Inside, the air was cool. Sterile. Quiet.

Too quiet for a place that housed gods and monsters.

A single lamp glowed in Peter Parker's room. Clothes were scattered across the floor—a red and blue suit bunched in the corner, a hoodie draped over a desk chair. A faint smell of coffee and web fluid lingered.

Peter was gone. Night patrol. Again.

A shape shifted under the rumpled sheets. Tousled hair. Blue and red fingernails with tiny painted spiders peeked out from the blanket's edge.

You.

The door clicked open.