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"What?!"
Coulson's face drained of color. Beside him, Ward's head snapped up, eyes sharp and alert.
"We'll fly there right now!" Coulson practically shouted, already turning toward the cockpit.
"By the time you get there, Skye'll have bled out."
Coulson stopped dead. He turned to look at Hermione, and hope lit up his eyes in an instant.
His mind had been in free fall. He'd nearly forgotten there was a witch on board.
"May," Hermione said. "Coordinates."
May rattled off a precise string of numbers.
Hermione listened. Nodded.
Golden sparks erupted from her wand, and a portal tore open in the air.
On the other side, May was pressing both hands hard against Skye's abdomen. Skye's face was white as chalk, eyes closed.
Everyone moved at once. They lifted Skye carefully, quickly, and carried her through the portal.
Within moments, she was laid out in the Bus's medical bay. Simmons and Fitz went to work immediately.
Coulson drew a long breath, forced his worry down, and looked at Ward.
"Take Quinn to the interrogation room."
Ward nodded and went.
Simmons was scrambling for adrenaline and hemostatic clamps, sweat already beading on her forehead. "Blood pressure's dropping! Pulse is weak!" Fitz called from beside her, his voice tight and shaking.
The medical bay felt like the air itself had gone heavy.
"All of you. Move."
A calm voice. Hermione had slipped in at some point without anyone noticing.
Everyone blinked, then understood. Hope and relief flooded their faces all at once, and they stepped back, clearing her a path.
Hermione raised her wand and aimed the tip at the wound on Skye's abdomen.
Soft white light gathered at the tip.
The next instant, a blood-slicked metal bullet drifted upward, drawn by something invisible, and floated free of the wound.
The torn edges of skin began to move, visibly, knitting together from the outside in.
Pink new flesh crept across the wound. In seconds, all that remained was smooth, unblemished skin. Not a scar. Not a mark.
As if the bullet had never been there at all.
On the monitor, every vital sign climbed steadily back to normal.
"Cough..."
Skye coughed once, soft and weak, and opened her eyes. She looked around, dazed.
"I... where am I?"
Her hand moved automatically to her stomach. Flat. Smooth. No pain at all.
"Skye! You're awake!" Simmons reached her first, throwing her arms around her, crying and laughing at the same time.
The knot in Coulson's chest finally came loose. He smiled.
Skye looked at the faces crowded around her, then at Hermione standing off to one side, already calmly sliding her wand away. She put it together quickly enough.
She pushed herself upright, eyes full of something she couldn't quite put into words.
"Hermione... you saved me?"
Hermione waved a hand. "Don't mention it. Rest."
A pretty girl couldn't be allowed to die.
"Thank you, little Hermione." Skye's face was still pale.
Hermione nodded once, acknowledgment, acceptance, then moved on.
"So what about the guy you picked up?"
"We were about to take him to interrogation," Coulson said. "He knows things. Miss Witch, do you want to sit in?"
"Sure."
Coulson's phone buzzed. He stepped away to answer it, spoke quietly for a moment, and came back with a slightly different expression.
"The interrogation's going to have to wait a little. Fury's sending two people. They're almost here."
Hermione nodded. Fine.
A few minutes later, the rumble of an engine came from outside. A black S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV rolled to a stop near the cargo ramp.
Two men climbed out.
The first was a middle-aged man in a dark jacket, with an open, friendly face. Behind him, a young Black man.
Coulson went to meet them.
"John. Trip."
He stepped aside and introduced Hermione.
John Garrett's gaze found her, and something shifted in his posture.
Trip's reaction was less composed. His eyes went wide. He stared at Hermione, then looked at Coulson's perfectly calm face, then back at Hermione.
"Wait, she's actually—"
His voice had gone up half a register.
"Is she the one who—"
World-shattering magic. A witch no one could touch. He'd always assumed she was a story people told, something in classified files that half the agency had never actually believed.
And there she was. Standing three feet away. Looking like she'd known Coulson for years.
Coulson took in Trip's expression, the look of a man who'd just been struck by lightning, and smiled.
"That's right, Trip. Exactly who you're thinking of."
Trip breathed in sharply and stood up straighter, almost without meaning to.
Garrett had known "Miss Witch" existed since before the Convergence. Level 8 clearance, Ward's old supervising officer, he'd had access to the file. But text and photographs weren't anything like the real thing. He recovered faster than Trip did, though not without a brief flicker.
A practiced smile settled onto his face.
"I've heard a great deal about you. John Garrett — Phil's colleague."
Trip was still working through it.
"Hermione Granger."
She said it simply, the way someone gives their name when they don't especially care whether it lands.
"An honor, Miss Granger." Garrett's posture was respectful. Behind him, Trip's was too.
Hermione nodded faintly, turned, and walked away.
Garrett watched her go. Then he turned to Coulson and lowered his voice.
"Phil." A hint of bafflement underneath the even tone. "Why is Miss Witch on your Bus?"
"Long story."
Coulson kept his voice easy. "The Bus got hit by a Chitauri virus a while back. Things were moving fast, Hermione was nearby, we asked for help. After that she got to know the team, Skye and the others took to her. You know how it is with young women, they find things to talk about. When the Convergence wrapped up, she said she didn't feel like going back to her school just yet. Thought it'd be more interesting out here." He shrugged. "She heard I was running a team dealing with powered individuals. Said it sounded fun. So she's been staying on the Bus."
Garrett nodded slowly. "Honestly? That tracks with her file."
They filed back inside. Garrett traded a few words with Ward, then turned to Coulson with a light, unhurried expression, like a man making conversation.
"Phil. I heard someone on your team caught a bullet. How bad was it?"
A shadow crossed Coulson's face, the ghost of a fear he'd just stopped feeling, and then it cleared.
"Skye. Abdomen. She's fine now."
Garrett went still. "Fine?"
He looked at Coulson the way a man looks when he's sure he misheard.
"How?"
➤ Next: The Clairvoyant — Words Unspoken
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