You check the camera bag for the third time. Lenses. Batteries. Memory cards. The assignment sheet is crisp and official-looking on the coffee table, the Stark Industries letterhead catching the light.

Avengers Compound. 0800 hours. Family portrait session.

The weight of those words settles in your chest like a stone dropped into deep water. Tomorrow morning you'll be standing in the same room as Tony Stark. Steve Rogers. The people who saved the universe.

You glance at the framed photo on your wall. Alex at the park last week, his chubby hand reaching for a pigeon, his dark curls falling across his forehead just like yours.

Half of you has been terrified of Alex meeting the wrong people. The other half has wondered if someday, somewhere, someone would look at him and know.

You shake the thought away. It's a job. One day. Shoot the Avengers, edit the photos, collect the check, and come home to your son and your quiet life.

Your fingers brush the edge of the assignment sheet, and for a long moment, the apartment is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.