her freckled skin. Every flaw seemed to scream back at her.
She didn't know what to do anymore. Her whole family felt like enemies. Her father didn't approve of anything that she did. Her mother didn't seem to care. Even her siblings treated her like she didn't exist half the time.
It was always like this. If she fell short, he hit her. If she succeeded, he dismissed it like it meant nothing. If she dared to talk back, blood would spill.
All she'd ever wanted was approval. Some sign that she mattered. But it was clear long ago—no matter what she did, she would never get it. Not from him. Not from any of them.
She wiped her eyes and stared at herself a moment longer before getting up and pulling open her drawer. Inside, neatly hidden beneath some books, was a small stash of cash she had been saving for months. It wasn't much—barely enough to survive for a few months in the city if she was careful.
But even with that... would she make it? Or would she end up starving in some alley, just another runaway nobody?
Emma closed the drawer and drifted to the window. Outside, she caught a glimpse of her father's car pulling away from the estate, headlights slicing through the dark. Probably off to get somewhere not here. Just sick of the house itself. Of her.
She bit her lip, frustration simmering in her chest.
Maybe... maybe I could run to the Avengers, she thought desperately.
She began pacing, her mind racing faster than her feet.
"But what do I say?" she muttered aloud. "That I can read minds?"
Her abilities had only awakened recently. She could hear thoughts—snatches of people's inner voices whispering around her. She could catch flashes of memories, if she focused hard enough. Sense people even when they were too far away to see.
Maybe the Avengers would accept her. Maybe they could help her learn more of what she could do. But then again... the Avengers were tied to Tony Stark. And her father's hatred for Stark ran deeper than his love for his own blood.
If he ever found out she'd joined Stark's circle...
Emma sank onto her bed, curling into a tight ball, clutching a pillow to her chest.
She just wanted out. Out of this life. Out of this house.
But more than anything, she just wanted someone—anyone—to look at her and say she wasn't a waste. That she wasn't a disappointment. That she wasn't... nothing.
It was then that her mind picked up something from afar. A sensation that made her jolt upright from her bed. She rushed to the window and stared out at the distant woods surrounding her family's estate. Narrowing her eyes, she searched the dark. She was certain of it, someone was out there, sneaking onto the property.
She focused, reaching out with her mind, pushing past the night air until she found them. A small group. She scanned the group quickly — five, no, six people.
She pressed deeper, sifting through their surface thoughts, rummaging through fragments of memory. What she found made her stomach turn. Blood. Fear. They were running from someone, from something. They weren't normal. They had powers. Mutants. The Snap.
Wait, she thought, heart pounding. Am I like them?
She dug further, piecing together the half-formed images. Faces blurred with panic. Screams. An organization, hunting them down. One by one. She tried to read each of their minds in turn — and then stopped, startled. One of them was completely blank to her. No thoughts, no memories. Every time she reached out, her mind slid off like water over glass. She tried again and again, to no avail.
She kept at it anyway, spending most of the night skimming through what she could gather from the others, their recent memories, their desperate run, the wounds they'd suffered. And with every memory she uncovered, her chest tightened.
There was no doubt anymore. She was one of them. A mutant. Part of a hidden, secret new species.
Emma sat back, shaking slightly. She didn't know whether to feel relief — that she wasn't alone — or terror, knowing what this 'organization' would do to her if they ever found out.
Would she be hunted too?
She had sat beneath the window for what felt like hours, watching the group's memories play out in her mind like a fractured movie. Eventually, she stopped. The camp had grown quiet; everyone was asleep now. It was deep into the night. Then, someone stirred — the Native American girl. She woke and spoke quietly to the boy Emma couldn't read, the one that apparently maintaining a green dome protecting the group, the one she saw that destroyed a whole building in a blink of an eye from the others' memories. Their conversation was fuzzy at first, but bits of it slipped through — fears, powers, regrets. The girl was reminiscing about something that had happened to her.
Emma focused harder, trying to dig into the girl's past — something about a reservation, a storm — but the images slipped away before she could grasp them. She wasn't strong enough yet.
Then, the girl left the dome, stepping out into the open night, probably to get some fresh air.
A thought sparked in Emma's mind. Would it be possible... to escape with them?
She stood up, pressing her forehead lightly against the cold window, staring out at the dark woods again. Then, hesitantly, she reached out with her mind, brushing against the girl's thoughts.
Are you like me? she asked.
The girl flinched visibly, glancing around, searching for the source of the voice.
Don't bother looking, Emma said gently. I'm in your mind.
Who are you? the girl answered, alarmed. Where are you?
Emma hesitated. Doubt gnawed at her. This group was hunted. If she joined them, she would be hunted too. Could she really risk it?
I'll come to you when I'm ready, she said after a long pause. Don't come near the house. Especially during the day. My family will see you. They won't be... tolerant.
Hey! the girl called out in her own mind. I'm not going crazy, right? You're real?
Emma couldn't help but chuckle quietly at the reaction.
Yes, she said. I'm real. Good night.
Wait! Don't go!
But Emma had already severed the connection, pulling back into herself. She let out a deep sigh and hugged her knees to her chest. Maybe, just maybe, there was some peace to be found in all this — knowing she wasn't alone anymore.