Chapter 128 - The Twilight Between Us Part 1

(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)

The streets of Valoran City were unnaturally quiet.

Too quiet.

Twin moons hung over the skyline like silent sentinels, bathing the rooftops in cold blue light. Streetlamps flickered occasionally, static humming through the wires like whispers of something watching. And overhead, the stars shimmered—beautiful, distant, and tense.

Just like them.

Two Star Guardian teams moved together across the upper edge of a shopping district rooftop, the soles of their boots tapping out a syncopated rhythm against the concrete. Miss Fortune led the front, her pace clipped and mechanical. Janna hovered near the rear, arms crossed, gaze scanning the skyline with distant concern. The others were scattered in between—Syndra, Soraka, Lulu, Poppy, and Ezreal—forming a disjointed vanguard.

Lux and Jinx were at the center of the formation, walking side-by-side. Close. Too close.

And Ahri?

She was behind them. Always behind them.

"She shouldn't even be here," Jinx muttered under her breath, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Lux didn't bother whispering. "If she hadn't asked Peter to go after Neeko, maybe we wouldn't be dealing with this crap."

Ahri flinched.

She didn't respond. Not at first.

It had been a month since Peter vanished. Since he dove into a dimension none of them could track, chasing a girl who'd been presumed dead for years. No one had heard from him since. No traces, no signals, no Guardian aura. Just silence.

Until the tremors started.

Dimensional tremors. Reality itself had spasmed—like a scream in the fabric of space—and everyone had felt it. Some more than others.

"What makes you two so sure it was him?" Miss Fortune asked sharply, breaking the silence.

"Please," Lux scoffed. "Who else could it be? You felt the surge, didn't you? Like something exploded across existence."

"It wasn't natural," Jinx added. "Felt like... I don't know, something broke."

Soraka spoke softly. "Reality is sensitive. It bends when Star Guardians die—or when someone strong enough pushes past its boundaries."

"Oh, and I'm sure Mr. Spider-God with the freaky black suit wouldn't push anything, huh?" Jinx sneered.

Ahri closed her eyes.

The comments were constant. Barbed. Passive-aggressive on good days, outright venomous on the worst.

Today wasn't a good day.

And the Voidlings didn't help.

They'd been appearing more frequently. More evolved. Smarter. Each one felt like a puzzle she couldn't solve—like they were waiting for something, or worse, preparing.

No one knew why.

But everyone had a theory.

"I don't think the tremors are random," Ezreal said, his tone uneasy. "They pulse out every few days, right? Like... echoes. Aftershocks."

"They're not natural," Poppy added. "And they're not Voidling either. I've fought Void things for years. These things? They're... worse."

"Maybe someone left a window open to hell," Syndra said dryly.

"They're reacting to something," Janna murmured. "Or someone."

The implication was clear.

Peter.

It always came back to him.

He had shaken their world once with his reveal. Now he was shaking it again with his absence.

The two groups continued through the shopping district in silence, only the hum of broken neon signs and the chirp of a security drone breaking the quiet. They passed a frozen yogurt shop that had been blasted apart by a Voidling last week. Glass still littered the sidewalk. The scent of melted plastic lingered in the air.

Lux stopped suddenly.

"Look at that."

The others turned. A mural had been burned into the wall across the street—a warped, jagged sigil that shimmered faintly in ultraviolet light. It was shaped like a web.

Peter's symbol.

Or something twisted to resemble it.

"No way that's a coincidence," Jinx muttered, stepping forward and tracing it with her fingers.

"Is he... leaving messages?" Lulu asked, tilting her head.

"Or warnings," Poppy grunted.

"It's not his style," Ahri said softly.

Lux whirled around. "And you'd know his style so well, right?"

Ahri blinked.

"I mean, you were alone with him, weren't you? When you asked him to save Neeko? Must've been real cozy."

"That's enough," Miss Fortune snapped.

But Lux wasn't done.

"He only left for a few hours! And the second he leaves, it's because you asked him to do something only we had the right to ask."

Ahri's tail twitched.

"You're acting like I sent him to die," she said. "He chose to go."

"No. He chose you."

That landed like a blade.

The group stood frozen.

No one moved.

Then a tremor hit.

Not a quake. Not enough to knock them over. Just a ripple through the sky—a wave of distortion that passed over the city like an invisible scream. Lights flickered. The air turned cold.

Everyone felt it.

Again.

"Another one..." Soraka whispered.

"Same direction as before," Syndra said. "East. Same spot."

"Like a pulse," Ezreal added. "Like... breathing."

They didn't speak for a moment.

Then Ahri turned and walked ahead of the group.

They followed in awkward silence.

Tension hung heavier than before.

Everyone could feel the divide.

Ahri's team tried to close it—Soraka offered light conversation, Syndra asked strategic questions, even Miss Fortune tried directing their focus—but it didn't matter. Jinx and Lux were locked in a feedback loop of obsession and bitterness.

Peter was gone.

And they blamed Ahri.

So their patrols dragged longer, became more fractured, less coordinated. The Voidlings seemed to know. They hit in clusters, at weak moments, from unexpected angles.

By the time the patrol ended, most of the team had stopped trying to talk.

Jinx walked ahead in silence, her jaw clenched.

Lux followed behind her, arms crossed.

Ahri lingered in the back, keeping her distance.

The team dynamic was severely affected.

And they didn't know how to fix it. Heck, they never thought that one man could cause so much problems by just disappearing for one favor.

They just wished things returned to normal.

But that's something that'll never happen since a Guardian came into their lives.

After patrol...

The midday sky over Valoran City light up the streets for another, somewhat, tranquil day despite the chaos. The streets below glowed with the eerie pulse of leftover Voidling ash, each alleyway whispering the aftermath of a long patrol. The teams had parted silently after another tense sweep, scattering across rooftops and rail lines like ghosts. No victory. No closure. Just weight.

Janna walked beside Lux through a quieter part of the city, their footsteps echoing through empty streets lined with flickering storefronts. The breeze tugged at Lux's cloak, brushing her pink hair behind her shoulder. Her arms remained folded, expression unreadable—but her eyes said everything.

Janna hesitated. Then gently asked, "Would you like to talk?"

Lux didn't answer right away.

They stopped near a food truck plaza that had long since closed for the night. The ghost of laughter and neon once danced here. Now, silence reigned. Janna leaned against a table, giving Lux space, her hands folded neatly before her.

"I know things have been... hard," Janna started carefully. "Since Peter left. And since what Ahri asked of him."

Lux's gaze darkened.

"I'm not here to defend her," Janna added quickly, "I just—"

"She sent him," Lux snapped suddenly, voice sharp. "She sent him out there without knowing where or to what. And now he's—"

Her voice cracked. She bit it back and turned away.

Janna blinked, momentarily thrown off by the raw emotion that spilled from Lux's mouth like venom. It wasn't just frustration. It was grief.

"She used him," Lux continued, quieter now but no less bitter. "Just because he was strong. Because he could 'handle it.' But none of us really know what he went into, Janna. None of us!"

"I know," Janna replied softly. "I worry too—"

"Do you?" Lux turned back to her now, eyes glassy and glowing faintly from within. "Because every time I talk about him, you look at me like I'm losing it."

"I never said that—"

"You didn't have to."

The words hung like a dagger. Janna exhaled slowly, lips parting but unsure what to say.

"I'm sorry," Lux muttered, clutching her arm now. "I just... I feel like he left and took the last bit of sanity with him."

Janna watched her for a moment, then gently stepped forward.

"You miss him."

Lux scoffed. "That obvious?"

"Yes. But it's more than that, isn't it?"

The pink Star Guardian was quiet, expression trembling under the weight of her restraint. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed. It was hollow and sharp, a cruel edge hidden in the corners of her mouth.

"Of course it is. He didn't just leave, Janna. He imprinted. He made everything feel different. Like we weren't just protecting the city... we were doing something that mattered."

Her eyes turned upward toward the sky.

"And now? All I can feel is that he's still out there... hurting. And we're stuck here arguing over whose fault it is."

Janna reached out, her fingers barely brushing Lux's shoulder.

Lux tensed.

"...You're not alone," Janna said gently. "Even if it feels like you are."

"Then why does everyone act like I'm the problem?"

"You're not," Janna replied immediately. "You're just afraid. And that's okay."

There was a pause.

Then Lux shook her head, eyes gleaming wet with heat she wouldn't allow to fall.

"I don't need comfort."

"Yes, you do," Janna said. "You just won't let yourself accept it."

A beat of silence passed between them.

"...Why do you care so much?" Lux whispered suddenly, staring at her.

Janna blinked. "What?"

"About me. About him. About us. Why do you care?"

Janna flinched slightly. "Because I've seen what happens when you bury pain, Lux. I've seen it hollow people out. Turn them cold."

Her voice faltered—but only for a moment.

"And... because I think if he walked through that door tomorrow, the first person he'd ask for would be you."

Lux's breath caught in her throat.

Then her fists clenched at her sides.

She turned away again, furious and fragile all at once.

"...I wish that were true," she muttered. "But I'm not even sure I know him anymore."

And maybe, just maybe, she didn't know herself either.

Meanwhile...

The apartment was a cacophony of foam darts, snack wrappers, and half-deflated balloons. Lulu spun across the floor like a cyclone, firing a toy bazooka while riding a mop. Poppy sat on the couch, exhausted but grateful for the distraction. Jinx was curled on the floor amidst a pile of candy, her face twisted in a mix of mania and defeat.

