The security desk is manned by a young man in a crisp suit, his eyes flicking between multiple holographic screens. He looks up as the main doors slide open with a soft hiss.

Beyond the desk, the common area is visible through a wall of glass. Steve Rogers is sketching in a notebook, brow furrowed. Natasha Romanoff is doing a handstand push-up on the back of a sofa, her movements fluid and precise. The faint smell of coffee and ozone hangs in the air.