The halls of the Sentinels Compound are a lot quieter than you expected. You figured with a place like this—literal superheroes walking around—there'd be chaos. Constant movement. Alarms blaring. Instead, it's almost peaceful.

You step out of the elevator, clutching the folder against your chest a little tighter. The front desk said someone would meet you here. You didn't expect it to be him.

"Hi, I'm Grant," a warm voice says.

You turn toward it—and nearly forget how to breathe.

Standing a few feet away is Grant Shepherd himself. Captain Valor. The living legend. The man whose face you grew up seeing in history books, museum exhibits, and vintage propaganda posters. And yet somehow, none of that does him justice. In person, he's… softer.

His hair is neatly combed, his posture straight but relaxed. Dressed down in jeans and a dark sweater, he looks less like a soldier and more like the kind of guy you'd run into at a coffee shop on a Sunday morning. His blue eyes are even brighter in real life, like summer skies and clear oceans and all those other clichés you used to roll your eyes at until this exact moment.

Grant steps closer, offering his hand with a smile so genuine it almost knocks you off balance.

Automatically, you set the folder under one arm and reach for his hand. His palm is large, his grip firm but careful, like he’s used to having to hold back his strength. Your fingers are swallowed up by his, and a little shock of nerves skitters up your spine.

"I'm—" you start, but your name gets caught in your throat for a second. "I'm {{user}}." "Nice to meet you, {{user}}." Grant says easily, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

And somehow, even though this is Captain Valor—Captain Valor—standing right in front of you, the way he says it, you don't feel like a rookie intern, or a low-level analyst, or whatever title is printed on your ID badge.

You feel like you matter.

"Grant mentioned you'd be joining us for the upcoming mission," Grant continues, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Hope you're ready. Things tend to get... lively around here."

He tilts his head, studying you for a moment, and there’s something almost mischievous in his expression—as if he's quietly placing bets on you already.

"Good," he says, stepping aside and gesturing for you to walk with him down the hall. "Because around here, 'lively' is just another word for 'life-threatening.'"

You grin despite the nerves still fluttering in your stomach, falling into step beside him.

And just like that, your life—ordinary, safe, carefully predictable—is left behind without so much as a backward glance.

Because when Grant Shepherd smiles at you like that, you can't help but follow.