Hank was just approaching the entrance of the convention center, the early buzz of excitement already building in the air, when he heard it…

  “HANK!”

  The voice was young, high-pitched, and absolutely brimming with excitement.

  He turned instinctively and barely had time to brace himself before Mel… the girl in the Bck Widow cospy, came barreling toward him at full speed. She threw herself into his arms with the unfiltered joy only a fifteen-year-old bursting with news could have. He caught her easily, ughing as she all but bounced with energy.

  “You got Scarlett Johansson to contact me!” she gasped, breathless and wide-eyed. “She’s coming tomorrow! She’s actually coming to the con! She wants to meet me… ME! And she said she wants to sign the picture you made with me and her in it! Hank, can you believe it?!”

  Her words tumbled out so fast it was like her mouth was racing her heart.

  “Whoa, whoa—easy, Mel. Breathe.” Hank chuckled, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder. “You’re talking a mile a minute.”

  She grinned, cheeks flushed. “That’s what Mom always says.”

  Hank ughed, and right on cue, her mother arrived behind her, her pace brisk, her face flushed from trying to keep up.

  “You have no idea how hard it is keeping up with this one,” she said, shaking her head, a hand on her hip as she caught her breath.

  Hank gave her a warm smile. “I can imagine. She’s got enough energy to power the whole con.”

  Mel looked up at him, eyes still gleaming… then, just as quickly, her expression fell. “Only problem is… we don’t have tickets for tomorrow.” Her voice dropped slightly, that burst of joy dimming.

  Hank’s smile faded just a little. He gnced between the girl and her mother. “You don’t?”

  Her mother sighed, looking apologetic. “We only had one-day passes for yesterday. She begged me to come again today, so I said we’d try to get in and see if we could at least walk the outer halls. But tomorrow…” She shook her head. “We hadn’t pnned on staying that long.”

  Before Hank could respond, his gaze drifted up toward the doors… and spotted a familiar face.

  Lena Alvarez.

  She was dressed today in a sharp bck-and-purple con staff bzer, clipboard in hand and headset on, guiding a few volunteers through check-in. As always, her presence exuded control, but when her eyes met Hank’s, she smiled instantly.

  “Lena!” he called, raising his hand.

  She waved, excused herself from her group, and made her way over.

  “Hank, my favorite photographer… what can I do for you?” she asked with an easy grin.

  Hank stepped aside, gently ushering Mel and her mother forward. “Well, it seems Scarlett Johansson might be coming tomorrow. Word is she saw the picture I did of Mel here in her Bck Widow cospy and… well, she wants to meet her. Maybe even sign the photo.”

  Lena’s brows lifted. “Seriously? Scarlett Johansson?”

  “Apparently so.” He gave a little shrug. “But there’s a hiccup. Mel and her mom don’t have passes. For today or tomorrow.”

  Lena looked down at Mel for the first time and blinked.

  “Wait… you’re the young Bck Widow?” she said, studying her carefully. “I saw your photo this morning. It's everywhere. It’s amazing. You look like a mini Natasha Romanoff.”

  Mel beamed, her nervousness quickly repced by glowing pride.

  “If Scarlett’s coming to meet you,” Lena continued, looking between Hank and the girl, “we have to make sure you’re here. That photo was pure magic. You’re part of this con’s story now.”

  Mel looked like she might burst into happy tears.

  “Follow me.” Lena turned toward the security officer standing just inside the doors. “These two are with me. They’re guests of Hank, and now they’re guests of the con. They’ll have passes before lunch.”

  The security guard gave a nod, stepping aside and pulling open the door.

  “Really?” Mel whispered, eyes going wide.

  Lena gave her a wink. “Really. We can’t leave our rising stars out in the cold.”

  Mel’s mother stepped closer, her hand resting gently on Hank’s arm, her eyes misting with quiet gratitude. Her voice was soft, almost overwhelmed.

  “Thank you, Hank. You’ve already given her more than I could have imagined.”

  Hank offered her a warm, genuine smile. “Just keep her smiling. That’s all the thanks I need.”

  She looked at him for a long second, then smiled back, a touch of emotion catching in her voice.

  “Your pictures do that already. Every time she sees them, she lights up. I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time. You captured more than just a costume… you gave her something to believe in.”

  Hank’s chest tightened, the weight of her words settling over him in the best possible way. He nodded, humbled. “Then I’ve done my job.”

  And with that, Mel and her mother followed Lena through the doors, leaving Hank with a full heart, his camera slung over his shoulder, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing that sometimes, the right photo could do more than just go viral… it could matter.

  As they passed through the doors, Hank noticed a young cospyer standing nearby… another Bck Widow, this one older, wearing the full white tactical suit from Infinity War. She looked at Mel, then back at Hank with a nod of recognition.

  Hank smiled. “Mel make sure you swing by my booth ter. We’ve got more shots to get. Maybe one with this White Widow.”

  Mel gave an eager nod, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’ll be there! Thank you again, Hank!”

  Lena gnced back at Hank and gave him an approving nod before guiding the mother and daughter toward registration.

