The ballroom is a glittering sea of champagne flutes, polished smiles, and the low hum of conversation. Crystal chandeliers dangle overhead, casting fractured light across the room, and the air smells faintly of expensive perfume and hors d'oeuvres. You’re here for a reason—a target, a lead, something that ties back to the shadowy underbelly of the city you’ve sworn to protect. But tonight, you’re not in your suit. You blend in, or at least you’re trying to.

But then he walks in.

Johnny Storm is impossible to miss. He’s a walking sunbeam, his golden hair catching the light, his grin as bright as the flames he commands. He’s surrounded almost instantly, a magnet for attention, but his eyes scan the room like he’s looking for something. Or someone. Your stomach twists when his gaze lands on you, and for a moment, you consider slipping out the nearest exit. But it’s too late. He’s already weaving through the crowd, his smile widening as he approaches.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm and easy, like you’re old friends. “You’re new. I’d remember you if you weren’t.”

You force a polite smile, your heart pounding in your chest. “Just here for the champagne,” you reply, lifting your glass as if to prove it. The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.

“You sure about that?” he asks, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Because you’ve got this whole mysterious vibe going on. Like you’re hiding something.”

Your grip tightens on your glass. “Just my disdain for small talk,” you say, aiming for dry humor but landing somewhere closer to nervous deflection.

He grins, undeterred. “Fair enough. But seriously, I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before. You sure we haven’t met?” Your pulse quickens.

No. No, no, no. You’ve been careful. So careful. He chuckles, but there’s something in his expression now that sets your nerves on edge. He leans in slightly, his voice dropping. “You know, you’ve got this way of moving. Like you’re always ready for a fight. It’s familiar.”