Chapter Text
Evelyn’s fingers are still buzzing from the last chord when the bar erupts into claps and whistles. She ducks her head in thanks, offers a small wave to the crowd, then slips off the stage as the next act sets up behind her.
It’s late. The kind of late where the streets outside are quieter than the bar’s inside hum, and the air smells like warm beer and fading perfume. She weaves through the crowd toward the bar, guitar case slung over her shoulder, hoodie pulled up now that her set’s done and she’s just another girl in the room.
She doesn’t notice the woman at first. Not until she steps up beside her, silent as a shadow.
“Nice set,” the woman says smoothly, as Evie flags down the bartender.
Evie turns. The stranger’s hair is dark and swept back in perfect waves, except for one striking streak of silver cutting through the front like a deliberate warning. She’s dressed like she doesn’t belong here — too clean, too composed, like the city never touches her. There’s confidence in the way she stands, like she doesn’t need to introduce herself, and a hint of something dangerous in the way she smiles.
“Thank you,” Evie says cautiously.
The woman doesn’t blink. She takes a sip from her drink, and then adds, casually, “I know what you can do, Evelyn Day.”
Evie stiffens. Her stomach flips. “W-what are you talking about?”
“No need to panic,” the woman says, raising a gloved hand. “I mean, you filled out the declaration about your powers post-Blip, like everyone was asked to, told us what you can do. That register has been fairly helpful for tracking down enhanced individuals. Despite that, you’ve done a good job staying off the radar, whether you were trying to or not. I think you may have undersold your powers on that register as well. But not everyone’s blind. I’ve been watching you for a while.”
Evie’s throat is dry. The bartender finally drops a drink in front of her, and she doesn’t touch it.
“I have an opportunity,” the woman continues. “Something bigger than this place. Bigger than open mics and sticky floors. I know you can do more with your powers than just getting the piano in the corner to play on its own during your gig. Neat trick, but you can do something more… worthwhile.”
Evie raises an eyebrow. “And you are?”
The woman’s lips curve like she’s been waiting for that. She reaches into her coat and pulls out a sleek black business card, flipping it between two fingers before handing it over.
Valentina Allegra de Fontaine
Director, Intelligence & Enhanced Asset Acquisition
Evie stares. She knows that name, realises now where she knows this woman from; the news broadcast of the Thunderbolts, newly formed after a battle on a random New York street, the team looking thoroughly confused by their naming as the New Avengers. “Is this… real?” Evie stutters out.
“Every letter,” Val says. “And I’m setting up a meeting.”
“A meeting,” Evie echoes.
“Tomorrow morning. Ten AM. New Avengers Tower. Although, I'm trying to push for it to be called The Watchtower. Sounds cooler.”
Evie nearly chokes. “A-Avengers Tower?”
Val’s smile widens, sharklike. “Yes. You’ve heard of it, I assume.”
“You could say that. Bit of an understatement.”
“Then you know I don’t hand out invitations for nothing.” Val tilts her head, assessing. “Give me a call if you change your mind. But if I don’t hear from you…” she leans in, her voice just above the music, “…I’ll be expecting you there. On time.”
And with that, she melts into the crowd, high heels clicking on the wooden floor like the punctuation on a sentence Evie hadn’t realised she’d started reading.
Evie looks down at the card in her hand.
Valentina de Fontaine.
What the hell is happening?