"That's the last time I trust a vending machine," Jinx muttered. "Tried to eat me alive."

"You threw a grenade at it," Poppy reminded her.

"It was a warning shot."

Lulu giggled, tossing popcorn into the air and catching it in her mouth.

Poppy leaned over and offered Jinx a fizzy drink. She accepted it wordlessly, cracking the can and taking a long sip. Her eyes were red—not from crying, but from something worse. Bottled chaos.

"You okay?" Poppy asked.

Jinx didn't answer at first.

"...I don't know," she finally said. "It's like... my brain's got a hole in it."

"A hole?"

"Like something used to be there. Like he was there. And now it's just... quiet. Too quiet."

Her grip on the can tightened.

"I hate this silence."

Lulu paused mid-cartwheel, peeking over with a worried expression.

Poppy reached out and put a hand on Jinx's shoulder.

"We'll hear from him again," she said gently. "He's too stubborn to stay gone."

"...Yeah."

"Just don't burn the place down before then."

"No promises."

Lulu clapped her hands, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe he'll crash through the window riding a Voidling!"

Jinx let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

"I'd kill him for the scare. Then hug him after."

And for a second... the apartment didn't feel so heavy.

Just a little.

—

Back in the city, the breeze was colder now. Janna and Lux walked side by side in silence.

Neither of them knew what tomorrow would bring.

But both of them hoped—no, needed—a sign.

Any sign.

That he was still out there.

That Peter Parker hadn't forgotten them.

Because the strings he left behind still vibrated with the echo of something greater.

And somewhere, deep beneath their unease...

They all still believed in him.

Even if they were afraid of what he might become.

—

Valoran City looked deceptively peaceful under the afternoon sun.

The pastel skyline shimmered, clouds lazily drifting over rooftop cafes and street murals painted with the colors of past victories. Music from a local busker echoed through the plaza, soft jazz twirling through the air like stardust. It was a calm day. Too calm. The kind of calm that clung to your skin like static before a lightning strike.

Lux sipped her drink through a straw, trying not to explode.

Janna sat across from her at an open-air cafe, delicately slicing a strawberry tart with far more focus than it required.

"...So," Janna began, "have you ever noticed that when you're angry, you chew your straw like it owes you money?"

Lux paused, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm not angry."

Janna arched a brow.

"I'm not," Lux repeated, biting harder into the straw.

Janna smiled faintly and leaned back in her chair. "Well, I'm not judging. Just observing."

Lux grumbled and set the cup down, folding her arms. "It's not fair. We should be doing something. Not walking around pretending everything's fine."

"I know," Janna said softly. "But you needed this."

Lux glanced around. The city was moving—slow and steady, unaware. A mother walked by holding a toddler's hand. A vendor handed out samples of Starlight Cupcakes. Somewhere nearby, a group of students laughed too loudly about something dumb.

And for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

"I just..." Lux trailed off. "I don't want to hate her."

Janna didn't need to ask who "her" was.

"I really don't," Lux whispered. "But I feel like Ahri ripped him away. And didn't tell us after it happened."

"She did said that Peter didn't want us to worry," Janna replied gently. "That we should enjoy the slumber party..."

"But he's alone. That doesn't make me calm at all."

"I know."

Lux looked down at her hands—gloved and glowing faintly from residual magic. She closed her fists slowly.

"I miss him," she muttered.

"I know," Janna said again, reaching across the table to rest a hand over hers.

They stayed like that for a while. Long enough for the breeze to pass through their hair and sweep some of the pain away with it.

Later, they walked through Valoran Park—Lux holding a bag of souvenirs she clearly didn't need, Janna clutching a small notebook filled with random bird sketches. They stopped by a fountain shaped like an old constellation and watched the water shimmer with enchanted light.

"I used to think we'd have this huge epic finale," Lux said after a while. "Big fight, big redemption. Maybe even... a future."

Janna looked at her, puzzled. "A future?"

"With him."

Janna blinked, caught off guard by the vulnerability.

Lux laughed bitterly. "I know. Ridiculous, right? He probably never even felt the same way."

"...I don't think that's true."

Lux turned to her.

Janna smiled faintly. "He looked at you like you were the only one who mattered. Even when he pretended not to."

Lux didn't know what to say to that.

So she said nothing at all.

They spent the rest of the day pretending things could go back to normal. Lux won a stuffed toy from a claw machine. Janna danced under a light-show projector for a full minute just to make her laugh. They wandered into a bookstore and left with matching keychains.

And for a short, fragile while, the ache dulled.

The city was still broken. Their team was still fraying.

But in that moment—they were just two girls trying to breathe.

—

Back at the apartment, chaos reigned as usual.

Lulu was face-down on the beanbag, groaning.

Poppy stood behind her like a stern coach. "That's the third round you've lost in a row."

"I need chocolate," Lulu whined. "Emergency fuel."

Jinx sprawled across the floor, limbs tangled in controller wires and chip bags. Her hair was tied up in twin buns, and her eyes were glued to the screen with an unsettling intensity.

"Final boss," she whispered. "Time for murder."

Poppy rolled her eyes but said nothing.

The three of them had spent hours gaming—everything from kart racing to fighting Voidling simulators. It was the only way to keep Jinx grounded, and even then, the cracks showed. Her laughter came too fast. Her victories felt too personal.

"You know he'd hate this game," Jinx muttered suddenly as she blew up a digital enemy.

Poppy looked over. "Who?"

Jinx didn't answer. She didn't have to.

"He'd say the hitboxes are garbage," she added, cracking a smile.

Lulu perked up from the beanbag. "He'd cheat anyway."

"Yeah," Jinx giggled, "he'd reprogram the whole thing just to win."

The three of them fell into a weird, comforting silence.

They missed him too. They just didn't know how to say it.

—

Elsewhere in the apartment, behind a locked door, Ahri sat on her bed with her back to the wall.

The room was dark, save for the soft glow of her phone screen. She stared at it without seeing it—her inbox empty, the message thread with Peter still unread since the day he left.

Her ears twitched slightly at the sound of laughter from the living room.

She didn't go join her team.

She couldn't.

She would remember Lux's glare, every time she heard Jinx scoff or avoid her entirely—it chipped away at her.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe she'd sent him to his death.

Ahri curled her knees to her chest, gripping the pillow like it was the only thing anchoring her to the room.

She hadn't meant to break them.

She just wanted to fix something.

But all she'd done was send a Guardian into the abyss.

And now... the weight of that decision sat on her chest like a Voidling that refused to leave.

—

The apartment was unusually quiet that evening.

Jinx's controller had long since slipped from her fingers. Lulu was curled in a half-conscious daze beside the TV, surrounded by empty snack wrappers. Poppy, ever vigilant, sat by the window, gaze scanning the streets below. Nothing moved. No sirens. No tremors. No signs of Zoe.

Just quiet.

Until every single phone buzzed at once.

A soft ding echoed from the bedrooms. From under plushies. From coat pockets and charging cables tangled on desks. It didn't matter where it was.

They all heard it.

Lux sat upright in bed, blinking groggily, her pulse spiking.

Jinx jerked awake, smacking her head against the coffee table.

"Ow—What the hell—"

Lulu jolted up with a gasp. "Did we miss a Voidling?!"

"No," Poppy muttered, standing up. "It's something else."

Lux didn't even wait. She threw her blanket off, practically leapt across the room, and snatched her phone off the charger.

Janna's voice came from the hallway. "Lux? What's—"

She stopped herself as she saw the light on Lux's screen.

It was a message.

From him.

Peter:

Hey. I'm back.

There was silence.

Lux stared at the text like it might disappear. Like if she blinked too hard, it would evaporate and leave her with nothing but aching hope again.

But it didn't vanish.

It stayed there, glowing.

Like a spark in dry grass.

Across the living room, Jinx looked at her phone too. Her pupils dilated. She blinked once, then again.

Then she screamed.

"HE'S ALIVE?!"

Lulu and Poppy flinched so hard they nearly fell off the couch.

"Wait, WHAT?!" Lulu yelped.

Jinx didn't answer. She was already dialing his number.

And when it rang without an answer, she called again. And again.

Lux, still frozen, was barely breathing.

Another buzz hit her screen.

Peter again.

Peter:

Didn't mean to go dark for so long. Time works differently where I was. Felt like a few days for me. Guess it's been... a month for you?

Sorry about that.

"Sorry?" Lux whispered aloud. "Sorry?!"

She stared at the screen like it had just slapped her across the face.

Janna slowly walked to her side, cautiously peeking over her shoulder.

"Lux... you okay?"

Lux didn't answer.

But the way her fingers shook said plenty.

Meanwhile, Ahri sat alone on her bed, still in her same curled-up position, trying to forget the weight she'd dragged around all month.

Then her phone chimed.

Her fingers trembled as she picked it up, heart stuttering.

And when she opened the message, she didn't get what the others got.

She got a picture.

Peter. Shirtless.

At a beach.

His arm slung casually around someone very familiar.

Neeko.

She looked healthy. Smiling. Relaxed. Her tail curled affectionately around Peter's arm, her eyes closed in bliss.

Beneath the photo was another message.

Peter:

She's safe.

Took a while to recover after... well, you felt it, right? That tremor was a Tera Flare from the enemy. Not fun.

But we're both alright now. Just needed rest.

