Dawn didn't arrive like a sunrise.
It arrived like permission to stop running—thin gray light leaking into the alleys, making every shadow less forgiving, making every bad decision easier to see.
Sol hated it.
In the dark, he could pretend this was temporary. A nightmare with rules. A chase scene that ended when the credits rolled.
In dawn-light, it looked like what it really was: his life, cracked open.
They moved across rooftops one last time, then down into a narrow gap between buildings where the air smelled like wet concrete and stale trash. Sol's ankle had gone from sharp pain to a dull, angry throb—like it had accepted it wasn't getting a vote anymore. His ribs felt wrapped in barbed wire beneath the fresh dressing Dr. Ward had taped on. Every breath pulled.
And underneath all of it was the quieter, crueler damage: his nerves refusing to unclench.
Even now, even with the street empty, Sol's spider-sense kept buzzing. Not screaming. Buzzing. Like a smoke alarm with a dying battery that wouldn't let him forget the house could still burn down.
Aaliyah led without asking—shoulders set, chin up, eyes scanning intersections like she was counting threats the way she counted beats. Judy stayed on Sol's right, close enough that if he wobbled she could catch him. Hana stayed on his left, hand hovering near his elbow and waist, ready to stabilize him without making him feel weak.
They were a weird little unit now.
Not friends. Not strangers. Not quite family.
Something halfway between crew and problem.
Judy's phone stayed off, buried deep in her pocket. Sol's phone was off too, but he could still feel its weight like guilt. He'd listened to his mom's voicemail and it hadn't left his skull. The moment that outside voice said *civil*—like a threat wearing manners—had drawn a hard line inside him.
And the part that scared him most wasn't that he'd crossed it.
It was that he'd crossed it and still kept moving.
They slipped behind a shuttered storefront, and Aaliyah stopped at a side door tucked under an awning. The brick around the frame was old enough to have stories. The lock looked new enough to have someone's money in it.
Aaliyah nodded toward the door. "This it?"
Judy's voice was low. "This is the backup address my mom mentioned once. Not on texts. She called it 'Unit' something. Like… a place she keeps for emergencies."
Sol's eyes narrowed. "You trust that?"
Judy's expression twisted. "I trust her to want me alive."
That was the most honest thing Judy had said all night.
Hana glanced at Sol, quiet. "We don't have better options."
Sol exhaled through his teeth. He stepped forward and tested the handle.
Locked.
His palm stuck anyway—his skin deciding it belonged. He hated that part. Hated how natural it felt now to be wrong.
He pulled gently.
The lock gave with a soft *click*.
Aaliyah arched an eyebrow. "Convenient."
Sol didn't answer. He was listening—spider-sense buzzing, ears catching the tiny sounds of a building settling.
Nothing screamed danger.
He pushed the door open.
Inside was a stairwell that smelled like dust and old paint. They climbed two flights to a hallway with cracked linoleum and doors that looked like they'd been repainted over arguments.
Judy stopped at 2B.
No key.
She looked at Sol, jaw tight.
Sol didn't love the way everyone was starting to look at him like he was a tool. Like he was a lockpick made of muscle and web.
He also didn't deny it.
He put his hand on the knob.
Pulled.
The latch snapped.
The door opened into a small apartment that had been cleaned recently but not lived in—bare-minimum furniture, a couch that still had plastic on one cushion, a kitchen table with mismatched chairs, a blanket folded too neatly on the armrest like someone had staged "safe" as an idea.
Hana stepped inside and exhaled shakily, like her lungs had been holding terror all night and finally got permission to drop it.
Aaliyah shut the door, locked it, then pushed a chair under the knob anyway. Extra security, even if it was mostly symbolic.
Judy flicked the blinds down a fraction and peered out.
"Street's empty," she whispered.
Sol stood in the middle of the room and realized his legs were shaking.
Not from cold.
From the moment his body understood it could stop.
His knees threatened to fold.
Hana was already there—hand at his side, gentle pressure, grounding. "Sit."
Sol started to argue.
Then he remembered he'd promised himself he'd stop pretending pain didn't exist.
He sat.
The couch springs creaked like the apartment was surprised to have a human in it.
Aaliyah scanned the room like she was clearing a battlefield. "Bathroom. Kitchen. Back window." She looked at Judy. "Is this place watched?"
Judy swallowed. "I don't know."
Sol's blunt honesty slid out, quiet. "Assume yes."
Aaliyah nodded like she respected that. "Good. Then we treat it like a hide, not a home."
