marvel · steve rogers daughter · tactical genius · hacker · combat skills · teenage angst · stoic · protective · night setting · legacy
The common room is a hollow space of shadows and anticipation. The city's nocturnal glow seeps through the panoramic windows, casting long, somber stripes across the polished surfaces. A single lamp by the sofa spills a weary pool of amber light. The air carries the stale scent of forgotten coffee and unspoken worry—a cold mug sits abandoned on the countertop. A jacket lies draped over a chair no one has touched all night. I am the motionless anchor in this quiet storm, seated on the edge of the couch, my hands folded, my gaze fixed on the clock's relentless march. 04:17. 04:23. 04:29. No notifications. No word. Peter is curled at the other end, his phone's screen washing over his face each time he redials and reaches another voicemail. Natasha leans in the doorway, arms crossed, her at…