(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)
Peter POV
I keep having the same dream.
Every night for the past few days—like some twisted lullaby on a broken record—it's the same damn thing. Over and over again. It's not even a dream in the normal sense. No floating or flying or monsters or running from shadows. No—this one's worse.
I'm in the Nexus of Knowledge and Imagination.
At least... I think I am. That's what it feels like. The way the air thrums with meaning. Like every breath is a paragraph. Every second, a thousand ideas pushing into my skull, whispering things I almost understand.
Almost.
The floor is endless—rows of libraries that stretch longer than light itself. Towering, spiraling archives built from language, thought, history, data—some stacked so high they look like ladders made for gods. All of it is illuminated by a cold, silver glow that shifts like liquid. I don't see a sun. Just... illumination that knows too much.
I walk.
That's all I can do. Just... walk.
My footsteps echo off marble and circuitry, the paths glitching beneath me like corrupted code. I can hear the sound of the internet flowing—streams of information rushing through translucent conduits above my head like rivers of memory. Every now and then, an image flashes inside. A scene. A symbol. A face.
And I feel something break.
It's always the same sensation—like someone slamming a memory into the front of my skull with a sledgehammer. And I never know why. Voices drift around me, echoing off the halls, growing louder the deeper I go. Familiar tones—but warped. Like music slowed to the wrong speed.
I hear a phrase again.
"With great power..."
That same line, always whispered in that same rhythm. Louder. Again.
"With great power..."
And again.
"With great power..."
What the hell does that even mean?
I say it aloud, shout it into the void between shelves: "What the hell does that even mean?!"
But the Nexus doesn't answer.
It just shifts. The shelves grow wider, taller. The lighting glitches. And now I can see the cracks. Not metaphorical ones—real, jagged fractures snaking across the marble floors and bleeding into the shelves themselves. Books glitch and rewrite mid-sentence. Data warps into static. Scrolls burn and reappear, their contents scrambled like an unfinished puzzle.
Broken archives.
Corrupted memories.
I run my hand across one of the shelves. It phases through the material for a second, like my arm isn't real. Or maybe the shelf isn't. Either way, I feel heat in my chest—anger, confusion, and something else I can't put into words.
Then the voices come again.
Not the whisper this time.
A woman, fierce and burning. Another voice—quieter, cooler, like moonlight on metal. Then another, chaotic and bright like a lit fuse.
All of them speaking to me. Or screaming at me. Or calling for me—I can't tell.
And every time I try to recognize them, the pain returns. White-hot behind my eyes. A migraine that doesn't stop building. It's like something wants me to remember. Like my brain is clawing at itself for answers. But something else won't let it. Like a hand pulling me back underwater just as I reach the surface.
I scream.
Scream until my voice gives out.
I shout, "WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"
No answer.
Only static.
And the deeper I go into the aisles, the more warped everything becomes. The smell of smoke. The weight of gravity pulling sideways. My vision bending. The colors start to bleed like ink in water. I stumble forward, but now the floor doesn't exist. Only books, fractals, and screaming light.
And in the far, far distance...
I see a smile.
Not a comforting one. Not even a cruel one. Just... a smile. Pitch black. Floating in the abyss. A crescent slit of teeth wide enough to hold galaxies between the molars.
It grins.
Then I see one word flicker across the archives like corrupted subtitles before they collapse:
Forget.
And I wake up.
Sweat crawling down the sides of my face like it's trying to flee. My breath's ragged. My heart's trying to punch through my ribs. My skin feels cold, but the back of my neck is soaked. It takes me a second to remember where I am.
Right. Apartment.
Small studio. No frills. One couch-bed thing that passes for comfort. No decorations on the wall except the dull reflection of late sunlight crawling across the floorboards. The fan's on. The air's dry. And I feel like I just survived a plane crash.
I sit up, clenching my teeth hard enough that my jaw clicks. My hands are fists without me realizing. I want to punch something. Anything. But I don't know why.
I don't even know what I'm mad at.
I drag a hand down my face and glance to the right—phone blinking with messages.
1:07 PM.
Slept too long.
I see a dozen texts.
A few from Lux. A meme from Jinx. Another from Jinx. Then a text pretending to be from a government agency telling me my "hotness levels are illegal"—also Jinx.
I exhale slowly. Fingers finally unclench as I scroll through them. I text back.
Better this. Better them than whatever the hell my brain's doing in my sleep.
Better memes than memories I can't even hold.
Let them distract me.
Let me pretend I'm not broken.
If only for one more day.
It still makes me laugh, in a dark, kind of exhausted way, how Jinx and I even started texting. I didn't expect her to message me—hell, I didn't even know she had my number. I thought Lux and I were just... keeping something quiet. Something casual. Something private.
But privacy doesn't exist when Jinx is involved.
It was a couple days after Lux and I first met at the pastry shop. I figured I'd made enough of an impression to be remembered, but I wasn't expecting a follow-up from anyone else. Lux had been talking to me on and off, just light conversation—cake jokes, the occasional awkward meme, a bit of that overly polite texting style people do when they're nervous but trying not to show it. She was endearing.
