Natasha hums a note of agreement, and she can't help but smile a little to herself at the way Yelena says it. It's almost like she can see her younger self in the room, doing a bridge and giggling while her blonde hair dangles unruly all over the place. Looking down at her hands, she studies them for a moment, as if there might be an answer in the whorls of her fingerprints.

It takes her that space of time to get the emotional distance from it to say what's been worrying her. "There's part of me that worries I was brought back as a trap. But I can't find anything to indicate there's someone pulling any strings."