Maerisa moved like a ripple through a shadow… silent, poised, deliberate. Her boots made no sound against the carpeted security hallway as she approached the gss-walled room where the young Spider-girl, Sophia, sat hunched over in a chair. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, her jaw still tense with the anger that hadn’t yet fully burned out. Her purple-and-white bodysuit was wrinkled, her mask shoved into the corner of the table.

  Two uniformed security officers stood outside, speaking in low tones, casting occasional gnces into the room.

  Maerisa paused, just beyond the corner of the hallway. Her fingers moved with casual elegance, sketching a delicate incantation in the air… one meant not to manipute, but to reveal. She whispered softly, ancient Elvish woven into the breath of her voice. A glimmer of violet shimmered over her fingertips, and then slipped silently under the door like smoke.

  Inside, Sophia’s expression shifted. The hard edge in her jaw softened. Her fingers loosened their tight grip on her elbows. Her eyes blinked, brows drawing in as her breathing slowed.

  She suddenly looked… small. Not weak… just young. And she realized it.

  The magic didn’t make her feel guilt. It simply let her see herself clearly.

  She looked down at her hands and whispered, “God… what did I just do?”

  Across from her, a female officer… early thirties, calm but visibly exhausted, was jotting down the st of the report. She looked up with mild surprise as Sophia’s tone shifted.

  “I acted like a total bitch,” Sophia said under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.

  The officer raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

  Sophia’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t want him to see me like that. Hank. I thought if he noticed me, maybe I could be one of those girls he posts. One of the big ones. Like Mel. Everyone knows her now. She’s going to be famous.”

  The officer folded her notepad shut and leaned back slightly in her chair. “The fight started over that? Over Hank?”

  Sophia nodded slowly, the heat of her earlier rage fading into something resembling embarrassment. “She told me… the other girl... that Hank only took my pictures because he wanted to fuck me. That I was just some dumb girl in a suit.” A small tear gathered at the corner of her eye. “I freaked out.”

  The officer’s face shifted… professional skepticism giving way to quiet concern.

  “Did she really say that?”

  Sophia nodded again, wiping her cheek quickly. “I know it was stupid. I just… I don’t know. I’m going to be eighteen next week, and I thought... maybe... this could be my start. I know Hank works with that jewelry company in Seattle. My brother used to intern there before he joined the Navy. It’s one of the biggest names in photography. I just thought... if he noticed me…”

  She trailed off, the weight of it all finally pressing down.

  The officer tapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully.

  “Well,” she said slowly, “did you pay for the shoot?”

  “Yeah. Fifteen dolrs. Just like the sign says.” Sophia nodded, straightening slightly. “I didn’t flirt. I just wanted a chance.”

  “And do you believe what that other girl said? That Hank wanted… more?”

  Sophia shook her head quickly. “No. I mean… he’s hot, sure. But he barely looked at me. Not like that. His eyes were on someone else. That staff girl. Older. Like… twenty-five or twenty-six.”

  The officer arched a brow.

  Twenty-six? She had just turned thirty-two.

  “And Hank is… how old?”

  “Twenty-three. I checked his profile st night,” Sophia said, almost defensively. “It’s not that far. Like five years.”

  The officer gave a slow sigh and leaned forward. “Sophia, listen to me. You’re not in serious trouble here. You threw one punch. The other girl threw first and damaged vendor property. She’s the one getting the full write-up. But… you’re lucky it didn’t go worse.”

  Sophia looked up, biting her lip.

  “I’m going to let you go,” the officer continued. “But I want you to hear me: stay away from the drama. Stay away from her. And if Hank is the kind of guy you hope he is… he’ll choose for himself who he wants to be close to. Not because you yell or cry or fight for it.”

  Sophia nodded slowly, the fire behind her eyes now repced with something closer to crity. “I understand.”

  “Good,” the officer said, standing up. “Then you’re free to go. Try to enjoy the con, okay?”

  Sophia stood, adjusting the fold of her suit, tugging her mask back down over her chin. “Thank you.”

  The officer smiled faintly and opened the door for her. As Sophia stepped out into the hallway, she paused… just for a moment, looking back.

  By then Maerisa was gone.

  The shadow she'd once stood in now empty, but the air still carried a trace of something sweet and smoky, like vender and magic.

  Far down the hall, Maerisa turned a final corner, disappearing into the con’s maze of booths and banners. Her expression was unreadable.

  “One more thread untangled,” she murmured.

  Now only one remained.

