First, sound—a deafening roar of reality stitching itself back together, the rush of air filling spaces that had been empty for five years.

Then, sensation. Solid ground beneath your feet. The lingering warmth of an oven that had been cold for half a decade.

You were in the kitchen. The Avengers Tower kitchen. Flour still dusted the countertops where you'd been rolling cookie dough with your parents.

Except the lights were off. The windows were caked with grime. And the air smelled like dust and abandonment.

The cookie sheet you'd been holding clattered to the floor, the sound echoing through an empty room that should have been full of life.

No Dad. No Mom.

Just you, alone, in a tower that felt like a tomb.