"Although I'm surprised you'd call me that, I don't think of myself as someone fond of Death."
Peter shook his head, moved behind Mrs. Webber, and began pushing her wheelchair again.
Mrs. Webber inhaled deeply, steadying her breath as if forcing herself to calm down.
"I know what you saw, Mr. Parker."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly did I see?"
"You saw yourself destroy this city. No one could stop you. An endless black tide… you dragged the whole world into death."
Peter's hands kept the chair moving slowly down the corridor. His expression remained composed.
"So what? That doesn't mean the future will happen that way."
"But it is part of the future."
Peter lowered his eyes toward her, silent for a moment before saying, "I'm not some comic-book villain. Why would I want to destroy the world?"
He paused, then added, "Besides… humanity's cruelty will eventually lead to its own extinction. What's that got to do with me?"
It was true—he didn't think of himself as a saint, and he had no desire to become some flawless, shining superhero.
But destroying the world? That was madness he couldn't see himself embracing.
Not in a universe overflowing with extraordinary beings.
Would he somehow wipe out every superhero, every sorcerer, every cosmic force—and stand against them all?
That wasn't power he could imagine himself holding.
Perhaps the vision he'd just seen was simply another Peter Parker, one from a parallel world.
Or maybe it was nothing more than an image conjured in his own mind.
Either way, he refused to take it too seriously.
Mrs. Webber looked at him deeply. "Nothing is immutable. The thoughts you hold now won't be the ones you carry into the future. People change. Who we are today may become strangers to who we are tomorrow."
"I'll remember your advice, Mrs. Webber," Peter said, his tone deliberately light. "If this is your life guidance for me, I'll take it to heart."
She shook her head. "It's more than that. I saw death clinging to you—not a metaphor. It was close to those dearest to you. Perhaps your family."
Peter slowed his steps. "Family?"
"Yes. Someone you love, or someone who loves you, is being touched by death's shadow."
Her voice grew soft, heavy. "If you could see it, perhaps you could change it. But perhaps nothing can be changed. In my experience, fate is always cruel."
Peter frowned.
Uncle Ben?
But wasn't Uncle Ben only destined to die after he became Spider-Man?
And Aunt May—she should live on, peacefully by his side, at least according to everything Peter remembered from his past life.
Besides Uncle Ben and Aunt May… who else could it be?
"We're here."
Mrs. Webber's words broke through his thoughts. Peter looked up to find they had arrived at Room 965.
Inside, Christine was pacing anxiously. The moment she saw Peter pushing Mrs. Webber in, relief flooded her face.
Then she looked closer and her expression shifted again—shock this time.
Wasn't this Peter Parker? The mysterious patient of Dr. Ryan, the one even she could never quite figure out?
"Mrs. Webber, you shouldn't be out of bed."
Christine's voice turned stern as she shifted her attention back to her patient.
"I only went out for some air," Mrs. Webber said with a gentle smile. "It was thanks to this young man. He brought me back, and we had such a thoughtful talk along the way. I learned a lot."
Christine glanced at Peter, then stepped forward and offered him a polite thanks.
"Peter Parker," he replied simply, shaking her hand. "No need to thank me."
"Would you mind stepping outside for a moment?" Christine asked. Curiosity sparked in her eyes. Because of Dr. Ryan and his ties to Strange, Peter had become someone she couldn't ignore.
Peter looked at her—this beautiful doctor—and, unsure of her intent, shrugged indifferently.
"Sure."
In the hallway, Christine once again thanked him. "Mrs. Webber suffers from myasthenia gravis. She's due for surgery soon, which is why we ask her to stay in her ward and rest."
"I see."
Peter nodded, then asked, "What's her profession? A fortune-teller?"
Christine considered, then explained, "She's retired now. Perhaps she dabbled in something like that before. She's always been unusually perceptive, sensitive to people's emotions. Psychology, fortune-telling—maybe both."
"Dr. Christine! Mrs. Webber has a nosebleed!"
A nurse hurried out, alarm in her voice.
Christine gave Peter an apologetic look before rushing back into the room.
She pushed the door open and quickly examined Mrs. Webber.
After confirming it wasn't serious, she set down her stethoscope with a relieved sigh.
But as she lifted her head, her eyes instinctively searched toward the corridor.
Peter was already gone.
Strange, she thought. He looked so young, yet she never once felt she was speaking to a teenager.
If anything, it felt like conversing with someone her own age—or older.
There was something else too. Something unsettling in his presence.
Not the aura of sickness she knew from patients, but a quality sharp and alien. A trace of something to be feared.
Christine shook her head, forcing the feeling away, and focused again on her work.
Meanwhile.
Gwen sat alone in a café, a cup of coffee before her.
Though truthfully, she didn't even like coffee. Her favorite drink was milkshakes.
The only reason she was here was because a friend had given her a voucher for a free cup.
And the reason she was alone?
She wanted space. Quiet.
Her mind was too restless, too heavy.
Last night, the nightmares had returned.
Josh's lifeless face appeared before her again, hollow eyes boring into her. His voice whispered endlessly in her ear:
"Peter is the killer."
No matter how she argued, how she begged, that face never left her.
"Damn it," she muttered, stirring the untouched coffee. "I have to find the real killer. If I don't, Peter will sink deeper into trouble, and I… I'll lose my sanity."
The spoon clattered as she dropped it back into the cup, the liquid swirling with a dull "glug."
But where to start?
She wasn't a detective. She didn't devour crime novels. The only skills her police-chief father had taught her were a few moves for fending off petty criminals.
She bit her lip, lost in worry—until a familiar figure caught her eye through the window.
Emerging from the hospital across the street.
Her heart leapt.
"Wait… that's Peter?!"
Gwen blinked hard, uncertain if she was seeing things.