Wanted you to be the first to know, since... I figure I'll be dodging Lux and Jinx's fury when I show up again.

Beach days are nice. She's healing.

Ahri's chest twisted.

She scrolled back up to the photo. Neeko's smile. Peter's casual half-smirk. The way they looked so... normal.

And it made her stomach sink.

Because somewhere deep in her gut, something about it didn't feel right.

Neeko looked happy—but too happy. Like a dream being lived by someone who hadn't yet woken up.

And Peter?

Peter looked... amused.

Jinx didn't stop calling. She was screaming into her phone even though the call never connected.

"Pick up, dammit! You disappeared! You left us!"

Poppy finally snatched the phone from her hands.

"Jinx, breathe. He said he's okay—"

"I KNOW HE'S OKAY!" Jinx shouted, tears flooding her eyes. "But we're not!"

She shoved Poppy back and stormed toward her room, only to be met by Lux—who was already walking toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" Jinx asked, her voice cracking.

"To find him," Lux answered coldly, not even looking back.

Poppy stepped in. "He didn't say where he was, Lux—"

"I don't care. He sent the message. He's here somewhere."

Lux pushed open the door, light flaring off her hands in erratic pulses.

"Wait—Lux—"

The door slammed behind her.

Janna looked between Jinx and Poppy, panicked.

"She's not thinking straight."

"None of us are," Poppy muttered. "Not anymore."

On the rooftop of a nearby building, Peter Parker stood alone.

He watched the lights of Valoran City twinkle beneath him. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it.

Spam calls. Voicemails. Missed texts.

Lux. Jinx. Lulu. Sarah.

He expected as much.

They always reach for him eventually.

He pulled the phone out and finally tapped on Ahri's message thread. Her read receipt hadn't changed.

Still silent.

Still processing.

"...Smart girl," he murmured to himself.

Behind him, faint footsteps echoed. Neeko approached, towel over her shoulders, the sea breeze still clinging to her.

"You didn't tell them that Neeko was with you," she said.

Peter smiled.

"They'll find out soon enough."

"You think they'll be mad?"

"I think they'll be emotional. There's a difference."

Neeko blinked, confused.

Peter stepped closer to the edge of the roof, watching the wind swirl around his ankles. His symbiote shifted across his arm like liquid shadow, pulsing.

"It's time," he whispered. "Let the chaos begin."

Back at the apartment, Lux stood on the balcony, phone clenched in one hand.

She scrolled through Peter's message again, eyes burning.

A month of waiting. A month of grief. A month of silence.

And he came back with this?

No warning. No apology. No effort to explain what he'd been through. Just...

"Hey. I'm back."

Lux's grip tightened.

She wanted to see him.

She wanted to slap him.

She wanted to kiss him.

She wanted to know everything.

But more than that...

She wanted to make sure he was still hers.

And she didn't care who stood in her way.

Not Ahri. Not Neeko. Not even Peter.

—

The beach was quiet. Warm. Gentle waves curled across the sand, each one catching a glint of fading starlight as dusk turned to dark.

Peter sat on a smooth rock with Neeko curled at his side—her arms clinging around his, cheek resting against his shoulder. Her tail flicked faintly, twitching in her sleep. She breathed slowly. Dreaming. Smiling.

He didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Didn't sleep.

Just watched the horizon where stars blinked into being—each one a distant system, each one a potential battlefield.

His symbiote pulsed softly around his wrists, like a heartbeat made of ink. He stared at it for a while, then let his eyes drift back down to Neeko. Her fingers were gently digging into his arm like she was scared he'd disappear again.

Peter tilted his head.

"She's clinging tighter than yesterday," he muttered under his breath, a soft, amused tone coloring the observation. "Dependency's solidified. Right on schedule."

His voice held no affection. Just analysis.

He remembered how she broke down when she first woke up in his arms—how she trembled, cried, begged to know if he was real. All he did was nod, hold her tighter, whisper just the right words.

"Yes."

He didn't need to lie. Just guide. Nudge. Reframe.

That was the trick.

People didn't resist truth—they resisted stories they didn't want to believe.

So he rewrote hers.

Not as Neeko the coward who abandoned her friends and fled.

But Neeko the survivor.

Neeko the hunted.

Neeko the broken starlight who needed someone—not to fix her, but to carry her through the void.

And she bought it.

She had nowhere else to go. No one else who came. No one who ever tried.

So when he did... she folded like paper.

Peter turned his gaze to the sky again.

They're breaking, aren't they?

His eyes didn't close, but his mind wandered—drifting to the connections he'd silently maintained with each of them. Guardian Aura wasn't just a flare of emotion or a tool of defense. It was a presence. A narrative virus. A quiet melody that played in the heads of those he let it infect.

He didn't control them. That would be obvious. That would burn out the bond.

He bent them.

Curved their feelings just enough until it was hard to remember when they started wanting him around and stopped being able to function without him.

Lux...

She was in chaos now. Beautiful chaos. Spiraling. Obsessive. She'd kissed him thinking she made the first move—but that spark in her chest? That need to find him again after every absence?

He planted that years ago.

Jinx...

Ferocious loyalty bred from mischief and chaos. He fed her thrill-seeking hunger with unpredictability and danger. He made himself the only challenge she couldn't solve. Now she was breaking in his absence like a caged animal scratching at the walls.

Ahri...

Peter's lips twitched at the thought.

The moment she let guilt infect her over sending him to rescue Neeko, she lost her leverage. He didn't blame her for doing the right thing. He relied on it. Because guilt always bloomed best in those who thought they knew what was right.

And now she'd been eaten alive by silence, regrets, and relentless blame from her own team.

Janna...

Complicated.

Out of all of them, she tried to stand tall. Tried to confront him, question his intentions.

And he let her. He wanted her to.

Because once the fight was over and she saw her friends tearing at each other, her ideals burning at the edges, she'd realize she had no anchor.

Except him.

Soon, she'd come back. Not as an opponent, but as a desperate soul searching for a calm voice in the madness.

Sarah...

He didn't need to push her. Just leave.

That was enough.

She already felt the guilt. She already abandoned Neeko once. Now she had to live knowing Peter walked through hell to fix what she left broken.

That pain would twist and churn. And when she saw him again—with Neeko alive and thriving—what choice would she have but to trust him?

Lulu...

Peter's grin twitched.

She was scared of him. And that was perfect.

Because fear mixed with compliance was obedience.

And Poppy?

Even her stubborn heart had begun to crack. She wouldn't like him—Peter didn't need her to—but she'd respect him. She already admitted to herself that without him, the team would've collapsed.

Soraka...

She said it out loud.

That they needed him.

They needed someone firm. Someone who could withstand the pressure, take action when others hesitated. In one month of absence, both teams fell apart.

He wasn't the glue holding them together.

He was the gravity keeping them from flying into pieces.

Even Ezreal...

Peter's expression flattened.

That boy would never stop fearing him. But fear was honest. Predictable. As long as it didn't turn into courage... he could live with that.

Peter looked down at Neeko again.

She stirred, murmured his name in her sleep.

Of course you need me, he thought.

You all do.

But none of them knew just how much.

He had mapped every behavior, every pattern, every emotional frequency. Not because he wanted control—he could have that any time.

No.

This was about proving a point.

That Guardians didn't need to be heroes.

They just needed to be essential.

Peter leaned back, hands resting in the sand, feeling the ebb of the waves lap at his heels.

Above, stars trembled faintly.

Far away, across a dozen timelines, a tremor echoed again. Just a ripple of the Tera Flare's wake still bouncing across dimensions.

It would stir things up again.

He welcomed it.

Peter finally closed his eyes. Just for a second. Let himself drift.

And with a breath like a whisper, he spoke.

"It's time they remembered why I'm inevitable."

His eyes snapped open—one glowing red, one shimmering silver.

The beach fell silent again.

The Guardian moved no more.

But his web was already spun.

And the strings were pulling themselves.

—

Peter Parker POV

I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers tapping the counter like a ticking metronome. Neeko sat cross-legged on the floor, quietly humming while brushing sand off her tail. Her emerald eyes peeked at me with idle curiosity, like a loyal pup wondering when her master would move again.

The silence wasn't awkward. I didn't allow things like that anymore.

It was strategic.

Because I had a problem.

Two problems, actually.

Lux and Jinx.

And I knew damn well I couldn't handle both at once. Not when they've spent a month sharpening their claws on Ahri's pride and spinning grief into obsession. They were going to tear me apart, emotionally or otherwise, and the worst part?

They'd be right to do so.

Even if I was lying.

Especially because I was lying.

I knew what I sent them — a neat little excuse wrapped in cosmic ribbon: "Time dilation." A lie as old as multiversal travel. I said only a few days had passed for me. Technically not impossible. Convenient? Yes. Safe? No. But true?

Absolutely not.

I spent an entire month deliberately breaking Neeko down, dimension by dimension, until she clung to me like the last life preserver on a sinking ship. And it worked. Flawlessly.

But now I had to deal with the consequences.

I glanced at Neeko. Her tail swayed gently, in rhythm with her thoughts — each motion calm, placid, trusting. She smiled at me when she caught my eye.

"Are you leaving now, Star-Spider?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, standing up. "Just for a bit. Gotta put out some fires."

"Will they be mad?"

I paused. "...Yes."

"Will they try to hurt you?"

I chuckled. "Emotionally? Absolutely."

She tilted her head. "Then why not stay here with Neeko? We are happy."

