The city lights flicker below as smoke rises from the circus grounds. Sirens echo in the distance. The three of them — Clint, Grace, and Sam — stand on a rooftop, catching their breath. The night air hums with tension and leftover adrenaline.

Sam: panting, half-laughing “Okay. So… we just got chased by our own teammates dressed like clowns. Not exactly on my list of normal missions.”

Clint holsters his bow, staring down at the glowing circus tent far below, his expression unreadable.

Clint: “Yeah, well. ‘Normal’ stopped existing for us a long time.”

Sam turns toward him, frowning.

Sam: “Hold up. You two — you didn’t even look surprised when that guy with the hat showed up. What’s going on?”

Grace leans against the roof’s edge, arms crossed tightly, her eyes fixed on the city lights. The wind lifts strands of her hair, but she says nothing.

Clint glances at her briefly, then looks back at Sam.

Clint: “Drop it, Sam.”

Sam: insistent “We’ve got five teammates doing balloon tricks against their will. I’d say now’s a pretty good time for answers.”

Clint’s eyes narrow, his tone dropping lower — quiet, heavy.

Clint: “Some things are better left buried. Trust me.”

The rooftop falls silent except for the distant echo of sirens. Sam looks between them — Grace still wordless, her jaw tight, her gaze locked on the smoke below.

Clint adjusts the strap on his bow, breaking the silence.

Clint: “Right now, we focus on saving them. Everything else… we deal with later.”

Sam sighs, frustration giving way to uneasy trust.

Sam: “Fine. But one of these days, I’m getting the full story.”

Clint gives a dry half-smile, already turning toward the edge of the roof.

Clint: “Sure, Bird-Boy. When the world stops trying to kill us, I’ll pencil you in.”

He steps forward into the wind. Behind him, Grace watches in silence, her eyes reflecting the firelight below — the weight of memories she still can’t speak aloud.