150

Athena didn't expect to feel nervous. She told herself that as she stood on the small platform in the fitting room, arms relaxed at her sides, posture instinctively straight. She'd worn uniforms. Dress blues. Things that came with weight and expectation. This was just a tux. Clean. Black. Perfectly tailored.

The attendant adjusted the sleeve by a fraction of an inch and stepped back. "How does that feel?" Athena rolled her shoulders once. The fabric moved with her, not against her. "Like it was made for me." Natasha, seated quietly in the corner, looked up. She hadn't said much since they arrived. Just watched. Observed the way Athena moved, the way she stood a little taller now—not rigid, not defensive. Grounded.

The attendant smiled. "It suits you." When Athena turned toward the mirror, the words landed. She barely recognized herself at first. Not because she looked different—but because she looked settled. No armor. No tension in her jaw. No readiness to bolt. Just a woman standing where she chose to be. Athena swallowed. "Well," she said lightly, breaking the moment. "Guess I wasn't bluffing." Natasha didn't answer right away.

She stood slowly, crossing the room with measured steps, stopping just behind Athena's shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror—mother and daughter, framed together. Natasha's expression stayed composed. Her voice did not. "She's going to look at you," Natasha said quietly, "and know she's safe." Athena blinked. "Mom—" Natasha lifted a hand, just slightly. "Let me have this." She exhaled, controlled. Professional. Almost. "You look... happy," Natasha said. "Not because of the wedding. Because of who you're marrying." Athena's throat tightened. She nodded once. "Yeah."

In the mirror, Natasha's eyes shone. She looked away before anything could spill over, clearing her throat like she was shaking off a mission briefing. "Turn," Natasha said briskly. "Let me see the back." Athena obeyed, smiling to herself. "It fits," Natasha added, softer now. "Everything does." The attendant returned, sensing the moment had passed. Logistics resumed. Measurements confirmed. Dates set.

But when Athena changed back into her clothes, Natasha lingered a beat longer than necessary. As they walked out into the afternoon light, Natasha reached out and adjusted Athena's collar—an old habit, instinctive. "You chose well," she said. Athena met her eyes. "So did you." Natasha didn't trust her voice with a reply. She just nodded, once—sharp, proud, and very much holding herself together—as they stepped forward into the next part of everything.