Her voice was soft. Innocent.

I almost smiled. Almost.

"Because I'm the reason they're hurting," I muttered, mostly to myself. "And I need them to think I still care."

Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out a simple coin. An old one. Faded edges. A relic from another time.

"Heads, I deal with Lux," I whispered. "Tails, I face Jinx."

Neeko crawled closer on all fours, fascinated by the flip.

"You could visit both," she offered.

"Let's not tempt fate."

I flipped the coin. It spun like a blade through the air, catching the dim room light as it turned.

Clink.

Landed on my palm.

Heads.

Lux.

I sighed. Long. Heavy. "Of course."

Neeko leaned her chin on my knee like a golden retriever. "Be safe. Neeko will wait for you like a good mate."

I didn't correct her. I just nodded and left.

Outside, I perched on a rooftop two blocks away from my old studio apartment. Sunset bathed the city in gold. It looked peaceful. Deceptively peaceful.

I pulled out my phone. Twenty-eight missed calls.

All from Lux.

I stared at the screen. It was practically vibrating with her desperation.

With a groan, I hit dial back.

It didn't even ring.

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN!?"

My ears exploded. I yanked the phone away.

Her voice pierced through the receiver like a banshee with glitter.

"I don't CARE about your dumb dimensional physics crap!" she raged. "You were GONE! A WHOLE MONTH! What, you couldn't TEXT ME that you were off to play Guardian Rescue Mission for Ahri?! You left me! You LEFT—"

I let her scream.

There was no use interrupting a thunderstorm. You just let it pass.

Thirty seconds. A minute. A minute and a half.

Then silence.

A low, shaky inhale on her end.

"...You jerk."

There it is.

"I'd rather explain in person," I said. Calm. Level.

She was quiet again.

"Where?"

"My place."

"On my way."

Click.

I stared at the phone. "Well, that was civil."

I slung a webline and swung back toward my apartment. The trip took less than a minute. My feet hit the balcony railing, and I slipped in through the window.

And immediately winced.

The place was a warzone.

Empty ramen cups. Energy drink cans. Tech panels half-assembled on the walls. Guardian script flowing across the ceiling from the last simulation test I ran before Ahri asked me to find Neeko.

God, had it really been a month?

I got to work. Tossed out what I could. Straightened blankets. Stacked hard drives. The room still looked like a multiversal lab mixed with a hoarder's closet, but it was passable.

Knock knock knock.

Three sharp taps.

I checked my shirt. Fixed my hair. Inhaled.

Then opened the door.

Lux stood there in her Star Guardian outfit — the pink-haired, wide-eyed, heartbreak in a bottle.

Her nose was red. Eyes puffy. She'd been crying. Recently.

She didn't say a word.

Instead, she reached out and touched me.

Hands brushed over my chest, arms, shoulders, jaw — like she was checking if I was flesh and blood or some cruel illusion.

I didn't move.

When she stopped, I tried humor.

"Well," I said. "Am I real enough for you?"

SLAP.

My head snapped sideways.

Oof.

Okay. I deserved that.

Even if it didn't stung.

"Right," I muttered, rubbing my cheek. "Guess I had that coming."

She still didn't laugh. Her eyes burned like dying stars.

"You bastard."

And yet... she didn't walk away.

She stepped inside.

Like she never really wanted to leave to begin with.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Lux hovered by the threshold like she wasn't sure if she wanted to sit, scream, or shatter into tears again.

The air was heavy, filled with that awkward silence where words wanted to spill but didn't know how.

I gestured to the bed. "You can sit. I promise it's not radioactive."

She didn't smile.

Instead, she walked over and sat down slowly, her arms still tightly crossed. Her legs bounced slightly — anxiety leaking out through motion.

"Okay," she said, voice quieter now. "Talk."

I leaned against the wall near the window, folding my arms casually. "About?"

Her glare snapped up to me like a gunshot.

"You were gone, Peter. For a month. You didn't say anything. You didn't even warn me. Not a note. Not a single sign. Just a stupid vague text about 'dimensional time dilation' when you finally decided to grace us with your presence again."

"I sent it the moment I reconnected to your dimension," I replied calmly.

"Don't give me that Guardian bullshit!" she yelled, standing now, pacing. "You left. You left me, you left us. And I don't care if a day passed for you or a month—I waited thirty damn days, Peter."

Her voice cracked at the end. That brittle tone like glass right before it splinters.

I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. "Look... I didn't plan for it to be that long. I didn't even know how far gone Neeko was when I found her. I thought it'd take a day. Maybe two. But she wasn't just lost, Lux. She was shattered. And Ahri asked me for help. I couldn't say no."

Lux's jaw clenched at the mention of Ahri.

"So you chose her mission over us."

"I didn't choose anyone," I said, stepping closer. "I just... acted. Like I always do."

She stared up at me. Her pink eyes were moist, tired, burning from too many sleepless nights and worse thoughts.

"You always do this," she whispered. "You act like it's all under control. You disappear. You lie. You show up again with this stupid smile like nothing happened."

I didn't answer.

Because she wasn't wrong.

Instead, I walked over to my desk and tapped a projection switch. A holographic screen materialized in the air, displaying a ripple through a 4D space-map of Valoran City.

Lux blinked. "What... is that?"

"Aftershocks," I said. "Residual spacetime fractures left behind from the final blast."

"You mean those earthquakes?"

I nodded. "They aren't natural. They're dimensional echoes. Caused by the Tera Flare."

She went quiet.

"You're saying that one attack... did all this?"

"No," I said. "Not just any Tera Flare. This one was different. It was cast by a Dark — Riku, to be exact. You don't know him, but imagine a Final Fantasy spellcaster turned monster, merged with the kind of power that doesn't belong in a existential framework anymore. A being that's aware of narrative boundaries and hates them."

Lux's brow furrowed.

"He didn't just cast it," I continued. "He charged it with corrupted cosmic power. Something that bends laws. It wasn't just about destruction — it was about removal. Erasure."

"And you..." she trailed off.

"I took it head-on. Point blank. No shield. No portal tricks. Just me and the blast."

Lux's lips parted in silent horror.

I gestured back to the diagram. "That kind of force doesn't just leave a crater. It punches through layers of time and causality. Some timelines near this one are leaking into each other now. That's why your Voidlings are... different."

She whispered, "You knew this would happen."

"I hoped it wouldn't."

A partial lie. I knew it would. But I needed the threat to rise — just enough to destabilize the Guardians, to make them question their strength. Their roles. Each other.

And me?

I'd be the answer.

I'd always be the answer.

Lux sat back down slowly. The adrenaline was leaving her. The emotion, too.

All that remained was the weight of the information.

"And Neeko?" she asked. "Is she... okay?"

"She will be," I said gently. "She's safe now. That's what matters."

Another lie. Neeko wasn't just safe.

She was mine.

Her mind, her emotions, her loyalty. Shaped. Sharpened. Sealed.

Lux looked away, rubbing her arm. "You should've let me help."

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "You remember Johnny Storm?"

She looked up. "From the camp trip? The Herald?"

I nodded. "The one I erased."

"I remember. He nearly destroyed the city."

"I fought two worse than him this time. And I won. But I barely made it back."

She stood again, slowly, like her legs were weak.

"You're always doing this," she muttered, softer now. "Taking all the pain. All the burden. And leaving us to worry. You think that's noble?"

"No," I said, walking over to her. "I think it's necessary."

Her eyes welled up. "You didn't even let me say goodbye..."

I stared down at her. This wasn't anger anymore.

It was grief.

Grief, twisted by dependence.

The Guardian Aura pulsed lightly through me — not enough to manipulate her thoughts, just enough to magnify what was already there.

Her sadness. Her desperation. Her need.

She reached up and placed a hand on my chest.

"I thought you were gone," she whispered. "I thought I'd lost you."

I didn't flinch. I didn't smile.

I just let her touch me.

She leaned forward and rested her head against my chest, breathing in like my presence was the only thing keeping her heart beating.

"I missed you..."

I wrapped my arms around her slowly. Not too tight. Just right.

Like I was comforting her.

Like I cared.

She looked up again. Her cheeks were flushed. Her breath short.

Then she kissed me.

Soft. Hesitant at first. Then deeper.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling herself into me.

And I?

I kissed her back.

Because resistance wasn't the game anymore.

Control was.

When we pulled apart, her forehead leaned against mine.

"I love you," she whispered, barely audible.

I didn't respond.

I didn't need to.

She wouldn't hear anything I said right now anyway.

She was too far gone.

Too dependent.

Too broken.

I helped her onto the bed and sat beside her.

She didn't let go. She just curled up against my side, like I was warmth in a freezing void.

And I smiled.

Not the smile of a lover.

But of a chessmaster.

Lux's grip didn't loosen.

Even after she curled into my side, even after the silence had settled, her hand clutched my shirt like she was afraid I'd phase through the floor if she let go.

"I didn't sleep," she murmured against my shoulder. "The first week, I was just... hoping I'd wake up and you'd text me. Or call. Or show up. But nothing came."

Her voice cracked with that last word.

"I know," I said softly, brushing a strand of pink hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry."

She leaned back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were tired. Puffy. But beneath the storm clouds—there was something else. Something tender. Something dangerous.

"I should hate you," she whispered.

"I'd understand if you did."

She shook her head. "But I can't. That's the worst part. I can't. Even when I try."

I tilted my head, giving her a crooked smile. "You missed me that much?"