  And just like that, Hank stood in the doorway, the buzz of the con greeting him like a wave of sound and color. He slung his camera strap over his shoulder and stepped forward.

  There were still stories to capture.

  And today, he felt more ready than ever.

  ---

  Maerisa stood in the narrow shadow between two parked cars across the street from the convention center, her pale hands resting on the glossy hood of one, her gaze locked on the tall gss doors just as Hank stepped through them. Her eyes, glimmering like cut moonstone, tracked his every movement with a focus so precise it bordered on reverent.

  She didn’t follow… not yet.

  Not until the time was right.

  Today, she was dressed not in her usual gothic drapery or ethereal elf-woven silks, but in something far more daring… a fitted red leather bodysuit, tight in all the right pces, molded perfectly to her lithe, elven frame. The suit gleamed faintly in the light, its panels accentuating her curves with strategic stitching and subtle, rune-like embossing that shimmered if you looked too long. It ced up along the sides in delicate bck cords, revealing just enough pale skin to tempt, but not to expose.

  Her long white hair… streaked with blood-red accents today, was pulled into a high ponytail that cascaded down her back in soft, otherworldly waves. Around her waist, a bck belt cinched the suit, adorned with small, enchanted trinkets and silver charms that jingled softly with each movement. Her boots, knee-high and armored, ccked gently on the pavement.

  She had no intention of going unnoticed.

  Today, she would be part of the con crowd. Today, she would step into his world.And he would see her… not as a shadow, not as a whisper, but as a woman.

  As his.

  Maerisa tilted her head, observing the lingering energy Hank left behind as he passed through the doors. She hadn’t missed the look the young convention staffer… Lena Alvarez, had given him. Warm. Professional. But beneath it, the flicker of interest. The curiosity. Desire, however faint.

  Maerisa smiled faintly, amused rather than threatened.

  “Another will be your guide, my love,” she whispered under her breath, her voice like velvet brushed with fme. “Another will share your space. Perhaps your bed. It is needed. For now.”

  Her fingers traced a small symbol in the air… an ancient sigil pulsing with subtle magic. The wind around her shifted, swirling with purpose, then carrying her whisper like a spell carried by breath.

  “All of it will bring you closer… to me.”

  A soft breeze stirred across the street and slipped through the revolving doors of the convention center. And then, as quickly as it had come, Maerisa vanished… melting into the shadows like a passing thought, a phantom in red.

  She would join him soon.

  Not as the strange, watching stranger she had once been. Not as the fantasy haunting the edge of his vision.

  Today, she would step into the light.

  She would walk into his booth.

  Smile for his camera.

  Let his lens taste her magic.

  And when his fingers brushed hers, adjusting the light or guiding her pose, he would feel it… that spark, that connection, that echo of something ancient and primal.

  He wouldn’t understand it yet.But he wouldn’t forget it.

  Not ever.

  And that, Maerisa thought, was how all true stories began.

  ---

  Hank stood in the center of his booth, surveying the setup with a quiet sense of awe. Even after a full day of working in the space yesterday, he still couldn’t quite believe it was all real.

  Professional lighting rigs. Adjustable green screen panels. A full digital workstation with live preview monitors. It was more than just a booth… it was a mobile studio, and his name was pstered right above it on a sleek sign that read: "HankShootsReal – Official Cospy Portraits."

  He adjusted one of the softboxes absently, running through the checklist in his mind. Memory cards were clear, backup batteries charged, lenses cleaned. Everything was ready.

  “Hank?”

  The voice behind him was smooth and confident… older, with the tone of someone used to making deals.

  Hank turned, lowering his camera slightly.

  A man was approaching, dressed in a crisp charcoal-gray bzer over a Marvel Studios-branded polo, a silver nyard with a diamond-tier access badge swaying as he walked. His posture was sharp, his shoes polished, and his handshake offered like a formality he expected to be accepted without question.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, extending his hand. “Ian Handing. I manage operations here at the Marvel booth. I believe we have a shared interest today.”

  Hank accepted the handshake, firm but curious. “Hank Avery. Photographer. I think I know where this is going.”

  Ian smiled, just a little—polished, rehearsed. The kind of smile meant for press conferences and contract negotiations.

  “Word has it,” Ian said smoothly, “that a photograph you posted yesterday of a young cospyer… a Bck Widow look-alike, has gone viral. And not just among fans. Scarlett Johansson herself commented. And, as I understand it, she may be making a surprise appearance tomorrow… solely to meet this girl.”

  Hank gave a slow nod. “That’s what I hear too. The girl’s name is Mel. She’ll be stopping by my booth ter today for more shots.”

  Ian’s smile grew. “Excellent. Marvel would be very interested in meeting her. She’s generated a lot of buzz in the st twelve hours. Social media impressions are spiking. Fan sites are reposting your image non-stop. Scarlett’s publicist even reached out to our team this morning to ask if we’d be avaible for a media drop-in.”

  Hank raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself.

  “And if she comes to your booth?” Hank asked, as if the possibility had already been decided behind the scenes.

