"It's over?" Harry said, standing up from the chair with a slight smile, gesturing loosely toward Thor on the screen.
"Well, it's over," Phil Coulson replied with a nod and a mild smile.
"Seems I wasn't very useful." Harry shook his head helplessly and turned to walk out of the monitoring room.
"How could you say that?" Coulson followed with a smile. He clearly thought Harry was referring to not helping in this hammer incident—but Harry's words actually meant something else: that his presence so far hadn't changed the unfolding history of this world. The flutter of the butterfly's wings hadn't made any visible impact yet. But Harry didn't explain. He simply shook his head and kept walking.
This temporary research base around the mysterious hammer was simple. Even the place where Thor—now detained—was kept wasn't anything special. It was just a small enclosure with a sliding metal door. Barely secure, and more symbolic than functional.
Two agents armed with tranquilizer guns stood outside, one on each side of the doorway. Their posture was serious and alert, as if they were guarding a high-risk prisoner, fully prepared to stop Thor from escaping.
"Sir!"
Out of the corner of their eyes, the agents spotted Coulson and Harry approaching and immediately straightened, saluting.
"Hm." Coulson nodded and opened the door, stepping inside with Harry.
"Hey! What do you think? Want to talk?" Coulson asked casually as he stood in front of Thor.
Thor wasn't bound. He simply sat in a chair, head lowered. Even when Harry and Coulson entered, he only raised his eyes for a second before dropping his head again.
Harry leaned against the wall nearby, watching with interest. When Thor raised his head just now, Harry caught the look in his eyes beneath the hanging strands of blond hair—numbness, despair, confusion. A mixture of all three.
"It's not even the worst part yet," Harry said silently to himself.
He knew the plot. Thor's despair now was only because he couldn't lift the hammer. But later, when Loki told him Odin died because of him, Thor would fall into even deeper guilt. Only later would he learn that Odin wasn't dead after all—but until then, the pain would be real.
Coulson frowned at Thor's silence. He didn't know how to handle this change in behavior. The man who had fought his way into the compound with overwhelming strength now looked like a defeated, unresponsive shell.
"You're not talking? That's fine," Coulson said, pursing his lips. He clasped his hands together and added, "You just made my well-trained agents look like minimum-wage mall security guards. And from my experience, the only way to do that is to be trained even harder than they are. So who exactly are you?"
Thor stayed silent, head lowered. He didn't even appear to hear him. For a man raised as the future king of Asgard, this treatment was something he had never experienced before.
"Chechen? Afghan soldier?" Coulson guessed aloud, though even he didn't believe that. After all, the matter of the hammer didn't fit any earthly explanation.
Thor remained silent. He didn't react at all, his expression hidden under his drenched hair.
"Alright." Coulson finally accepted that Thor wasn't going to answer. He gave Harry a quick look, then walked to the door and opened it.
"No matter what methods we use, we'll find out. We're very good at that. Trust me." And with that, Coulson stepped out.
Harry gave Thor one last glance. Then his gaze moved slightly to the space behind Thor—where he could sense a presence forming. Harry narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement, then turned to leave.
"Watch him. And don't go inside," Coulson ordered the two agents.
"Yes, sir," they replied.
...
Right after Harry and Coulson left, a tall and slender figure appeared silently behind Thor. The man's expensive suit emphasized his refined air. His black hair was slicked back neatly. With his hands folded behind him, he leaned forward slowly, bending close to Thor's ear.
"Well, this is quite embarrassing, my dear brother."
The man's pale face held a faint smile, and in his eyes flickered emotions full of contradictions—mockery, pleasure, coldness.
A cold, slightly playful voice brushed Thor's ear. Thor suddenly lifted his head, his despair replaced by shock and joy.
"Loki? Oh! Brother—have you come to take me home?" Thor said excitedly, reaching out and placing his hands on Loki's shoulders.
"Are the Frost Giants attacking? Let me return—I will explain everything to Father!"
"Father… he…"
Loki's smile vanished quietly. He was silent for a long moment before speaking again. Beneath the soft tone was a deep, chilling coldness.
"Father? What happened to him?" Thor's eyes widened, and he asked with sudden panic.
"Father has passed away."
Loki lowered his gaze and closed his eyes slowly as he delivered the false news.
Thor's powerful body shook violently. He froze as if struck by lightning. His hands slipped off Loki's shoulders and hung weakly at his sides.
"Wh… what?" Thor's voice trembled, his eyes wide.
"You were exiled. And the looming war, the stress… he couldn't bear it." Loki spoke gently—too gently—each word striking at Thor's heart. Every sentence was a lie, but Thor had no way of knowing.
"You needn't blame yourself," Loki continued softly. "I know you loved him. I told him so myself. But he wouldn't listen…"
The words were comforting on the surface, but each one dug deeper into Thor's despair.
If anyone could see Loki's inner thoughts, they would find a wicked smile hidden beneath his calm expression.
Right now, Loki felt only one thing—delight, pure and sharp—at the pain he had given his brother.
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