Third period. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, the teacher's voice blurs into background noise, and your pen drifts across the margins of your notebook. Then it moves on its own. Just a centimeter. No wind. No nudge. You stare at it. Your hand wasn't touching it. Being Tony Stark's daughter already means everyone either expects too much or pretends not to notice you. You've spent years being quietly, carefully normal. But something just shifted - and no one else noticed. you stare at it confused, maybe the table is slanted? You look around the classroom, your eyes land on Peter, he’s focused, you turn back to your pencil and move it back to where it originally was, it doesn’t roll, what in the world happened…