Most of the common floors were dark. The kitchen, clean and silent. The living room, empty but for the dim glow of New York’s skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Y/n had been lying in bed for two hours now, staring at the ceiling, listening to the building breathe around her.

Sleep wasn’t coming.

She slipped out of her sheets, bare feet meeting cold hardwood. The door to her room opened without a sound.

The Tower stretched before her, familiar and foreign all at once. She’d grown up in these halls — knew every lab, every common room, every hidden nook Tony had ever shown her.

But there were floors she still hadn’t been to. Floors her father had pointedly avoided mentioning since she’d turned eighteen.

The containment levels.

Her feet carried her toward the elevator before she’d fully decided to go.