Hana hovered in front of Sol, eyes flicking to his bandage. "Your dressing is soaked again."
Sol looked down. The white gauze under the tape had a dark bloom spreading slowly—his blood, stubborn as the city.
He swallowed. "I'm fine."
Judy and Aaliyah said it at the exact same time:
"Shut up."
Hana didn't yell. She just reached into her bag, pulled out supplies like she'd been born holding gauze, and looked at Sol with quiet authority.
"Lift the hoodie," she said.
Sol hesitated.
Not because he didn't want to be helped.
Because he suddenly became intensely aware of the three girls in the room and his own body and the fact that he was wearing Aaliyah's hoodie and the fact that he'd noticed things last night he hadn't wanted to notice.
The new senses didn't just amplify danger.
They amplified everything.
He kept his gaze on Hana's face, not drifting, and pulled the hoodie up enough for her to work.
Hana's fingers were careful. She peeled tape slowly, minimizing pain, but Sol still hissed when the gauze tugged at the stitched skin.
His wound had been closed, but the surrounding tissue was angry—bruised and swollen, the edges tender. Dried blood clung to the dressing. Fresh blood seeped at one corner where he'd pushed too hard.
Hana made a small sound—half frustration, half worry. "You kept moving."
Sol's honesty came out as a tired confession. "I didn't have a choice."
Hana met his eyes. "You always think you don't."
That landed harder than it should've.
Judy crossed her arms, voice tight. "He's been doing that since forever."
Sol glanced at her. "You don't know my forever."
Judy's expression cracked for a second. "Sol, I've known you since middle school. I know your mom. I know Nia. I know you take on everything and then act shocked when you can't breathe."
Sol didn't have a comeback for that. He just sat there and let Hana clean him.
Aaliyah had wandered into the kitchen. She returned with two bottles of water and a jar of peanut butter like she'd been drafted into apocalypse logistics.
"Drink," she told Sol, shoving a bottle into his hand. "You look like a dehydrated corpse."
Sol took it. The water felt like a miracle going down.
Hana taped fresh gauze down. "You need food too. Healing uses energy."
Sol swallowed. "I'm not hungry."
Hana's eyes didn't blink. "Your body is."
Judy snorted softly. "Get scienced, Sol."
Sol tried to roll his eyes, and pain flickered in his ribs, punishing him for the motion. "Okay."
Aaliyah tossed the peanut butter jar onto the table. "We eating like broke athletes. Congratulations."
Judy's mouth twitched. "My comfort food."
Hana almost smiled, then caught herself, like smiling felt illegal right now.
Sol stared at the jar.
It hit him suddenly how normal the scene looked—three girls in a dingy apartment feeding him like they were studying together.
If you ignored the blood.
If you ignored the fact that a corporation had men with guns searching for him.
If you ignored the fact that he'd slammed someone's face into a fence last night and didn't regret it as much as he thought he should.
His phone buzzed once in his pocket—dead vibration from stored notifications before it powered down.
He flinched anyway.
Hana noticed instantly. "It's off. You're okay."
Sol's voice came out rough. "My mom's not."
Silence thickened the room.
Judy looked down. Aaliyah's jaw tightened. Hana's hands paused mid-tape.
Sol stared at the floor and said the truth he hadn't wanted to say out loud.
"I can't be here while they're at my house."
Aaliyah spoke first. "If you go back, you lead them."
Sol nodded. "Yeah."
Judy whispered, "We could call her. From a burner."
Aaliyah frowned. "Do we have a burner?"
Judy's shoulders slumped. "No."
Hana spoke softly. "There might be a landline here."
Everyone turned toward the kitchen.
There was an old corded phone on the wall. Beige. Ancient. The kind you only saw in your grandma's house or places trying to look "retro."
Judy stepped to it like it might bite. She picked up the receiver.
Dial tone.
Her eyes widened. "Oh my God."
Aaliyah whispered, "Do it."
Sol stood up too fast and his ankle screamed. He gripped the table edge, steadying himself.
Hana was at his side instantly, hand at his elbow.
Sol's voice came out low, blunt. "Call my mom."
Judy hesitated. "Sol—if Helix tapped the line—"
Sol's eyes hardened. "Then they can hear me say this."
Judy swallowed and dialed.
The ring sounded loud in the quiet apartment.
Once.
Twice.
Sol's heart hammered so hard he could feel it in his wrists.
Then—
"Hello?" Marcia's voice, wary and exhausted.
Sol's chest cracked.
"Mom," he rasped.