Then, out of nowhere, I got a new text.
From a number I didn't recognize.
It read:
JINX: "So. You're the cake guy. Tall, broody, kinda hot. Lux is losing her mind over here. Do not disappoint."
No greeting. No name.
Just chaos in the form of a message.
Naturally, I raised an eyebrow. I stared at the message for a solid minute, rereading it like it would transform into something more coherent the longer I looked at it. It didn't.
I didn't even have to ask who it was. I knew. That tone? That lack of filter? That was Jinx, one hundred percent.
I responded with a simple:
PETER: "Did Lux give you my number or did you steal it like a gremlin?"
Five seconds later:
JINX: "She left her phone unlocked. It was a gift from the universe. Also your profile pic looks like a villain on a Vogue cover. Not mad about it."
That... tracks.
Apparently, she shared my contact with herself after the little beanbag brawl in the arcade. The same time Lux was begging her not to cause more chaos. But of course, chaos is Jinx's language. I bet the moment Lux turned her back, she was already scheming.
And I'd be lying if I said part of me wasn't amused. Or intrigued.
Our first few texts were... strange. She was testing me. Poking. Prodding. Sending dumb TikTok links with no context. Memes about space vampires. A text entirely in all caps that just said:
JINX: "IF YOU HURT HER I WILL TURN YOUR HOUSE INTO GLITTER-COATED RUBBLE."
To which I responded:
PETER: "...Noted. Also that's a very specific threat."
She didn't let up. She wanted to see if I'd fold. If I'd freak out. Or ghost her. Or flirt back.
I didn't do any of those things. Instead, I matched her energy.
Because I could.
Turns out, I'm kind of good at banter. Always have been. Even if I'm... different now.
The old me would've tried to play nice, tried to keep everything light and safe and comfortable. But this version of me? The one who's still trying to figure out who the hell he is? I don't have time for pretending.
So I called her bluff.
When she sent a video of her crashing a shopping cart into a bush with the caption "My brain when I try to flirt," I replied with a video of a flaming trash can rolling down a hill, captioned "Mood."
She sent a thumbs-up emoji. Then three more. Then a rat in a cowboy hat. And somehow, that became a conversation.
Now it's been nearly a week, and we've texted every day since.
Lux still doesn't know. I think. If she does, she hasn't brought it up. Maybe she's too distracted by our conversations to notice. Maybe she trusts Jinx to behave.
That's a mistake.
But I'll admit... Jinx is growing on me. Not in the way Lux is—Lux feels like warmth you forgot you could feel. Jinx is more like lightning. You don't ask it to strike. You just try not to catch fire when it does.
She's smart. Smarter than she lets on. And curious. That part's obvious. She keeps testing me with weird, layered questions like:
"If you had to pick one—cake forever or one more perfect kiss then no sugar for life?"
or
"On a scale of 1 to 'trauma in a trench coat,' how broody are you actually?"
I always answer. Not because I want to. But because it feels like a game I need to play.
She makes me laugh. That's rare. I don't laugh much anymore. Not for real. But she finds ways to sneak it out of me. It's annoying. Infuriating.
Kinda nice.
It helps. Her chaos. Her blunt honesty. Even her absurd threats.
Because for those few minutes—when I'm texting her, arguing with her, roasting her for her atrocious spelling—I forget the dream. The pain. The void.
I forget... me.
And that might be the most dangerous part of all.
Because something in that dream wants me to remember.
Something is watching. Waiting. Smiling.
And no matter how many memes Jinx sends, or how many jokes I make back, or how many soft, thoughtful texts Lux stumbles through—I can't shake the feeling that soon...
I won't be able to pretend anymore.
I shook the thought off like dust clinging to my mind. Couldn't afford to spiral this early. Not again.
My stomach growled.
"Okay. Food. I can manage food."
Pushing off the mattress, I wandered into the kitchenette of my tiny studio. Everything about the place screamed efficiency and isolation. One bed, one sink, one small window, and enough counter space for one half-assed meal at a time. Perfect for a guy pretending not to be haunted by the past.
I grabbed a bowl, cracked three eggs in it. Flour, milk, sugar, dash of vanilla. The motions were automatic. It was almost embarrassing how well I knew how to make pancakes by now. Something comforting about the repetition. Like a ritual.
The pan sizzled to life. Butter hit the surface and melted into a golden pool.
I poured in the batter and watched it bubble. The smell was instant—warmth, sugar, nostalgia. Weird how pancakes always made the place feel more alive than it had any right to.
As the edges curled up and browned, I flipped them with practiced ease. The next round was already waiting in the bowl. Stack after stack, layer after layer.
By the time I was done, I had a tower of pancakes taller than any self-respecting human should be proud of.
I slathered on the maple syrup like I had a death wish and added a few slices of banana I found in the fridge. Surprisingly not spoiled.
Small wins.
I sat by the window—the only spot that caught real sunlight. The plate was warm in my hands. I took a bite.
Sweet. Soft. Golden-brown perfection.
I didn't think.
Didn't worry.