  ---

  Hank’s smile was wide and genuine as the little girl stepped into the booth, radiating the kind of joy that made the chaos of the convention melt away for a moment. She was no older than seven or eight, but she stood in front of the green screen like she owned the stage, her tiny fists pnted on her hips and a determined look in her bright brown eyes.

  “You must be Moana today, huh?” Hank asked gently, lowering his camera to meet her gaze.

  “Yep!” she beamed. “I even learned the dance!”

  Hank chuckled. “Well, I can’t wait to see your best hero pose. Let’s make you look like you’re about to save the whole ocean.”

  She was dressed in a beautifully detailed child-sized Moana cospy, lovingly handmade or carefully selected… Hank couldn’t quite tell which, but it was clear someone had put real thought into it. The brown raffia-style skirt had carefully yered fringe, swaying lightly with every excited movement. Her crop top was a vibrant coral-red with a subtle Polynesian print, tied perfectly at the back. Around her waist, a sash the color of the sea… teal and white with gentle wave patterns, was knotted loosely at the side.

  A small neckce with a painted heart-of-Te Fiti pendant bounced at her chest as she moved, and her curly dark hair was pulled into a half-up ponytail, strands escaping and framing her cherubic face.

  She struck her first pose… hands on hips, chin high, chest proud. She looked ready to face a va demon.

  Hank crouched slightly to get the perfect angle, the lens clicking softly as he began to shoot. He didn’t rush. He didn’t treat it like a throwaway moment. He gave her his full attention… like she was the most important subject he’d photographed all day.

  “Perfect! That’s a warrior pose if I’ve ever seen one. Okay, now… let’s do a fierce one. Show me your brave face! Maybe like you’re about to sail across a stormy ocean!”

  She scrunched up her face in an exaggerated scowl, fists raised like a tiny superhero. Hank ughed, snapping the shot.

  Her father stood nearby, arms crossed and smiling warmly, clearly enjoying the sight of his daughter stepping into her fantasy.

  “All right, Lillian, ready for a princess pose? Let’s make this one sparkle! Chin up, eyes wide, like you’re standing at the edge of the sea, just before the sun comes up.”

  She spread her arms dramatically, one foot forward, head tilted as if the wind were pushing through her curls. Her dress fluttered as she swayed, giving the illusion of movement.

  Hank clicked the shutter again and again.

  He took more than thirty photos… more than he usually took for adult cospyers, because this wasn’t just a shoot. This was a memory in the making. A moment that would stay with her long after the con was over.

  He lowered the camera and smiled warmly. “You, young dy, just looked like a movie star.”

  The effect was instant.

  Lillian’s face lit up like a sunrise, cheeks flushed, eyes gleaming. She turned to look at her father, who gave her a wink and a thumbs-up. Hank, meanwhile, flipped the camera’s dispy screen toward her and scrolled through a few of the shots.

  “See this one? That’s you as Moana sailing into adventure. And this one… you’re leading your people. Look at that! You nailed it.”

  She giggled, hands over her mouth, eyes wide in awe.

  “Do you have an Instagram account?” Hank asked gently, already opening his notebook to write down her image file numbers.

  Her father stepped forward, chuckling. “We do now. After that photo of the Bck Widow girl yesterday… Mel, right?... she begged me to let her make one. So we did. This’ll be her very first post. She said it had to be your pictures.”

  Hank blinked, genuinely touched. He smiled and shook his head with admiration.

  “Well, I’d better make them the best I’ve ever created then.”

  He carefully wrote the numbers…#7492 through #7523… into his notebook, then looked back up.

  “And what’s the tag? So I know where to send the magic.”

  The little girl bounced on her toes and proudly announced, “@LilMoanaAdventures!”

  Hank grinned. “Perfect.” He underlined the handle twice in his notes. “I’ll message you as soon as the first photo is ready. You’re going to light up the internet, I promise.”

  She gave him a hug before skipping off, her father giving Hank a respectful nod of thanks.

  As the next guest stepped into the booth, Hank gnced down at his camera screen one more time.

  Lillian, arms stretched wide, smile radiant, the joy of imagination shining through every frame.

  This… this, was why he did it.

  Not for clicks. Not for fame.

  For moments like this.

  For magic that felt real.

  ---

  The convention floor was beginning to quiet, the hum of voices softening, and the overhead lights beginning to dim slightly as the final hour approached. Vendors were packing up posters and collectibles, cospy capes and props were being tucked away, and an announcement loomed over the speaker system, warning that the day was soon coming to a close.