There was a sharp inhale on the other end—like she'd been punched by relief.
"Solomon?" Her voice broke. "Oh, thank God—where are you?"
Sol's throat tightened. His instinct was to give her everything—location, plan, proof he was alive.
His new instincts screamed: don't.
"I'm safe," he said, forcing his words into shape. "I can't tell you where. Are you okay?"
Marcia's voice turned fierce instantly, anger covering fear. "Am I okay? No, I'm not okay! Men came back, Solomon. Men with badges that didn't look right. They said they were 'containment' like I'm supposed to know what that means. They asked for you."
Sol's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. "Did they hurt you?"
A pause.
Then, quieter: "They grabbed my arm. I didn't let them pull me outside."
Sol's vision tunneled. His spider-sense buzzed, not at the apartment—at the memory of her voicemail.
"Mom," he said, voice low and shaking with fury he tried to keep from spilling, "listen to me."
Marcia's voice softened just a fraction. "Baby—"
"If anyone comes back," Sol said, blunt and hard, "you lock the door and you don't open it. Not for 'badges.' Not for 'help.' Not for anybody."
Marcia's voice snapped. "And what about the police?"
Sol swallowed. "If you call, you don't tell them my name. You say strangers. You say forced entry. You say weapons. You say you want a report number."
Marcia went quiet. "Solomon… what is this."
Sol's honesty came out, raw. "It's because of me."
Marcia's breath hitched. "No. Don't you put that on yourself."
Sol stared at the wall like it could hold him up. "Mom, I love you. I'm going to fix this."
Marcia's voice trembled. "Fix it by coming home."
Sol squeezed his eyes shut.
He wanted to.
God, he wanted to.
"I can't," he whispered. "Not yet."
Silence.
Then Marcia's voice, small and wrecked beneath the strength: "Nia keeps asking if you're dead."
Sol's throat closed.
He reached for the receiver with shaking fingers and Judy handed it over automatically.
"Hey, Mom," Sol whispered, "put Nia on."
A shuffle. A small voice, sleepy and tight.
"Sol?" Nia whispered, like saying his name too loud might make him vanish.
Sol's chest caved. "Hey, bug."
Nia sniffed. "Are you in jail?"
Sol almost laughed, then winced. "Not yet."
Nia's voice sharpened. "Did you get powers?"
Sol's eyes flicked toward Hana, Judy, Aaliyah—three sets of eyes watching him with different kinds of fear.
Sol breathed out. "I got… trouble."
Nia whispered, deadly serious. "Mom says trouble isn't allowed to take you."
Sol swallowed hard. "Tell Mom I'm alive. Tell her I'm coming back."
Nia sniffed again. "If you die, I'm going to haunt you."
That was so Nia that Sol's mouth twitched despite everything.
"Deal," Sol whispered. "Be good."
Nia's voice softened. "Be safe."
Sol closed his eyes. "I'm trying."
Judy gently tapped his elbow—time. Risk.
Sol handed the receiver back to Judy, who gave it to Marcia again.
Judy spoke fast and careful. "Mrs. Smith—this is Judy. He's with us. We're safe right now. Please—please trust us."
Marcia's voice cracked. "Judy… bring him home."
Judy's eyes shimmered. "We will. We just need time."
Marcia exhaled shakily. "Just… just call again. Please."
Judy nodded even though Marcia couldn't see it. "We will."
She hung up.
The room was quiet except for Hana's soft breathing and the distant hum of the city waking up.
Sol stared at his hands.
They were clean now—no fresh blood, no visible violence.
But he could still feel last night on his skin like it had soaked in.
Aaliyah broke the silence first, voice blunt. "Okay. Mom and sister alive. That's something."
Sol nodded once, throat tight. "Yeah."
Hana stepped closer, careful. "Sit down again. Please."
Sol obeyed. He was too tired to fight kindness.
Aaliyah pointed at Judy. "Now you. Your turn. Why is your mom involved with Helix."
Judy stiffened. "She's a scientist."
Aaliyah's eyes narrowed. "No, I mean—why does she stay."
Judy's face twisted. "Because she thought she was helping people."
Sol's bluntness slipped out. "And now?"
Judy swallowed. "Now she's trying to keep me alive while cleaning up her mistake."
Hana spoke quietly, as if she were afraid to break Judy. "Is she a good mom."
Judy blinked, caught off guard. Her voice went soft. "She's… my mom. She's strict. She's always working. She's always been… intense."
Aaliyah snorted. "That's a yes-or-no question and you gave an essay."
Judy shot her a look. "Shut up."