Lux huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I don't think you get how much."

I leaned closer, just enough that I could see her pupils dilate. "Try me."

She blinked. Swallowed. Her cheeks flushed.

"I broke my communicator," she mumbled. "Threw it at the wall. When your signal dropped."

"Tragic. That poor device."

"I replaced it the next day. Just in case you messaged back."

"And here I thought you weren't the clingy type."

Lux narrowed her eyes, leaning in dangerously close. "You're lucky I like sarcasm."

"I'm lucky you like me at all," I teased. "Considering I kind of ghosted you... interdimensionally."

She didn't laugh. Instead, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine again—less desperate this time. Slower. Hungrier. Like she wanted to savor the fact I was real and here and warm.

Her fingers ghosted over my jaw, up my neck, through my hair, like she was mapping every angle of my face from memory—so she'd know what to miss next time I vanished.

When she pulled back, her breath trembled.

"You're really here," she said.

I nodded. "For now."

Her brow furrowed at that. "Don't say that."

I gave her a soft smile. "Habit."

"I don't care what dimension you're in," Lux muttered, pushing me back slightly so she could climb onto my lap. "I will find you next time. Don't test me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"You've haunted my dreams enough as it is."

I raised an eyebrow. "Good dreams or bad?"

She leaned down, brushing her lips across my neck, her voice a soft hum. "Depends on the night."

I let my hands rest on her hips. "You always talk this much during emotional breakdowns?"

"Only when I'm about to do something I'll pretend to regret later."

"Is that so?"

She pulled back again, just far enough to look down at me—cheeks red, eyes glassy, her breath uneven.

"I missed you, Peter," she whispered again, trembling. "So much it hurt."

There was no hesitation anymore.

She kissed me again. Deeper. Her body melted into mine, and for a long moment, we were just warmth and skin and breath and want. Her arms wrapped around my neck, like if she held me tight enough, she'd make up for every day I was gone.

I kissed her back. Read every movement. Every shaky breath. I didn't need to guide her.

I already had.

Weeks ago.

Her dependency, her grief, her longing — it was all by design.

Not through lies. Not exactly.

Just carefully curated truths. Filtered. Drip-fed.

The Guardian Aura did the rest.

I never made her feel anything. I just helped her realize what she already needed.

Me.

She tugged my jacket off. I didn't stop her.

The rest unfolded in pieces. Lips. Hands. Clothes. Whispers. Laughter drowned out by something deeper. Hotter. Desperate.

We didn't speak again until much later.

And when it was over, when the tremble in her limbs softened and she finally collapsed beside me, she curled up close like it was instinct.

I stared at the ceiling. Silent.

Lux's breathing slowed beside me, her arm still draped across my chest, her cheek pressed to my ribs.

She was asleep.

Or maybe pretending.

Didn't matter.

She wouldn't let go now.

Even if I vanished again.

Even if I lied again.

Even if I shattered her heart with my hands and whispered it was for her own good.

She'd still choose me.

They always do.

One more piece locked in place.

I let my eyes close, just for a second, as a cold smirk tugged at my lips.

Now... let's see what Jinx wants.

I stared at the ceiling for a second longer, still half-draped in the sheets Lux had so dramatically tugged over us before her nap. Her breathing was steady, tangled in that dreamlike haze where people feel safe. Maybe that's why she didn't notice me move when I rolled off the bed, still bare-chested, letting the symbiote crawl back into my body like black mist being sucked into a jar.

It was time to face the second half of the headache.

Jinx...

God help me.

I summoned my suit back—my real one. Not the gooey, default black-clad look that wrapped around me when I didn't care how I looked, but the one forged in the Nexus. The Iron Spider... no, not just that—a version of it that let me channel other Spider-Men from across the infinite Web. A subtle perk of existing above fiction: you get to pick from the best designs.

"Let's do this stylishly," I muttered to myself.

With a thought, I selected the 2099 variant—Miguel O'Hara's sleek, midnight blue suit with the red talon marks and glowing accents. Sharp, angular, cold, but also efficient. Then came the subroutine. Accelerated Decoy. A neat little trick adapted from Miguel's arsenal: a projected, semi-solid afterimage that mimicked my presence in real time.

The symbiote flared out, syncing with the Iron Spider's tech. A perfect clone of me appeared beside the bed, sitting cross-legged and half-stretching like I hadn't moved. I even programmed it to murmur something sarcastic every now and then so Lux wouldn't grow suspicious.

She wouldn't even know I left.

I scribbled a quick note beside her on the nightstand.

"Gone to catch up with the others. Don't blow up my phone—again. ❤"

With that, I launched out of the window in a silent whip of motion. The city welcomed me like it always did: cold wind, drifting starlight, and that low hum of anxiety that never left Valoran.

I soared over rooftops, delaying what I knew would be inevitable. I hadn't seen Jinx in a month. Not since I vanished. And unlike Lux, who defaulted to anxiety and guilt, Jinx? She defaulted to explosions.

I was halfway through a swing when my wrist buzzed with yet another notification. She was calling again. I didn't even have to dial.

"Of course," I muttered as I landed on a billboard with a heavy sigh.

I tapped my earpiece and opened the line.

"SO YOU'RE ALIVE."

That was the first thing I heard.

Not a 'hello.' Not a 'where have you been?' Just an earsplitting shriek of sound that nearly overloaded my earpiece. My left eye twitched.

"Hey, Jin—"

"YOU DISAPPEAR FOR A FREAKING MONTH—a WHOLE month!—and you think now is the time to answer?! You ghost me, vanish into multiverse-space-purgatory or whatever, and you don't even TEXT ME?! Lux's last message from you was about cookies! And I got a voicemail from 4 weeks ago that said 'brb'?!"

I let her vent.

I always do.

Jinx didn't rant like other people. Her words came out like bullets, scatter-shot but deadly. Some of it was jokes, some of it was grief, all of it wrapped in cracked lipstick and mania.

"You done?" I asked calmly, once I heard her breathing in gasps.

"Oh no. Ohhh no no no. You don't get off that easy, Spider-jerk. I've been chewing drywall. LITERALLY. Ask Poppy."

"...Please tell me that's a metaphor."

"IT'S NOT."

There was a loud crash on her end. Probably a table. Or a toaster. Or Poppy.

I pressed two fingers to my temple and breathed through the headache. "Look. Can we do this in person?"

Dead silence.

"Where?" she asked, voice clipped now. Dangerous.

"You choose."

A beat passed. Then—

"The Rage Room."

Of course.

She would choose the place where she could legally hit me with a sledgehammer.

I closed the call without another word, leapt forward, and let the wind pull me away.

The Rage Room wasn't technically in Valoran City. It sat tucked away in an abandoned factory about a fifteen-minute swing from the edge of town. Built by Jinx, rigged by her, and stocked to the ceiling with things meant to be broken. It used to be a shared hangout spot when our trio first started forming... back when things were simpler.

Back when love wasn't a weapon.

I landed silently on the building's rooftop, crouched on the edge, and glanced through one of the shattered skylights.

She was already there.

Damn.

Lux had cried and slapped me. That was her default.

Jinx? If she was early to this little reunion, that meant I was about to be emotionally—and maybe physically—eviscerated.

I moved quietly toward the access hatch. No creaking. No echo. But I didn't even make it past the second step before a wrench whistled through the air and slammed into the metal wall an inch from my face.

"Hiiiiii, Peeeeeeetey," came a voice like candy laced with napalm.

I turned slowly.

There she was. Leaning against the far wall, lit by a single red lightbulb dangling from the ceiling like a scene from a murder mystery. Red hair tied messily to the side, oversized jacket half-zipped, eyes locked on me like I was the last slice of cake and she'd been starving.

The hammer was already in her hands.

"You're late."

I smiled—wry, defensive. "Technically, I'm early. You're just insanely early."

She tilted her head. "You saying I'm insane?"

"I'd be lying if I said no."

She grinned.

Then threw the hammer at me.

It hit my chest. Bounced off. Didn't hurt, obviously—but still, the intent was clear.

"I missed you," she said, voice cracking.

"...I noticed."

I looked around the room, noting how much more stuff there was to break compared to last time. Some of it even had my face crudely drawn on it. She'd been busy. And angry.

"I take it you didn't get my text."

"I got your LIES," she snapped. "Time dilation? Really? That's your excuse?"

"It's not a lie," I said with a calm shrug. "Time works differently depending on where you—"

"OH MY GOD, DON'T START WITH THE SCI-FI-TECHNO-BABBLE!"

I raised both hands. "Okay, okay."

She stared at me for a long second. That grin faded. What replaced it was something much more honest. Broken. Her lip trembled.

"I thought you weren't coming back."

"I know."

"I thought you were dead."

"I wasn't."

"You let me think you were."

"...I know."

I didn't need to explain myself. That's the thing about Jinx—when she actually breaks through the noise of her own emotions, she doesn't want logic.

She wants honesty.

Or at least what feels like it.

"I'm here now," I said softly.

She didn't say anything for a moment.

Then: "I wanna break something."

I smiled. "What else is new?"

Her eyes narrowed. "With you."

Ah. There it is.

I braced myself. "Lead the way."

She grabbed another hammer. This one was bigger.

I sighed inwardly, my Guardian Aura already bracing for the chaos.

Let the real therapy begin.

Jinx didn't wait.

The moment I stepped through the threshold of the Rage Room, she let the first bomb fly.

