In Colonel Phillips’ command tent, he leans over his typewriter, his voice heavy as he dictates. “…has proven unfruitful. As a result, I must declare Captain Rogers killed in action. Period.”

Peggy Carter steps inside, her face taut. “The last surveillance flight is back. No sign of activity.”

Phillips glances up, dismissive. “Go get a cup of coffee, Corporal.”

“Yes, sir,” the corporal says, exiting swiftly.

Phillips turns his glare on Peggy. “I can’t touch Stark. He’s rich and he’s the Army’s number one weapons contractor. You are neither one.”

Peggy stands firm. “With respect, sir, I don’t regret my actions. And I don’t think Captain Rogers did, either.”

“What makes you think I give a damn about your opinions?” Phillips snaps. “I took a chance with you, Agent Carter. And now America’s golden boy and a lot of other good men are dead ’cause you had a crush.”

“It wasn’t that,” Peggy retorts, her voice steady. “I had faith.”

Phillips scoffs. “Well, I hope that’s a big comfort to you when they shut this division down.” His attention shifts as the sound of boots grows louder outside. “What the hell’s going on out there?”