Aaliyah held up her hands. "I'm just saying. In my house, if you hesitate, the answer is complicated."
Sol watched Judy's face, the tightness around her mouth.
His honesty came out, gentler than his words usually were. "You love her."
Judy's eyes flashed, defensive. "Yeah. And I'm mad at her. Both can be true."
Sol nodded. "That makes sense."
Hana sat on the floor near Sol's feet, back against the couch, like she'd decided being close was safer than being across the room. She looked up at Sol, voice soft.
"Tell us about you," she said. "Not the powers. You."
Sol blinked. "I'm… from here."
Aaliyah rolled her eyes. "Congratulations."
Sol's mouth twitched. "I'm serious. This city raised me. My mom works too much. Nia talks too much. I do what I have to do."
Hana's eyes stayed on him, patient. "What do you want."
Sol stared at her like she'd asked him to name a color he'd never seen.
"I want," he said slowly, honestly, "my family safe. I want normal."
Aaliyah's laugh was small and sharp. "Normal left the chat."
Sol nodded. "Yeah."
Judy sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the table leg. She looked at Aaliyah. "Okay, dancer girl. Your turn."
Aaliyah's posture stiffened. "My turn for what."
"For being a person," Judy said. "Not just a mouth."
Aaliyah stared at her, then sighed like she'd been forced into a class she didn't sign up for.
"Fine," Aaliyah said. "I'm a senior. Dance team captain. Competition next week. My mom thinks it's a 'phase' until I get a 'real' plan. My dad's not in the picture. I work at a smoothie place and pretend it's not humiliating."
Judy grinned. "Smoothie girl."
Aaliyah glared. "Don't."
Hana asked quietly, "Why were you at school that late."
Aaliyah's jaw tightened. "Because if I'm not perfect, I don't feel… useful."
That came out before she could polish it.
Aaliyah blinked, annoyed at herself. "Whatever. It's not deep."
Sol's honesty cut in, soft but direct. "It is."
Aaliyah looked at him, surprised. Then she scoffed, but her eyes softened just a fraction. "Shut up, Spider-Boy."
Sol almost smiled. "Don't call me that."
Aaliyah smirked. "You're literally sticky."
Hana's cheeks warmed at the word sticky and she looked away, embarrassed by her own brain.
Sol caught it.
His own brain caught it too—and tried to notice more than it should.
He forced himself to focus on faces, not bodies.
Hana's voice was quieter now. "I… I was there because I was returning supplies to the medic closet. I… volunteer. Sometimes at actual clinics. Sometimes at school. I don't like feeling helpless."
Judy looked at Hana, softer. "So you're just… like that."
Hana nodded. "Yeah."
Aaliyah leaned back against the wall, arms folded looser now. "So we're all control freaks."
Judy snorted. "We're all trauma responses."
Sol exhaled, a tired laugh trying to happen and failing.
Hana stood and went to the kitchen. She opened cabinets, found a box of crackers, a can of soup, a small bag of rice like someone had stocked the place for emergencies.
She moved like she belonged in crisis—quiet, efficient.
Aaliyah watched her. "Nurse vibes are terrifying."
Hana glanced over her shoulder. "Eat your crackers."
Aaliyah blinked, then obeyed, startled.
Judy laughed softly. "Oh my God. Hana's the boss."
Sol watched them—watched how the fear in the room began to shift into something else.
Not peace.
Not safety.
But a kind of bonding that only happened when you survived something together.
Hana handed Sol crackers and soup. Sol ate because his body demanded it, even though his stomach tried to reject food like it was an insult.
Halfway through, his hands started shaking from exhaustion.
Hana took the bowl from him without asking and set it down. "You need sleep."
Sol's mouth opened automatically to argue.
Aaliyah cut in. "If you pass out standing, I'm going to step over you."
Judy nodded. "Same."
Hana's voice was soft but firm. "Sol. Sleep."
Sol exhaled, defeated by kindness and fatigue.
"Okay," he said, blunt and honest. "But I need rules."
Aaliyah arched a brow. "Rules? You? Mr. 'I'll kill them if I have to' wants rules?"
Sol's eyes hardened for a second.
Then he forced himself to breathe and said it anyway, because this mattered.
"Rule one: nobody opens the door," Sol said. "Not for anybody."
Judy nodded. "Agreed."
"Rule two," Sol continued, "if something hits the fan, you leave. You don't stay to—" He stopped, jaw tight. "You don't stay to save me."
Judy's eyes flashed. "We're not agreeing to that."
