The next morning, Raj walked through the crowded halls of Midtown High like a fuse wire still faintly buzzing. His strides were steady, his expression unreadable, but beneath the surface, the glow hadn't entirely faded. He was learning to contain it—to dim the sun pulsing in his blood—but it was like holding back a tide with closed fists.
Around him, the high school morning chaos unfolded as usual. Teenagers barked greetings, lockers slammed, someone dropped a tray of orange juice and curses, and in the distance, the Principal's voice crackled over the intercom about gym equipment mysteriously going missing (which Raj was definitely not guilty of borrowing for rooftop strength tests).
He reached his locker, spun the dial without looking, and opened it in a practiced motion.
That's when he noticed it.
Taped to the inside of the locker door was a note. Plain white. No name. No frills. Just five handwritten words in tiny, precise lettering:
"We're watching. Don't trust him."
Raj stared at it. The letters were too neat. Too calculated. The kind of penmanship that screamed discipline. Not high school scrawl.
And worse—the "him" wasn't named. But in Raj's world, there were only a few candidates. And Peter Parker had just helped him control his light.
Raj glanced around, but the hallway looked normal. Familiar. Nobody stared at him more than usual. Nobody ducked suspiciously around corners or wore sunglasses indoors like some secret agent cliché.
Still, something itched at the back of his neck. A tension. Like the air didn't breathe quite right.
He crumpled the note and shoved it into his pocket, just as Ned appeared beside him with a loud, "Bro, where were you last night? You bailed on my plan to speedrun Mario Kart and shame the universe."
Raj blinked and shifted back into "normal mode." "Sorry. Had… things."
"You always have 'things' now," Ned pouted. "Is it drugs? It's drugs, isn't it? You can tell me. I'm very judgmental, but I'll still bring snacks."
Raj laughed, because pretending was easier than explaining. "No drugs. Just homework and existential dread."
"Classic combo," Ned nodded solemnly. "Anyway, you missed something cool. MJ was this close to punching Flash during math. I think he's finally used up his last brain cell."
Before Raj could answer, a voice cut through the hallway like a wire pulled taut.
"Raj Malhotra."
It wasn't loud, but it carried.
He turned.
Standing a few feet away was Agent Monica Cruz, assistant liaison for the school's "Stark Foundation Outreach Program"—at least, that was what she claimed to be. Mid-30s, hair in a tight bun, tailored suit. No visible weapons. But her eyes held the sharpness of someone who could take you down with a clipboard and a smirk.
She didn't smile.
"Walk with me," she said.
Ned backed away with the subtlety of a man retreating from a dragon. "I'll… save you a seat at lunch?"
Raj gave him a tight nod and followed the agent.
They didn't go far. Just outside, near the rear courtyard where a few picnic benches sat mostly unused except by kids pretending to be deep thinkers or students skipping P.E. Raj didn't say a word until they stopped beneath a sycamore tree, its bark peeling like old armor.
"Am I in trouble?" Raj asked flatly.
Monica tilted her head. "You tell me."
"I'm not the one who left a creepy locker note."
Her expression didn't change. But her next words made his stomach dip.
"So you saw it."
He narrowed his eyes. "That was you?"
"No. But I expected it." She reached into her jacket—slowly, deliberately—and pulled out a tablet. With a flick, it lit up, displaying a heatmap of Midtown High… and on it, a pulsing yellow figure glowing like a miniature star.
"You're on our radar," she said simply. "You've been flagged as an energy anomaly."
Raj stayed silent.
"Don't worry," she added, "we're not here to detain you. Yet. Our job is observation, assessment. You're not the only one… 'different' these days."
Raj crossed his arms. "And Peter?"
Her lips twitched. "What about him?"
"That's who the note was about, wasn't it?"
"No comment."
"Then why tell me anything?"
Monica looked at him then—really looked. Not like a student. Not like a child. Like a problem she hadn't solved yet.
"Because someone else is interested in you. Someone who doesn't follow rules. If they reach you first, your glow won't save you."
She tapped the tablet off and slid it away.
"I suggest you start asking better questions, Mr. Malhotra. And soon."
Then she left.
Just like that.
No threats. No promises.
Just enough silence to leave Raj's heart drumming against his ribs.
He sat down on the bench, staring out at the empty lot. The sun was rising higher now, warm against his skin. Usually, it comforted him. But right now, all it did was make the shadows stretch longer.
Later That Night
Raj sat in bed with his laptop open, screen dimmed, cursor blinking over an untouched Word document titled: "Who Am I?"
It had stayed empty for three nights now.
He closed it again.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled note.
We're watching. Don't trust him.
Who were "we"? Government agents? S.H.I.E.L.D.? Someone worse?
And what about Peter?
The guy had helped him. Trained him. Treated him like an equal.
But that didn't mean he was innocent.
Maybe Peter was being watched too.
Or maybe he wasn't just the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man after all.
Raj stared at the note a moment longer… then set it on fire with a twitch of light from his fingertip.
It turned to ash in seconds.
But the warning still echoed in his head.