(Ash's POV)
By second period, the entire school feels like it's vibrating.
Not literally.
I'm not talking earthquake or explosions.
It's more like an itch you can't scratch. A pressure behind the walls, under the floor, above the ceiling.
Something moving.
Something fast.
Something purposeful.
The morpher pulses every few minutes—never sharp, never panicked, just… aware. Like it's tracking something I can't see.
I keep pretending to take notes, but really, I'm listening.
Tap.
Scrape.
Skitter.
Metal shifting in the vents.
I'm not the only one who hears it.
Peter keeps sitting up straighter every time a sound slides overhead.
His head turns slightly toward it each time, like he has… instincts.
Hunter instincts.
Spider instincts.
But I don't THINK that.
Can't think that.
Not until it actually happens.
All I know is:
Peter hears things no one else does.
And whatever is crawling above us?
It's following him.
Between periods, we're walking the stairs when it happens again.
CLANG!
Something slams inside the wall right beside us.
Students jump, but they shrug it off.
Peter doesn't.
He freezes mid-step.
Eyes wide.
Focused on the exact spot.
"Dude," Jake says, nudging him, "you okay?"
Peter snaps out of it. "Yeah. Yeah—just… startled."
Noah frowns. "You flinched before it even hit."
A chill runs through me.
Because he's right.
Peter did react early.
I pretend not to notice, but the morpher pulses in my bag again.
Not toward Peter.
Toward the wall.
Something is inside it.
We keep walking, but my heart stays lodged in my throat.
Between classes, the school gets louder. Not with students—
With noise.
Scraping. Shifting. Dull thumps.
Always above us or behind us.
Always moving when Peter moves.
By lunch, I'm on full alert.
We sit at our usual table. Jake digs into his food like he hasn't eaten in days. Noah tries to explain why microwaving leftover lasagna is "chemically dangerous," which makes no sense.
Peter barely touches his tray.
He's staring at the vents.
Not subtly.
Not even pretending to be casual.
Just straight-up watching them like something might fall out any second.
I lean closer. "You hearing it too?"
He blinks, startled that I noticed. "H-huh? Hearing what?"
"The vents," I say quietly. "Something's crawling around in there."
Jake leans over the table. "Please tell me it's not rats. I can handle spiders, but rats freak me out."
Noah scoffs. "According to statistics, you're more likely to—"
"Don't say it, Noah," Jake groans.
Peter doesn't join the joke.
Instead, he shifts in his seat, eyes flicking up again.
Then—
SCRTCH-SCRTCH-SKITTER
Right above us.
Every hair on my arms stands up.
The morpher gives its strongest pulse today—still soft, still controlled, but direct.
Right. Over. Peter.
Peter jolts in his seat.
Jake and Noah both look up, confused.
I don't move.
I just listen.
Then footsteps echo in the hall outside the cafeteria—heavy boots, professional cadence. Not a teacher. Not a student.
Two men walk past the open door wearing matching dark jackets, comms in their ears.
Not police.
Not security.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
I don't know how I know. I just… know.
Peter sees them too.
He freezes.
Hard.
His breathing spikes for half a second before he masks it.
Jake, oblivious as ever, says, "Whoa, field trip?"
Noah shakes his head. "Those aren't educators. Too alert. And they're sweeping the hallway."
Peter swallows. "Yeah. Uh. Weird, right?"
The morpher pulses again.
Not at the agents.
Not at the vents.
At Peter.
Not danger.
Not a warning.
Just… recognition.
Something big is coming.
Something that starts with Peter.
My chest tightens.
For the first time, I feel it clearly:
I'm not supposed to run.
I'm not supposed to morph yet.
I'm just supposed to watch.
Because whatever's happening…
This is the moment before Peter Parker's life changes forever.
And I'm sitting right next to him when it starts.