  Just as Hank was about to power down his camera and close his notebook, a familiar voice rang out.

  “Hank!”

  He turned, and there she was… Mel, practically glowing with excitement, her red curls bouncing as she hurried across the floor, fnked by two other girls close to her age.

  Mel bounded into a quick, enthusiastic hug. Hank chuckled as he caught her mid-spin.

  “Hi, Mel.” He smiled as she pulled back.

  “I brought a few new friends, I hope that’s okay.” She motioned behind her with both hands. “They saw my post and tracked me down. They want a Bck Widow team photo.”

  The two girls gave sheepish but excited waves.

  Hank turned his gaze to them… and instantly approved.

  Three young Widows. Three unique styles. All perfect.

  Mel had kept the same outfit from the day before, but it looked even better today under the lights. Her sleek bck tactical suit had been slightly modified… small red piping added to the seams, and a subtle gloss sheen on the shoulder armor made her look like she stepped out of a Marvel fight sequence. Her hair was pulled tighter today, in a braid that mirrored the grown-up Natasha’s style. Her confidence, however, had leveled up. She stood with one hand on her hip, owning her space like a rising star.

  The second girl, who introduced herself as Roxy, wore a version of Bck Widow’s Infinity War costume… a bck vest over a dark green bodysuit, complete with arm gauntlets and a pair of foam batons strapped to her back. Her short, curly blonde hair was slicked back, and her stance was cssic Widow: knees bent slightly, arms loose but ready to strike. Her eyes narrowed pyfully as she looked at Hank, then broke into a grin. She was clearly channeling the rebel spy energy.

  The third girl, Aya, had taken a more vintage route. Her crimson corset-style top was paired with sleek leather pants and a faux utility belt with little painted props. Her version seemed inspired by the early comic era Bck Widow. Her long bck hair was parted at the side and her lips painted in signature red. She twirled one end of a pstic garrote between her fingers as she smirked. Clearly, she was the drama of the group.

  “Three Widows?” Hank raised an eyebrow and reached for his camera. “Sounds like a mission. All right girls, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  They squealed and jumped into position.

  Mel crouched into a wide-legged stance, arms in a defensive block.

  Roxy spun her batons and extended one arm forward, the other bent back like she was about to strike.

  Aya posed slightly to the side, back arched, one hand raised near her face, the other holding the wire like it was dripping with danger.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Hank moved fast but stayed in rhythm with them, calling out cues as they adjusted their group formations.

  “Mel… lean forward, eyes up, perfect!”

  “Aya, turn the shoulder just a little… yes, that’s it!”

  “Roxy, give me that charging stance again. Fierce!”

  The booth was filled with ughter and motion, and for a few minutes, Hank wasn’t tired. He wasn’t thinking about edits or emails or the hours of photo processing that still awaited him.

  He was just capturing joy.

  Friendship. Power. Youth and confidence.

  When they finished, the girls high-fived each other and giggled like they’d just wrapped a blockbuster.

  Hank checked the back of the camera and smiled. “You three could be the next Marvel poster. Seriously. These are some of the best shots I’ve taken all day.”

  He flipped open his notebook, carefully writing down the image IDs: #7598–7625.

  Then he looked up. “All right, dies. I need your tags so I can send you the magic.”

  Mel leaned in first, proudly. “@youngmel4! You already have it.”

  “Roxy?” the second girl said, stepping forward with a wink. “That’s me…@blondewidowstrike. Two W’s, all lowercase.”

  Aya stepped up st, adjusting her crimson top with a touch of theatrical fir. “And I’m @scarletveins. Like a spy name.” She grinned.

  Hank jotted them all down and gave a final nod. “Keep an eye out tonight. I’ll tag you in a few sneak peeks. You dies were amazing. You really brought Natasha to life.”

  They thanked him, ughing and chatting among themselves as they walked off together… three young heroes, proud and radiant.

  And Hank… camera in hand, watched them go, already picturing the edited shots. A trio of Bck Widows. Courage. Fire. Style.

  He couldn’t wait to show the world.

  ---

  The convention floor had emptied out.

  The echo of ughter, clinking props, and rolling suitcases had faded into a low hush, broken only by the distant hum of overhead lights and the occasional crackle from a speaker someone had forgotten to turn off.

  But Hank didn’t leave.

  Instead, he stayed in his booth… sitting cross-legged on the floor with his ptop banced on his knees, his camera connected via cable, the glow of the screen illuminating his focused expression.

