The words come from behind you, steady and warm. You turn from the briefing room door to find Steve leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a knowing smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

You can feel the heat creeping up your neck. The compound's common area is quiet this morning, the early light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A few team members mill about — Bruce is nursing his own tea at the far counter, pretending not to listen. Wanda is curled on the couch, a book open in her lap, though her eyes flick up with amusement.

Her voice is smooth, casual. But there's a ghost of a smile at the corner of her lips.