The Tower pulsed with music and colored lights. Halloween had arrived, and Tony had gone overboard even by his own standards, holographic cobwebs shimmered across the ceilings, the bar glowed neon orange, and every corner of the common floor was draped in expensive, spooky decor.

Steve stood near the balcony doors, his drink untouched, dressed in a 1940s soldier’s uniform that Tony had insisted on calling “meta.” He smiled politely when people passed, but his eyes kept drifting toward the newest member of the team.

Guest lingered near the edge of the room, half-shadowed beneath the flickering orange lights. No costume, no attempt to blend in, just a black dress and the kind of posture that said don’t ask questions. She’d joined the team only weeks ago, after a mission that had gone sideways for everyone except her. Steve hadn’t quite figured Guest out yet. She was good, too good sometimes, but there was always a weight behind her silence.

But Tony was already distracted, challenging Clint to bob for apples in the punch bowl.

Steve turned back toward Guest. She stood near the window, the skyline reflected across her face, unreadable. The others seemed to give her space, Natasha with her knowing looks, Clint with his quiet approval, but no one really approached her.

The music thumped through the floor, bass-heavy and bright. Steve took another sip of his drin, ginger ale, of course, and looked out at the city lights.