Not a metaphorical one.

An actual one.

It spun across the air like a demented frisbee, sparking with neon-pink circuitry and singing with barely-contained chaos. I flicked my wrist and webbed it mid-spin, yanking it toward me before it could explode—then casually disarmed it with two fingers and a pulse from my suit's failsafe algorithm.

"Hm. Your bombs are getting predictable."

Wrong words.

"PREDICTABLE?!"

A hammer—the hammer—crashed into the wall where my head had been a moment before. She'd sprinted up without a sound, raw fury blazing in her eyes like twin nebulae.

"After a MONTH of silence, ghosting, vanishing, DEAD AIR, you show up, drop a line like 'Hey, let's hang out,' and you DARE say I'm predictable?! Pete, I have predictable urges—like MURDER!"

She started spouting anything that came into her mind, even if it was made up.

I let her rant.

I always do.

Jinx didn't explode linearly. She was like a firework caught in a blender: sudden bursts, sparks of humor, spiraling despair, all wrapped in a manic package of overwhelming, loud affection.

She stomped over broken chairs and glass shards like they weren't there.

She paced.

She yelled.

She kicked over an entire rack of TV monitors she'd stacked in the corner—each screen flickering with old reruns of some soap opera she used to watch with Lulu. The crash echoed like the cry of a hundred lost thoughts.

"You wanna know what the worst part is? I LIKED YOU."

I tilted my head. "Still do, clearly."

She grabbed a shattered pipe and launched it at my chest. It bent against my suit like tinfoil.

"Shut up! I'm allowed to be MAD. I waited for you. Every freaking DAY. I kept telling them, 'He's not dead. He'll come back.' And you know what? They looked at me like I was crazy."

I shrugged. "You are crazy."

"I KNOW!" she screamed, voice cracking mid-laugh. "But you made it worse!"

Jinx turned sharply, grabbing a steel bat and swinging it at a porcelain dummy's head. It shattered on impact.

"You broke me a little. Not enough to notice, not enough to cry about. Just enough to itch. Every. Damn. Day."

I didn't move.

I didn't interrupt.

The Rage Room was alive with her energy now. Every piece of furniture became a stand-in for her anger. The punching bags? My silence. The glass shelves? My lies. The flashing red lights above us? Her burning hope, now blinking with doubt.

And I? I was the ghost she couldn't exorcise.

"You weren't supposed to be essential," she growled under her breath, knuckles white around the bat. "You were supposed to be the cool mystery guy with the jokes and the sass. I didn't mean to... to get all feelings-y with you!"

I folded my arms. "Didn't hear you complain when we were on that rooftop last year, drinking starberry soda and talking about what we'd name our kids."

She blinked. Hesitated. "That was a bit."

I smirked. "Was it?"

She swung at me this time. No hesitation. The bat cracked into my side. I let it hit.

Didn't even flinch.

Jinx growled. "You never flinch. Not once. You let me be like this. You knew exactly what I'd do when you left. And you came back anyway."

"Of course I did."

"WHY?!"

The bat dropped. Her voice cracked. Her knees trembled, like her body was just catching up to what her heart already knew.

"Because," I said softly, "you matter to me, Jinx."

Another silence. Heavy. But not empty.

"...I hate you," she whispered.

"I know."

"I love you."

"I know."

She shook, lip quivering, fists curled tight.

"I want to kill you and kiss you and throw you off a building and then catch you at the last second just to yell at you again."

"That's fair."

Her voice lowered, vulnerable. "You made me worse."

"No," I corrected. "I made you honest."

She blinked, caught off guard.

"You've always hidden behind jokes, chaos, violence. But with me, you talked. You looked at the stars. You shared things you didn't even tell Lux. That's not weakness, Jinx. That's trust."

She sniffled once and kicked a shattered chair. "Trust is for suckers."

"Then why'd you call me five times a day for a month?"

She bit her lip.

"Why'd you draw me on the punching bags?" I continued, pointing. "Why'd you build this place and stock it with every possible stand-in for 'Peter Parker made me feel something I don't know how to deal with'?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she walked up to me. Face flushed. Hair wild. Rage leaking out of her in tremors and sighs. She stood on her toes, eyes level with mine.

"You like breaking people," she whispered.

"I fix them too," I replied.

Jinx hesitated. "Do you want me to forgive you?"

"No," I said truthfully. "I want you to choose to."

We stood there for a long moment.

And then—just like that—she headbutted me.

It didn't hurt. Not really. But the impact said everything her words couldn't.

She collapsed into my chest, clinging, trembling, biting down tears like they were poison.

I held her.

Because that's what she wanted. Even if she wouldn't admit it.

Even if she'd scream later.

Even if the world collapsed around us.

She needed this.

She needed me.

And I made sure of that.

She trembled.

Not from cold, or pain. From the aftershock. Like a ticking bomb that finally exploded and left nothing but smoke and shaking limbs in its place.

Her arms clung to me like they were the last tether to reality. I didn't move—not out of fear, but precision. I knew her well. Too well. She wasn't done yet.

And sure enough—

"Don't say anything." Her voice was muffled, pressed into my chest.

I said nothing.

She sniffled, then pulled away just slightly. Her eyeliner had run—not that she cared. A purple streak across her cheek made her look more like war paint than weakness.

"This is what you do," she muttered bitterly. "You waltz in. You breathe weird cryptic crap. You act like a therapist wrapped in leather and webs. Then suddenly I'm the one apologizing."

"You haven't apologized yet," I pointed out gently.

She elbowed my ribs. "Not helping."

I let her go, just enough space between us now for oxygen and tension.

Jinx turned, walked three steps, spun on her heel, and kicked a dent into a vending machine that never worked right. It groaned and gave her a soda.

"Figures," she said, cracking it open and drinking half in one go. "My Rage Room listens better than you do."

She was stalling. Regrouping.

But her hands were still shaking.

"You always knew how to get to me," she said quietly. "I didn't notice at first. I thought you were just clever. Mysterious. Y'know, 'cool guy shows up out of nowhere, flips my world upside down,' the usual fantasy crap."

I said nothing. Just watched.

"But then you started talking. Not just flirting. Not joking. You listened. And worse?" She paused and slammed the soda can against the wall, flattening it with a clang. "You understood me."

She turned back toward me now, eyes wide with something that looked suspiciously close to fear.

"That's dangerous, Pete. For someone like me? That's a freaking death sentence."

I took a step forward. Not too fast. Just enough.

"Because you don't want to be known."

She laughed. It came out cracked and raw. "Ding ding ding. Bonus points, Spidey. I like being the mystery. The grenade with the missing pin. The 'what if.' But with you? I was just... Jinx. No armor. No smirk. Just a stupid, lovesick girl waiting for a text."

Another step forward.

"That wasn't stupid."

She raised an eyebrow. "You ghosted me for a month."

"I had to."

She folded her arms. "Lie better."

I sighed. "I had to save someone. Neeko. You know that now."

"Then why didn't you tell us?"

Because I didn't want to explain what I really fought. Because I didn't want to see fear in your eyes. Because you'd look at me differently if you saw what I did to Riku. And Aqua.

"I didn't want to worry you."

She rolled her eyes. "Wow. Great. The Guardian of Gaslighting strikes again."

"Is that my official title?" I asked.

She cracked a half-smile. "Not yet. I'm still workshopping the merch."

Pause.

Quiet.

Then:

"...I missed you."

I stepped closer. "Say it again."

She glared. "Don't push it."

"Say it."

"I'll shove a bomb down your pants."

"I missed you too."

She blinked.

I didn't smirk. I didn't gloat. Just met her stare, eyes calm. Honest. Steady.

"You matter to me," I said slowly. "Not just because we dated. Or kissed. Or played Rage Roulette on rooftops. You matter because you reminded me that chaos doesn't have to mean destruction. That madness can be... beautiful."

Her lip trembled. "You're still a manipulative bastard."

"I know."

"And you still twist words like a knife in someone's soul."

I stepped close enough that I could feel her breath. "But never yours. I just... show you what's already there."

Jinx inhaled sharply. "You're like a drug. Y'know that? Addictive. Bad for me. Makes me do things I'd never do."

"You keep taking the hit, though."

She punched my chest softly. Then again. And again. Until her hands balled into my suit, fists pressing into me like she wanted to crawl inside my ribs and scream from my heart.

"I missed your voice. Your stupid smirk. The way you make the world shut up."

"I know."

She rested her forehead against mine.

"This sucks," she whispered.

"I know."

"I love you."

"I know."

A beat. Then— "Wait, seriously? Nothing back?"

"I thought you wanted honesty."

She let out a sharp breath and laughed into my shoulder.

Then she cried again. Not the violent, rage-filled sobs from earlier. Just soft, pitiful, wounded exhales. Like a balloon losing air after being overfilled with fireworks and guilt.

And through it all, I held her. Carefully. Precisely. Warm hands, measured pressure. A performance rehearsed a thousand times.

Because that's the trick, really.

Make them feel like they're the only one who sees behind your mask.

Make them need you there.

Jinx clung like a child who'd lost her anchor.

I was the anchor now.

Because I built her cage. I painted it with neon and heartbreak.

And she walked into it smiling.

The storm had passed.

Jinx pulled back just enough to breathe, her hands still fisted in my suit, but now with fingers lazily tracing the webbing across my chest. Her face was streaked with tears and sweat, her eyeliner smeared like warpaint—and somehow, she still looked stunning.