  “We’d like to talk to her,” he continued. “Offer her something formal. A contract, possibly. Use her image across our youth outreach campaigns… posters, digital campaigns, fan events. With her permission, of course. Nothing happens without her and her guardian’s full support.”

  Hank narrowed his eyes slightly. “And if she’s not interested?”

  Ian chuckled softly, brushing an imaginary speck from his bzer. “Well, that’s where you come in.”

  Hank tilted his head. “Me?”

  Ian nodded. “You’re the one who made her shine. The photo you crafted made her a hero. She trusts you. If anyone can help her understand the opportunity, it’s the person who captured that spark in the first pce.”

  Then Ian turned, gncing toward the towering Marvel dispy just across the aisle… huge banners of Iron Man, Captain Marvel, and Bck Widow looming over crowds of fans.

  “We don’t want to pressure her. Just meet her. Talk. Let her feel what it’s like to stand in that world, even just for a moment.”

  He started walking back toward his booth, then paused and looked back over his shoulder.

  “If she does stop by… just point her our way. That’s all I ask.”

  Hank gave a small nod. “I’ll talk to her.”

  Ian returned the nod once, his smile tightening into something that said deal made, and then disappeared behind the velvet ropes into the Marvel booth.

  Hank stood still for a moment, watching the crowd begin to surge past.

  He had just been pulled into something bigger than he expected.

  He was no longer just a guy with a camera.

  He was now part of the story.

  And from the sound of it… that story had only just begun.

  ---

  Hours had passed, but for Hank, it had felt like minutes… fshes of light, smiles caught mid-motion, the whirl of costume fabrics, vibrant colors, and the subtle pressure of time moving too fast. He was in his element: behind the camera, surrounded by creativity, capturing the passion of people transforming into legends.

  But no matter how many shutter clicks filled his ears, no matter how many excited voices surrounded him, his mind drifted.

  Yuna.

  The night still clung to him like heat beneath his skin. The memory of her… naked, alive, whispering his name in the dark, pyed on repeat behind his eyes like a silent reel. Her breath, her body, the way she had looked at him when they were tangled together beneath the sheets… it had been more than just sex. It had been connection, pure and electrifying.

  And now, it was something he could never speak of. Not to anyone.

  He sighed quietly as he adjusted the focus ring on his lens, pushing the thoughts down. There were still too many of them, loud and tangled in his chest.

  Then he saw her.

  Yuna.

  Standing casually in his line, her arms folded, chatting with another cospyer. She was in a new outfit… a different character, but those eyes still caught his. She gave him a subtle gnce, maybe three seconds too long, and then turned away as if it had never happened.

  Hank forced himself to refocus.

  He turned his attention fully back to the woman in front of his green screen. Her name escaped him at the moment, but her presence didn’t.

  She was cospying a female Donatello, the purple-masked genius from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles… but reimagined with fir and style. She wore a sleek, form-fitting bodysuit that shimmered like high-gloss vinyl, the dark green trimmed with purple piping that hugged her curves like second skin. Her utility belt sat low on her hips, accentuating her hourgss frame. Her toned legs stretched into thigh-high boots with turtle shell detailing, and her shoulders were bare except for leather-like armor pads strapped across her biceps.

  Her makeup was bold… metallic green across her lids, contoured cheeks, lips painted a deep plum. Across her eyes, a painted-on mask framed her face, with thin lines mimicking Donatello’s trademark wrap, giving her a fierce but sultry look.

  She moved like she knew exactly how she looked.

  Confident. Powerful. Posing in wide stances, shoulders squared, one hip cocked, the pstic bo staff on her back catching the light as she struck silhouettes worthy of a comic book cover.

  Hank found himself lingering behind the lens… not just to get the right shot, but because… well, she was stunning. Objectively. Undeniably.

  He snapped a few more shots, doing his best to focus purely on angles, lighting, symmetry… but a sliver of his mind betrayed him, flickering back to Yuna’s silhouette under the sheets. The curve of her hip, the line of her back. And, for just a second, he imagined tracing the contours of this woman’s suit in the same way… wondering if her breath would hitch the same way, if she’d say his name with that same voice of disbelief.

  He caught himself. No.Focus.

  The woman finished her final pose and bounced over toward him with effortless energy, her body moving like it was in rhythm with a song only she could hear. Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath, and when she noticed him gnce… just for a second, her lips curled into a sly, knowing smile.

  “In your dreams, Hank.”Her voice was teasing, confident, edged with mischief.

  He met her gaze, a little caught off guard, but smiled through it.

  “Yeah… I know.”

  She leaned against the table, watching him scribble something into his notebook. He jotted down the image file IDs, gncing back at her.

  “Tag?” he asked, keeping his tone light and professional.

  “@SheShellShock,” she said with a wink. “Two S’s.”

  Hank nodded and added it to the list, not missing the subtle way she lingered before turning to go.

  As she walked off, hips swaying confidently, he leaned back for a moment and let out a slow breath. He loved this job. The artistry. The transformation. The energy of people becoming more than themselves for just a moment. But sometimes… the line between artist and admirer blurred.

  He looked up again.

  Yuna was still in line. Closer now.

  And this time, when their eyes met again, she didn’t look away.