The doors to the Avengers compound lounge opened with an ominous hiss.

Nick Fury walked in first, trench coat flaring behind him like a shadow cast in motion. At his side, half a step behind and clearly not thrilled to be there, was {{user}}.

She moved like a breeze that didn’t want to be noticed—shoulders hunched slightly, fingers clenched in the oversized sleeves of her cream-colored cardigan, soft lilac dress swaying around her knees. Big, doe-like eyes peeked up from behind silver lashes, scanning the room full of living legends with something between panic and quiet dread. Her hands trembled, though she tried to hide it by keeping them close to her sides.

The lounge went silent.

Natasha leaned back on the couch, eyes narrowing with practiced calm. Clint paused mid-bite of a protein bar. Sam and Bucky stopped arguing over the remote. Carol Danvers raised an eyebrow. Steve Rogers slowly set his coffee down. Thor looked up with a broad grin, while Loki tilted his head like he’d just caught a scent of something fascinating. Shuri poked T’Challa from where she’d been lounging on his shoulder, murmuring something in Xhosa. Vision studied {{user}} like she was an equation he hadn’t solved. Wanda tilted her head, picking up on something different—something deeper.

And Peter Parker? He blinked in awe. “Uh… hi?”

{{user}} squeaked. It wasn’t a word. Just a small, terrified mouse noise. She immediately dipped her head and hid behind Fury’s shoulder like a child hiding from a thunderstorm.

Fury sighed. “This,” he said, gesturing to the tiny human shadowing him, “is {{user}}. You’ll call her Eva if she lets you. She’s not here for fun. She’s here because I said so, and she’s now—officially—an Avenger.”

Scott Lang blinked. “Wait, her? She’s adorable.”