Sol's voice sharpened, honesty turning into edge. "Judy."
Hana stepped closer, gentle. "We can agree to not be reckless."
Aaliyah nodded. "I can do 'not reckless.' I can't do 'abandon.'"
Sol swallowed, frustrated and grateful at the same time. "Fine. Not reckless."
He stared at the couch.
Then—because he was still a human and not a machine—he realized the obvious.
"There's one couch," Sol said, voice rough. "And one bed?"
Judy looked around. "Probably."
Aaliyah pointed at him. "You get the bed. You're bleeding."
Sol started, "I'm not—"
Hana cut in, quiet. "Bed."
Sol held her gaze and nodded because arguing felt stupid.
Aaliyah stepped toward the bedroom door, then paused and glanced at Sol in the hoodie—*her* hoodie—bandaged, bruised, trying to act like he wasn't falling apart.
Her voice softened, almost unwilling. "Don't die, okay?"
Sol blinked. "I'll try."
Aaliyah nodded once, then disappeared into the bedroom like she'd decided privacy was a gift.
Hana hesitated, then followed, carrying extra gauze and tape. "I'll check the dressing one more time in an hour."
Judy stayed in the living room with Sol for a moment longer.
She looked at him, eyes bright with exhaustion. "You scared me."
Sol's blunt honesty came out quiet. "I scared me too."
Judy swallowed, then stepped forward and hugged him—quick, fierce, a squeeze that said 'I'm angry and I'm here.'
Sol froze for half a second, then hugged back carefully, mindful of his stitches.
Judy pulled away and punched his shoulder lightly—then immediately regretted it when he hissed.
"Sorry," she muttered. "Reflex."
Sol's mouth twitched. "You're violent."
Judy's eyes narrowed. "You just figured that out?"
Sol shook his head, then winced. "Go sleep."
Judy paused, then said something softer, more vulnerable.
"We're going to get your mom out of this," she whispered.
Sol stared at her. "How."
Judy's jaw tightened. "By being smarter than Helix."
Sol exhaled. "That's… a big ask."
Judy's mouth twitched. "We're teens. Delusion is our birthright."
Sol managed a quiet laugh.
Judy turned off the living room light and curled up on the couch, shoes on like she didn't trust sleep enough to commit.
Sol limped into the bedroom.
It was small. A single bed with clean sheets. Aaliyah had taken the floor with a pillow, already lying on her side like a guard dog pretending she didn't care. Hana sat on the edge of the bed, checking Sol's bandage with gentle fingers.
Sol sat slowly, then lay back, trying to ignore how the mattress felt like heaven.
Hana's fingers brushed the edge of the tape. "Still bleeding a little. Not much."
Sol stared at the ceiling. "I'm sorry you saw… all of that."
Hana paused. "The fight."
Sol swallowed. "The part where I… wasn't nice."
Hana's eyes softened. "Sol, you protected us."
Sol's honesty came out raw. "I hurt someone."
Hana didn't flinch from that. She just spoke quietly. "You can hold that truth… and still be good."
Sol's throat tightened. "Can I."
Hana looked at him like she could see the fear behind his bravado. "You can try. And if you start slipping, you let us pull you back."
Aaliyah muttered from the floor, half-asleep, "Gross. Friendship."
Judy's voice drifted faintly from the living room, sleepy and sarcastic. "Shut up."
Sol's mouth twitched.
For the first time since the lab, the room felt… almost human again.
Hana stood, hesitated like she wanted to say more, then quietly tucked the blanket higher over Sol's chest—careful, respectful.
Sol's body reacted anyway—heat flickering under his skin at the closeness, at the softness of her touch.
He forced his eyes to stay on her face, not drifting.
Gentleman.
"Thank you," Sol whispered.
Hana's cheeks warmed. "You're welcome."
She turned off the bedside lamp and lay down on the far side of the bed—not under the covers, just on top, fully clothed, facing away slightly, leaving space between them like a boundary she wanted to respect.
Sol's mind spun anyway.
About his mom.
About Crane's calm eyes across the rooftop.
About the fact that three girls had risked everything for him.
About the terrifying truth that he liked having them close.
He tried to swallow it down.
Tried to sleep.
His spider-sense buzzed faintly, a constant hum, but it didn't scream.
Outside, the city woke up.
Inside, Sol's body finally surrendered.
His last conscious thought, before darkness took him, was simple and brutal and honest:
*If they come for them again… I won't hesitate.*
And then he slept—heavy, broken sleep—while the people around him kept watch.