The night air clawed at Peter's mask as he vaulted across another rooftop, the bitter wind cutting through him even through the stealth suit's fabric. The East River gleamed faintly below, a snake of dirty glass coiling between rows of warehouses.
Every movement was automatic. Leap. Tuck. Land. Push off again.
But his mind wasn't on his trajectory.
It was on Norman Osborn.
The name drummed in his head like a war cry.
He made me grieve over an empty coffin. He drugged her. Kept her from me. He's going to pay.
Each impact of his boots on the cold concrete sent a shiver up his legs. Not from fear. From restraint. He was holding himself back from simply smashing through Osborn's penthouse window and ending this with his bare hands.
"Pete?"
The voice in his earpiece pulled him back slightly.
MJ.
He didn't answer.
"Pete. I know where you're going."
Silence. Only the sound of his own breathing, heavy and uneven, filled his ears.
"You don't have to do this tonight," MJ tried again. "She's safe. She's—"
He muted the comm before she could finish.
'I know she's safe. But for how long?'
The Dusk suit felt heavier with every step, as though the shadows themselves clung to him, dragging him down.
Even his thoughts felt different in this suit. Colder. Harder.
Spider-Man is a joke to men like Osborn, Peter thought bitterly. A clown in tights. But Dusk?
Dusk was fear incarnate.
And for once, Peter didn't want to be the hero. He wanted them to be afraid.
His utility band vibrated against his wrist, buzzing insistently.
MJ again?
No.
Ethan Kane.
Peter's teeth ground together behind the mask.
'Of course, it's him. That kid probably knows what I'm doing right now and wants me to stop.'
He dismissed the call with a swipe of his thumb and leapt again, moving faster now. The anger boiled higher in his chest, threatening to spill over.
'You don't get to tell me how to handle Osborn, Ethan. You're just a kid playing games.'
The warehouse came back to him in vivid flashes.
May, lying pale and still on that gurney.
Her faint voice whispering, "P…Peter?"
Her scream when she saw his mask.
The memory twisted in his gut.
'I should've been there for her. But Spider-Man is always more important than Peter Parker. What a joke.'
His fingers flexed involuntarily, scraping his nails against his palms.
His spider-sense flared a split second before claws slashed toward his chest.
Peter twisted mid-air, narrowly avoiding the strike. He landed low in a crouch, his white lenses narrowing as he scanned the shadows.
She stepped into view with feline grace, hips swaying like a pendulum.
Felicia Hardy—Black Cat.
Her black-and-white suit clung to her like liquid leather, and her silver hair gleamed faintly in the moonlight.
"Hello, Spider," she purred, voice teasing but her eyes sharp.
"Move," Peter growled, his modulated voice deeper and more alien through the Dusk mask.
"Not even a hello? You're in such a mood tonight."
"Felicia." His tone dropped lower, harsher. "I'm not in the mood. Get out of my way."
She pouted slightly, but there was amusement in her expression. "Aw, but I was hoping we could play. It's been ages since we last danced across rooftops."
Peter's silence was answer enough.
"Fine. If you won't talk to me, maybe you'll talk to him."
She reached into her belt and tossed something.
Peter's reflexes caught it instantly—a slim phone already glowing.
Ethan's voice came through on speaker, calm and deliberate.
"Good evening, Peter."
Peter didn't answer. His white triangular lenses stared down at the glowing screen, his gloved fingers tight around the device.
"I'm glad Felicia managed to catch up to you," Ethan continued smoothly, unfazed by the silence. "Aunt May is safe. Mary Jane just arrived at the hospital. I thought you should know that before you make a mistake tonight."
Peter's fingers flexed involuntarily, the plastic creaking under his grip.
"I know where you're going, Peter," Ethan said after a pause. "You're heading straight for Norman, aren't you? I'm asking you to reconsider for a day."
The Dusk suit felt tighter suddenly, constricting like a second skin. Peter's jaw clenched behind the mask.
"Rather than confronting Osborn right now, you should head home," Ethan said evenly. "Be with Mary Jane. Take care of Aunt May."
Peter said nothing. His chest rose and fell sharply, each breath sounding louder in the vacuum of his mind.
Felicia tilted her head, studying him like a cat might a cornered mouse. Her silver hair shifted in the breeze, catching faint traces of moonlight.
She crossed her arms. "You're quieter than usual, Spider."
Peter shot her a look. "Don't call me that."
Her lips curled into a faint smile. "Dusk, then. Sounds too broody, though. You always were the brooding type when alone, weren't you?"
"I've already acquired the services of a lawyer," Ethan's voice continued. "May's death certificate will be reversed by morning. She'll be alive again in every system that matters. Norman won't be able to touch her legally."
Peter's breath hitched, and his grip on the phone tightened further.
"You shouldn't confront Osborn in anger, Peter. Not tonight. Not like this. You won't forgive yourself. Trust me on that."
Peter's voice cracked out, raw and low:
"Then when? How long do I let him keep winning? Keep breathing?"
There was silence on the line for a moment.
"How long before he takes something else from me?" Peter demanded, his voice hoarse.
"If you let me handle him," Ethan said, still calm, "Norman will never again be able to touch Mary Jane, Aunt May, Felicia, or anyone else you love. I promise you."
Peter's nails scraped faintly against the phone's edges.
"How?" he whispered.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow morning," Ethan replied. "I'll lay out the entire plan. And if you don't like it—if you truly disagree—I'll help you with whatever you planned to do. But not in anger. Not like this."
The words hit Peter like a punch to the gut.
For a long moment, he said nothing. The rage inside him fought to rise, but the image of Aunt May's frail form, her voice whispering "Peter?" in confusion, held him back.
Finally, he exhaled shakily.
Felicia stepped closer, her boots silent on the rooftop. She reached out, her claws grazing the edge of the phone as she plucked it from his hand.
"Good," Ethan's voice said faintly before the line clicked dead.
Felicia slipped the phone back into her belt.
"You're lucky I like you, Spider," she said softly. "Otherwise, I'd let you keep running off to get yourself killed."
Peter's shoulders sagged slightly.
"I wasn't going to die."
"You weren't going to win either."
Felicia studied him for a moment longer, then sighed and stepped even closer. Her claws retracted with a soft click as she rested her hands gently on his chest.
"You've had a hell of a night," she murmured. "Let me take care of you for once."
Peter stiffened, but when Felicia's arms wrapped around his chest, he didn't pull away then—slowly—his arms came up, wrapping around her waist in return.
Her embrace was warm, grounding. For a moment, just a moment, the storm inside him quieted.
"Come on, Spider," Felicia whispered, her voice low and almost tender. "Let's get you home before you change your mind."
Peter nodded once, silently.
"Good boy," said Felicia as she gave him a peck on the cheek.