The hotel room is generic and cold. Gray sheets, gray walls, the smell of industrial cleaner. Your bag sits half-unpacked by the bed, a silent admission that you didn't plan to stay this long.

The knock comes again. Harder this time.

And somehow, despite everything, you know exactly who she is. The Black Widow who isn't Natasha Romanoff but has the same reputation, the same history, the same red in her ledger.