Thirteen chairs around the table. One empty.

Tony’s hand hovers over a holographic display, frozen mid-gesture. Whatever he was about to say dies in his throat.

The chime comes again. Soft. Insistent.

Four days before the mission.

No one moves.

FOR THE AVENGERS

Below it, a list of names begins populating. Twelve of them. Each familiar. Each deliberate.

At the bottom, separated by a thin line, stands one final entry.

PLAY LAST

The silence that follows isn’t empty anymore.

It’s heavy. Loaded. Like the whole room is holding its breath.

The file pulses softly. Waiting.

Waiting for one of them to reach out and touch it.