Philophobia ➤ W.M.

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Lagos, Nigeria; With Astrilde's POV

  "All right, what do you see?" Steve's voice filled Astrilde's ears. His words were spoken quietly, even though she knew there were no observers in the room he was located. Astrilde didn't respond to his question as she put her hair up into a bun at the top of her head. The humidity of Lagos was slightly miserable, and she could already feel a sheen of sweat coating her barely clad skin. Just thinking about the tank top and too-short shorts was enough for her to pull down the jean material, as if that would help cover her butt. It didn't.

  "Standard beat cops, small station. Quiet street. It's a good target," Wanda's smooth voice filled Astrilde's ears then, which sent shivers down her spine. Wanda clearly was trying to keep her cover at the restaurant across the street, indicated by the soft tone in which she spoke. The Asgardian pointedly didn't look in the Sokovian's direction, opting to gaze at the police station the team expected Brock Rumlow to hit.

  "There's an ATM in the south corner, which means?"

  "Cameras."

  "Both cross streets are one-way."

  "So compromised escape routes."

  "Which means less of a hassle for us," Astrilde but in, her leg starting to bounce in anticipation. She wanted to get out of the blazing sun, which beat down on her with a vengeance. Honestly, Astrilde wasn't sure how Wanda could stand the temperature and humidity in a jacket and jeans. She exhaled loudly, rubbing her bare arms as if she would suddenly feel less exposed in her light pink, flowy tank top. Astrilde would probably never get used to the clothing Midgardians seemed to adore.

  "Unless our guy doesn't care about being seen. He isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out," Steve countered.

  "More of a hassle then," She retracted her previous statement, glancing at her favorite white converse that had become stained with dirt.

  "Definitely. Wanda, see that Range Rover halfway up the block?"

  "Yeah, the red one? It's cute."

  "It's also bulletproof, which means private security, which means more guns, which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us," Natasha was the one who spoke that time, providing an insight that Astrilde hadn't gathered herself.

  "You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?"

  "Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature." At Natasha's words, Astrilde glanced over her shoulder, noticing the officers Wanda had mentioned earlier.

  "Anybody ever tell you you're a little paranoid?" Sam asked, his voice slightly louder than the others.

  "Not to my face. Why? Did you hear something?" Astrilde suppressed a grin at her friend's joke.

  "Eyes on target, folks. This is the best lead we've had on Rumlow in six months. I don't want to lose him," Steve reminded gruffly.

  Sam scoffed, "If he sees us coming, that won't be a problem. He kinda hates us."

  "He doesn't hate Wanda or myself," Astrilde stated, making it clear that she wasn't apart of whatever drama had gone on with Steve, Natasha, and Sam. It had made a good story on Sam's part, but that didn't mean she needed to be inserted into their mess.

  "Yet," Wanda replied, humor in her tone. Astrilde nodded slightly.

  "Sam, see that garbage truck? Tag it," Steve said, ceasing Astrilde and Wanda's commentary. Astrilde looked down the street to the hotel Steve was in. She could see the garbage truck just barely, noting how it barrelled through cars with no issue.