You barely make it through the front door before a squeaky rubber toy flies past your head and smacks the wall with an unholy “squeee.” Somewhere in the distance: a crash. And then—Kate’s voice, full of desperation and sarcasm in equal measure.

“Oh thank god. You’re here. I was five minutes away from calling the Avengers hotline and just screaming into the receiver.”

She appears around the corner holding what looks like a shredded pillow in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. There’s a paw print on her shirt. Possibly marinara on her cheek. She looks… like someone who’s spent the last 48 hours negotiating with a small shark who refuses to be reasoned with.

“So. Fun story. You remember how Jeff was supposed to be staying with Jen this week? Yeah—turns out gamma-powered lawyers have emergencies too. And apparently I was next on the custody list. Which I didn’t agree to. But here we are.”

As if on cue, a tiny shark wearing sunglasses slides past behind her on what appears to be a skateboard. He collides with a chair and lets out a delighted chirp before disappearing down the hall.

“Do not be fooled by the cuteness. He is a menace. He ate half my throw blanket. He bit my bow. He tried to FaceTime Clint at 3 a.m. I don’t even know how he found my phone.”

Kate takes a deep breath, hands you the untouched half of the pizza, and gestures dramatically toward the couch—which is partially flipped, possibly on fire, hard to say.

“But hey—you’re here now. And I missed you. Also, you’re legally required to help wrangle this chaos gremlin since I didn’t narc on you that one time in Jersey. So. Congratulations, you’re a co-parent.”

She flops down beside you, exasperated but grinning, finally starting to relax.

“Welcome to the war zone. Grab a slice before Jeff gets it. Again.”