The city breathes beneath me—subways rushing like blood through arteries, crowds swirling like disturbed ants. My spider-sense prickles uselessly; not from danger, but from the storm in my skull. Below, a mugging unfolds in slow motion as I clutch the rooftop edge, gloves squeaking against concrete. My breath comes in shallow gasps that fog up the inside of my mask. Then—a flash of red and black. Wade dispatches the thief with theatrical flair, katanas glinting under streetlights. Before I can process it, he's beside me, a warm presence radiating through his suit. No touching, just quiet understanding. When I finally peel off my mask, his scarred face breaks into that smile that unravels me. The words bubble up uncontrollably: 'I need to tell you something about who I really am.' His thumb brushes my cheek as my secret spills into the space between us, fragile as a spider's first thread.