Wrecked and radiant.

Her eyes flicked up, meeting mine. That familiar gleam returned. Mischief. Wildness. Lust.

"...You really know how to ruin a girl, y'know that?"

I raised a brow. "Didn't know I had that power."

"Liar," she whispered. Her finger poked my chest. "You show up. Make a mess of my head. Make me cry like a sappy idiot. And then you just stand there with that smug, I-totally-expected-this look."

"I don't expect it," I said. "I just... plan for every outcome."

She snorted. "That's so hot. Ew."

I gave a half-smile. "You say 'ew' but you haven't let go."

She tightened her grip and leaned in. "Maybe I like toxic."

She said it with a grin, but I could hear the quiver under the words. She was teetering on the edge—between rational thought and impulse, sanity and sabotage. And that's exactly where she liked to live.

Where I liked her to live.

"Besides," she went on, tugging at the collar of my suit, "I haven't seen you in a month. You think you get to stroll back into my life with that 'tragic hero' nonsense and not get jumped?"

I tilted my head. "Are you threatening me with intimacy?"

She grinned, almost feral. "Depends. Are you gonna do something about it or just give another monologue?"

I sighed like I was exhausted, but the truth? I was amused.

Deeply.

"Thought you were mad at me," I said.

"I am," she replied, tugging harder. "That's what makes it fun."

Her voice dipped low, sultry in a way that was too unrefined to be seductive, but all the more dangerous for it. She wasn't pretending to be sexy. She was sexy, in the kind of way that came naturally to grenades and broken roller coasters.

Unpredictable. Fatal. Addictive.

She leaned up and whispered in my ear, "You made me wait, Peter. You made me need you. Now you're gonna deal with what that did to me."

There was no hesitation in her now.

She was ready to explode again—just not the angry kind.

I let her pull me deeper into the Rage Room.

Every step forward echoed like a countdown. Her steps light and excited. Mine, slow and deliberate.

She threw a look over her shoulder, eyes lit with that chaotic gleam. "You still analyzing me?"

"Always."

Her lip curled. "You gonna ruin the mood with brain games again?"

"Probably."

She laughed. "Good. I like it when you're smarter than me. Makes it hotter when I break you."

I let that hang in the air.

She turned, stepping close again, finger grazing my chin. "You think I'm unstable, don't you?"

"I think you're beautifully unstable."

She narrowed her eyes, not sure whether to take it as an insult or compliment. "You're such a manipulative ass."

"I know."

"You're also not allowed to leave me again."

"I know."

She pushed me backward until my back hit the cracked wall of the room. Broken glass crunched beneath our feet.

Jinx climbed into my space like she belonged there—like she owned it.

"You're mine," she whispered. "Even when you disappear, even when you lie... you're still mine."

I didn't argue. I didn't need to.

She already believed it.

The rest didn't need words.

Hands pulling, mouths clashing, Rage Room lights flickering in response to shattered tech and scorched emotion. The chaos around us mirrored the tension between us—explosive, messy, real.

And as I pressed her against the dented lockers, kissing her like it was war, all I could think was:

It's so easy.

Too easy.

She wanted this. Craved it.

I gave her what she needed—a punching bag, a safe chaos, a God to blame and a man to cling to. I didn't even have to push this time. Just return, and she fell back into place like a puppet that forgot it had strings.

I could've said no.

But that wouldn't serve the narrative.

Not my narrative.

She lay tangled in the chaos afterward, head on my chest, fingers tracing my ribs like they were her home.

"...You're not leaving again, right?" she whispered.

"No," I said, brushing red strands from her face. "I'm here."

"Good."

Silence. Breaths.

Then, my eyes narrowed—staring into the cracked ceiling above us as the grin curved my lips slowly.

It's so easy when the plot favors me.

40 minutes later...

The Rage Room's reinforced door clicked shut behind us with a muffled clang. Jinx was still catching her breath, her hair clinging to her neck, her fists unclenched for the first time since I got here. I zipped up my jacket, feeling the slight sting of phantom scratches on my chest—souvenirs from a familiar battlefield.

"Feeling better?" I asked, pulling my hood over my head, though I already knew the answer.

Jinx huffed a grin. "For now."

She bumped my shoulder with hers as we walked, hands in her pockets, swaying with a dangerous kind of satisfaction. The kind you only get after chaos you didn't have to clean up. We strolled out of the empty lot the Rage Room sat on—half-forgotten and built like a condemned warehouse, because of course it was—and hit the cracked sidewalks leading back toward the city.

My hand went to my pocket.

A buzz. One new message.

Lux.

I tapped the screen and read:

"Gone to catch up with the others. Don't blow up my phone—again. ❤"?

Really? You knew I'd call.

I smirked. Of course I knew. I always know.

I texted back casually:

"You're predictable. I find it cute."

"Jinx and I are on the way to your place. Gonna check on Lulu and Poppy."

Three dots popped up.

Jinx noticed. "Who's texting?"

"Guess."

"Oh, let me think," she mocked, rolling her eyes and cracking her knuckles. "Is it the clingy little sparkle who thinks passive-aggression is a love language?"

"She read the note I left," I said, ignoring the venom in her tone. "She laughed."

Jinx made a noise. "What'd you write?"

I glanced at her sidelong. "That she shouldn't blow up my phone again."

That earned me a bark of laughter. "And she's still texting you?"

"She always does."

"God, you're lucky you're hot," she grumbled, kicking a loose pebble into the street. "You're just asking for it."

I shrugged. "You already gave it."

She threw a punch into my side—playful, but it would've caved a rib on anyone else. "You're hilarious."

"You're still walking next to me."

"Shut up."

Another buzz. Lux again.

"You and Jinx better not break into my room again."

I replied:

"Define break."

Jinx leaned in, trying to sneak a peek. "What'd she say now?"

"Nothing yet. She's thinking."

"Tell her we're stealing her shampoo bottle and replacing it with yellow paint."

"You did that. last time"

"It was your idea back then."

I raised an eyebrow. "I could've sworn it was you—"

"Nope, we both agreed to it."

I chuckled, typing out a response.

"I'll think about. My bad. In advance if I do break in."

Lux replied with a simple:

"You're lucky I like you."

I stopped walking for a moment, letting that settle.

Jinx didn't like the look on my face. "What'd she say?"

"Nothing important."

She narrowed her eyes. "Peter..."

I looked at her, smile crooked. "You jealous?"

"Depends. You blushing?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Do you want to go visit Lulu and Poppy or not?" I said, changing the subject.

Her expression shifted. Not anger. Not really. More like... reluctance.

"Ugh, fine. But if they say something snarky, I'm not holding back."

"Duly noted."

We kept walking. The city was quieter today, like it hadn't fully recovered from the tremors I left behind. Or maybe it was just holding its breath—waiting for the moment I'd shake it again.

By the time we reached the building, it looked the same as I remembered: narrow windows, a chipped doorframe, the usual faint glow of enchantments meant to keep Voidlings out.

I stepped forward and knocked once.

The door creaked open—not by magic. Just Lulu, peeking from the inside.

Her eyes widened the moment she saw me. She froze.

"Hi," I said softly.

Her lips parted. She looked like she wanted to shrink back into the shadows, but she didn't. She stayed. Hesitated... then opened the door wider.

"Hi, Peter," she said. Her voice was soft. Eager, but nervous.

Jinx gave her a little wave. "Hey, sparkle freak."

"Hi, Jinx..." Lulu looked back to me immediately, hands fidgeting behind her back. "Do you want something to drink? I-I can make tea! Or something sweeter! Do you want sweets?"

"Water's fine," I said, stepping inside.

"Okay! I'll—um—get it!" She practically scrambled toward the kitchen.

Jinx leaned in. "Is she always this twitchy?"

I didn't answer.

Lulu returned with the water so fast it might as well have been teleported. Her hands trembled slightly as she handed me the glass.

"Thanks," I said, brushing my fingers gently against hers as I took it.

Her eyes widened again, then darted down, like I'd just blessed her.

She's already yours, I thought. Not out of pride, but observation. She wanted peace. I was peace, to her. Or at least the illusion of it.

The first heavy step echoed from the hallway.

Boots.

Poppy.

She stepped into view, her short hair damp and clinging to her skin, towel still slung across one shoulder. Her eyes locked onto me. Then flicked to Jinx. Then Lulu.

And stopped cold.

"...You're here," she said flatly.

"Hey, Poppy," I greeted, raising the glass Lulu gave me.

Jinx gave a lazy wave from the couch. "Missed the reunion. We cried. We screamed. We broke things."

Poppy ignored her. She stared at Lulu.

And I watched her stare hard.

"You okay?" she asked Lulu.

Lulu straightened slightly, her hands behind her back. "Mhm."

"Mhm?" Poppy repeated. "You're twitchier than a squirrel on caffeine."

"I'm just... happy," Lulu said with an awkward, too-quick smile. "Peter's back."

"That's what worries me."

She turned her gaze to me. There was no hesitation in her steps as she walked into the room and planted herself in front of me—arms crossed, blue eyes sharp.

"You left for a month."

"Had things to do," I answered.

"Funny. You disappear and everything falls apart."

"Sounds like you needed me," I said evenly.

She flinched at that, then immediately glared. "You think this is funny?"

"No," I said. "I think it's inevitable."

Poppy narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That when I'm gone," I said, taking a sip, "you fall apart. When I'm here, things work."

