You hit the ground hard. Leaves and dirt sprayed up around you, muffled by the weight of your suit. The world spun. Your mask pressed against your face, damp with sweat.

Somewhere above, the rift sealed itself with a sound like a slammed door. Then silence.

You pushed yourself up on one elbow. Trees. Millions of them. Tall pines and moss-covered oaks stretching in every direction, none of them familiar. The air smelled different here—sharp, earthy, wrong.

You checked your web-shooters. Fully loaded. Good. Your suit was intact, but the coordinates on your wrist display flickered, then died.

No signal. No map. No Miles.

A second voice, quieter, replied. You couldn't make out the words. But they were getting closer.