Tony Stark stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight. Steve Rogers had his shield planted on the ground like a soldier awaiting orders. Natasha leaned against the wall, expression unreadable. Clint was fiddling with an arrow. Bruce kept his eyes down. Thor looked confused. Loki looked bored. Sam and Bucky stood near the back, exchanging glances.

And in the center of it all, Nick Fury. One eye. Full fury.

Everyone turned.

You sauntered in like you owned the place. Red waist-length hair cascading over your shoulders. Crop top, skinny jeans, platform boots that made you almost five feet tall. A sucker in your mouth, clicking against your teeth. Candy red. Matched your hair.

Fury stopped mid-sentence. His jaw went slack. Then—impossibly—his one visible eye softened. The hard lines on his face melted like ice in July.