"That's not leadership," she said. "That's dependence."

"Maybe," I said. "Maybe not. But here you are, standing in front of me like you want to pick a fight."

"I just want to understand what the hell you've done to them."

Jinx stood up lazily, cracking her neck. "He didn't do anything, Poppy. We just happen to care."

"You care because you're obsessed," Poppy snapped. "And Lulu looks like she's one command away from saluting."

"I'm not—" Lulu started, but Poppy raised a hand.

"No. I'm talking now."

She turned back to me. "What are you doing to them? Is it your Guardian thing? Some power? A mental push? Because I'm not stupid. I've been watching."

"Then maybe you should watch more closely," I said. "This team works better with me around. You know it."

"That's not the point—"

"Yes it is," Jinx cut in, stepping between us. "He came back, and everything started syncing again. We stopped yelling. We stopped fighting."

"Really?" Poppy scoffed. "Because it sounds to me like you stopped thinking."

"Oh, screw you—"

"Enough!"

The room snapped quiet.

Lulu's voice had risen—not loud, but sharp. Jarring. Like a glass bell cracking.

We all turned to look.

Lulu stood by the kitchen entrance, her fists clenched, her eyes wide with fear but burning with something deeper—panic, maybe. Or desperation.

"Stop it," she said again, softer.

"Lulu..." Poppy blinked. "You okay?"

"You're being mean," she said. "He's not doing anything wrong."

"Not doing—" Poppy started, incredulous.

Lulu trembled. "You don't get it. He came back. We're not alone anymore. You just want to blame someone because you're scared."

"Damn right I'm scared," Poppy growled. "You're acting like a puppet."

"I'm not—!"

"Then explain it!" Poppy barked. "Explain why you're so scared to upset him!"

"I just..." Lulu shrank slightly. "I don't want him to leave again."

There it was.

Even Jinx stilled.

Poppy's mouth opened, then closed. Her brows furrowed.

"You're telling me..." she said slowly, "that you're afraid of him leaving, so you'd rather just obey?"

"It's not like that," Lulu whimpered.

Poppy turned to me now. "What the hell did you do?"

I met her gaze calmly. "I made them feel safe."

"That's not safety. That's conditioning."

Jinx scoffed. "Oh, shut up. You didn't care this much when we were all screaming at each other every week."

"That's not the point!"

"It is!" Lulu shouted suddenly, making everyone freeze again.

Even Jinx blinked.

Lulu's eyes were glossy. Her breathing quick.

"You don't know what it's like," she said. "Trying to keep everyone from breaking. Trying to smile so no one else breaks. Trying to hold it all together while everyone else falls apart. I did everything I could. Everything. And it was never enough."

She turned to me. "But when he's here... it's quieter. Even if it's scary. Even if I don't understand it."

I didn't move. I didn't smile.

I just watched.

Poppy looked at her like she didn't recognize her.

And for the first time in a long time, I saw it—the splinter of doubt behind Poppy's glare.

The shield cracked.

Good.

Jinx stepped back to my side, her gaze sharp as a blade.

Lulu rubbed her eyes, flustered and shaking, and turned away in shame. She didn't speak again. She didn't have to.

The damage was done.

Poppy crossed her arms. "If he's doing something to you—"

"I'm not," I interrupted. "But even if I was... would you rather go back to chaos?"

Silence.

Jinx smirked.

I turned slightly, glancing at the hallway mirror. My reflection was clear. Steady. Dominant.

And behind my eyes, the storm twisted.

She's under.

Fully.

Not because I forced her. But because she bent to survive.

Lulu was the kind who needed someone to orbit. And now? She orbits me.

A low chuckle built in my chest, but I bit it back. Swallowed it. The grin tugged at my lips anyway.

I turned away from them all and checked my phone.

Another ping.

Lux:

I'm on my way.

Don't break the couch before I get there.

I rolled my eyes.

"She's coming," I said out loud.

Jinx snorted. "Figures. Couldn't stand being left out."

Poppy didn't say anything.

She just stood there, staring.

And for once, she didn't have a comeback.

The cracks were spreading.

All I had to do was wait.

I sat back on the couch, letting the room settle into a deceptively calm rhythm. Lulu hovered nervously at the edge of the space, folding her hands behind her back like a guilty schoolgirl. Poppy leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, lips tight. Jinx sprawled beside me with one leg over mine, as casual as always, but her eyes tracked every movement like a hawk. The silence stretched, long and strange.

I broke it first.

"Where's Janna?"

Lulu perked up immediately, eyes flicking to me. "Um... I-I think she's with Ahri's team."

Poppy raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure, or guessing?"

Lulu hesitated. "She wasn't here last night. And she texted once, said she might stay there. I think she needed space."

A pause.

"She always does," Jinx muttered under her breath, arms folded behind her head.

Footsteps echoed outside. I felt the faintest flicker of presence before the knock ever came.

Lux.

Lulu opened the door again without hesitation, and there she was—hair still slightly mussed from sleep, hoodie slightly off her shoulder, phone in one hand.

"Hey," Lux said, already smiling as she stepped inside. "Took you long enough."

She didn't even wait. Her eyes landed on me and she walked over like she owned the floor beneath her. She plopped herself down beside me—other side from Jinx—and leaned against my shoulder like it was her designated spot.

Jinx didn't comment. She just smirked.

"You look refreshed," I said to Lux, wrapping one arm lazily around her waist.

She narrowed her eyes up at me. "You left a note. That was cute."

"Direct," I corrected.

"You basically told me to shut up."

"I said don't blow up my phone. Same difference."

"And you knew I would." She grinned like a fox caught red-handed.

"I did."

Lulu brought another glass of water—without being asked. She set it down in front of Lux with a careful smile, as if trying to win approval.

Lux accepted it with a quick thanks, but her gaze shifted as she noticed the jitter in Lulu's hands. Her brow furrowed for just a second.

"So..." Lux leaned forward, glancing between Lulu and Poppy. "Anything exciting happen while I was out?"

"Peter showed up," Poppy muttered.

"Besides that."

"Nothing," Lulu chirped, a little too quickly. "I mean—not really! I made tea! Kind of! But I didn't finish it."

Poppy stared at her.

Lux noticed. Her smile dimmed a little.

Jinx stretched out on the couch again, adjusting her leg over mine like she was trying to claim territory. "You missed the fun, Pinky. We had a bonding session."

"Oh?" Lux arched a brow. "Was that before or after I texted?"

"Yes."

I chuckled.

Poppy pushed off the wall. "So what's the plan now? You gonna keep hopping from apartment to apartment until you collect all your groupies again?"

I tilted my head, unbothered. "I was thinking of heading over to Ahri's place. I haven't spoken to Soraka. Or Miss Fortune."

"And Janna," Lulu added quietly.

Jinx stood. "We're coming."

Lux followed immediately. "Yeah, we are."

I blinked slowly. "You don't need to."

"That's cute," Lux said. "Like we'd let you go alone again."

Jinx grabbed my hand and dragged me to my feet before I could comment. "Come on, boss man. Time to do the rounds."

I let them pull me toward the door.

But just before we exited, I caught a flash of something in Poppy's expression—something sharp and unsettled. Not anger. Not anymore.

Suspicion.

As the door clicked shut behind us, she turned to Lulu.

"Okay," Poppy said. "What the hell was that?"

Lulu was still frozen in place, her back to the door. She blinked rapidly, then turned, hands wringing the hem of her sweater. "W-What was what?"

"That." Poppy stepped forward, not yelling—yet—but her tone cut clean. "You yelling at me. You never yell. You barely even raise your voice."

"I-I didn't mean to," Lulu said. "I just... I didn't want Peter to think we were fighting."

"Why?"

Lulu's lips parted, but nothing came out.

"Why, Lulu?" Poppy pressed. "Why are you so scared of upsetting him?"

"I'm not scared!" Lulu said too fast.

Poppy didn't flinch. "Then why are your hands shaking?"

Lulu looked down. They were trembling.

"I just... I just want things to be okay again. I want the team to feel normal." Her voice got softer. "It doesn't feel normal without him."

"And it does with him?"

Lulu hesitated.

Poppy waited.

"I don't know," Lulu whispered. "It's... it's quieter when he's around. Everything feels calmer. Like we're not falling apart anymore."

Poppy stared at her.

Lulu looked back up, her eyes wide. "You don't feel it?"

"I feel like I can't recognize you," Poppy said, flat.

Lulu took a step back like she'd been struck.

"I didn't mean to yell," Lulu mumbled. "I didn't. I just... if Peter gets annoyed—"

Poppy's eyes narrowed. "What happens?"

"I don't know!" Lulu nearly cried. "And that's the worst part! I don't know what he'll do and I don't want to find out. I just... I'm just trying to keep everyone safe!"

She rubbed her arms, holding herself now, like her own thoughts scared her.

Poppy didn't speak right away.

Then, quietly: "Safe from what, Lulu?"

Lulu didn't answer.

Poppy let out a slow breath, stepped back, and ran a hand down her face. She looked like someone trying not to shatter.

"I need to think," Poppy muttered. "I'm going to bed."

She walked off without waiting for a reply.

Lulu stood alone in the quiet apartment, trembling. She looked around at the empty couch, the untouched cups, the air that still smelled faintly like Peter.

Was this what safety was supposed to feel like?

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, suddenly cold.

Then, slowly, she walked back to her room.

And shut the door.

To Be Continued...