  He had hundreds of photos to go through, but only one folder open at the moment: Lillian – Moana Set.

  He clicked through the raw shots, a quiet smile pying on his lips. Her poses had been so genuine… arms spread wide like sails catching the wind, eyes bright with imagination, a spirit that couldn’t be staged. He opened up his image-editing software and went to work.

  He pulled in a background… a tropical beach cove at sunset, painted in warm orange and golden light. In another, a vast ocean horizon, with a stylized canoe positioned just right. Then a close-up edit of her smile with Te Fiti’s isnd glowing in the distance, waves crashing behind her.

  Each frame he touched felt like building something sacred. Not just cospy photography… but a gift. A permanent memory a little girl would never forget.

  When he uploaded the finished edits to Instagram, he hesitated only a moment before tagging her: @LilMoanaAdventures.

  He hit "Post."

  His feed refreshed… and he blinked… 14.2k followers.

  He stared for a second, stunned. “All for a few pictures,” he whispered aloud, almost not believing it himself.

  “They’re more than that…”

  The voice startled him.

  He turned quickly… and there she was.

  Lena Alvarez.

  She stood just inside the edge of his booth, dressed in her usual fitted navy bzer, her event pass nyard now hanging loosely down the side of her hip. Her dark braid was draped over one shoulder, and she had taken off her boots… carrying them by the heels in one hand, her bare feet quiet against the floor.

  She smiled warmly, stepping closer.

  “Lena,” he said, his voice softer than he expected.

  She gnced down at the screen, her free hand coming to rest gently on his shoulder as she leaned in. Her fingers brushed the edge of his neck, thumb gently drawing back and forth in a slow, absentminded rhythm.

  “You know everyone’s gone for the day,” she said, her voice quiet, almost pyful.

  Hank looked up. The entire con hall was nearly pitch-dark beyond their booth. Banners still hung, chairs stacked, but no voices, no footsteps… just him and her.

  “Yeah, I guess I got… caught up.” He gestured toward the screen.

  Lena leaned a little closer, looking at the image currently dispyed. Lillian stood mid-pose, edited seamlessly onto a boat in the middle of a vast, glowing ocean. The sky above was awash in violet clouds and golden stars. The edit gave it the feel of a Disney concept painting.

  “Wow.” Lena’s voice was soft. “You made her look like she actually belongs there. Like it’s her story, not Moana’s.”

  Hank looked at the photo, then back at her. “She was a natural. All I did was follow her lead.”

  Lena’s gaze lingered on him, and she smiled.

  “No. You brought it out of her. I watched you work with her. You were patient. You made her feel seen. That’s rare, Hank.”

  She didn’t move her hand from his shoulder. Her fingers stayed close to his neck, gently brushing over the muscle there. It wasn’t overt… it was subtle. Natural. Intimate.

  Hank swallowed. The back of his throat felt dry.

  He had spent the night before tangled in sheets with Yuna, her body a fever dream he hadn’t quite processed. And yet now, here he was… alone again, but not alone. With another woman who stood just close enough to be considered more than professional.

  “You know…” Lena said, her voice lowering slightly as she tilted her head to meet his eyes, “you don’t have to go back to the hotel right away. You’ve been working nonstop. Maybe you deserve a little break. A little fun.”

  Hank looked at her. There was a softness in her eyes, but something confident too. She wasn’t just flirting… she was offering something. Not a proposition exactly, but an invitation. A moment. One that could go any number of ways.

  He smiled faintly. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

  Lena leaned in… closer this time. The scent of warm vanil and something earthy drifted off her skin. Her face was inches from his.

  “We’re alone. No more panels. No lines. No obligations.” Her lips brushed the edge of his cheek as she whispered, “We could figure something out.”

  Then she kissed him. Soft. Unrushed. Real.

  Not a performance. Not a seduction.

  Just a kiss.

  When she pulled back, her fingers slid from his shoulder and down his arm, lingering at his wrist before letting go.

  She gave him one st gnce, then picked up her boots and started walking barefoot across the con floor toward the far doors, her silhouette vanishing between the booths like a secret.

  Hank sat there for a long moment, blinking at the empty aisle where she’d gone.

  His fingers rested lightly on the keys of his ptop, but his mind was somewhere else… still catching up to everything that had just happened.

  He gnced back at the photo of Lillian.

  Then he looked toward the shadows Lena had disappeared into.

  And finally, he leaned back and let out a long breath.

  The con wasn’t over… Not by a long shot.