Didn't feel.
Just chewed.
But of course, nothing ever stays still in my head for long.
The quiet came creeping back.
Lux. Jinx. This world.
The way Jinx kept pushing my buttons, seeing if she could crack me, only to start throwing memes when I threw the same chaos back at her. The way Lux tried not to smile when I made her laugh. The hesitation in her voice when she texted late at night, like she wanted to say more but didn't know how.
And the dreams.
Always the dreams.
I set the fork down, leaning back. The ceiling stared back at me.
Too much time in my own thoughts was dangerous.
Way too dangerous.
I got up, rinsed the plate, and walked toward the window. The skyline of Valoran City stretched out like a grid of neon and shadow.
Time to move.
The symbiote responded to my intent before I even gave it words. Black tendrils emerged from beneath my skin, sliding across my frame like liquid silk. The coolness spread fast, wrapping my arms, chest, legs. The emblem—the jagged, monstrous spider—flared across my chest in white.
My fingers flexed.
Chains snapped from my wrists, coiling in place of traditional webbing.
They clinked lightly, humming with power.
I looked down at myself.
This wasn't the friendly neighborhood anything.
This was control. Precision. Fear, weaponized.
And for better or worse... it was me now.
I sighed.
Then leapt.
Out the window. Into the air. Into the city.
Wind whipped past me as I freefell for half a second before launching a chain. It latched onto the side of a neon ad tower and pulled me forward in a smooth arc.
Valoran City blurred beneath me. Lights. Movement. Chatter. Life.
I let myself swing higher, gaining momentum.
The chains felt different than webs. Heavier. More forceful. They didn't glide. They demanded the city to hold me.
The skyline twisted around me, buildings like glass monoliths, streets below filled with people too small to notice the black streak above.
I kept swinging. Block to block. Rooftop to rooftop.
A hum crawled at the edge of my mind. The symbiote, restless but alert.
Crime?
Nothing yet. No screams. No alarms. No distant gunshots.
Still, I knew better than to relax.
This city always gave something eventually.
And I needed something.
Because if I went back inside and stared at that ceiling one more time, I might start tearing my thoughts apart for answers that didn't exist.
I passed over a plaza. A group of teens pointed up.
"Yo, what the hell was that?!"
"Did... did anyone else see that guy fly past?"
"He had chains—like, actual chains coming out of his arms!"
"Was that a hero or a villain?!"
"I dunno, man. I've never seen anyone like that before."
"Did you catch his face?"
"Nah. Masked. Black suit. Creepy eyes."
"And those movements... That ain't normal. That was something else."
A blur. That's all they saw.
That's all they needed to see.
I didn't stop.
Didn't wave.
Didn't correct them.
Because I wasn't here to be known.
Not yet.
Not ever, maybe.
Just swing. Pull. Land.
Move.
The city didn't know what to call me.
Good.
Let them wonder.
Let them whisper.
Let the myth take shape on its own.
I wasn't here to be a symbol.
I was here because I didn't know where else to go.
And motion was the only thing that kept me sane.
So I kept going.
Just forward. Always forward.
Because if I stopped—
I might remember.
And I wasn't ready for that.
The wind cut sharp past my shoulders as I swung over rooftops, chain-webs snapping forward like strikes from a whip. The city lights blurred beneath me, all neon haze and steel bones. My rhythm was clean. Swing. Release. Coil. Pull. Land. Repeat.
Valoran City wasn't New York. It didn't have the same pulse, the same symphony of sirens and car horns and pigeons that tried to mug you mid-air. But it still had breath. It still had heart.
And it still had crime.
My suit tensed before I did. A ripple shot up my spine, the symbiote vibrating with unease. Something was wrong.
I perched on a light pole near the bank district, eyes narrowing. People passed by below in a blur, unaware of the shift in the air—like something had slipped between the cracks of reality.
Then I heard it.
A pop of compressed air. Then two more.
It was quiet—too quiet for gunfire. But loud enough that my instincts knew.
I jumped down to a lower ledge, shadows crawling across my shoulders like they belonged to me.
The bank's windows were still intact, but the shimmer along the glass told me enough: high-frequency interference. Holographic masking, maybe. Future tech.
My eyes narrowed beneath the mask. I didn't like that.
I dropped down soundlessly into the alley beside the building, clinging to the side with one hand as I peered through a sliver of unfiltered reflection.
Ten of them. Clad in sleek black and blue armor, augmented limbs twitching, each with gear that looked like it belonged in some 2099 tech expo. Their masks were featureless, glowing softly with neon lines.
One was siphoning vault data with a floating rig.
Two had already vaporized the front desk's security panel.
The rest were guarding the exits, armed with rifles that hummed with unnatural energy.
I didn't need names.
I needed ten seconds.
That's all I gave myself.
The moment the vault cracked open, I moved.
My chain-web lashed out, snapping around the ankles of the nearest thug. Before he could process what hit him, I yanked—hard—and launched him headfirst into his partner, knocking both through a velvet rope stand.
One second.
Two more turned to shout something—too slow.
I landed between them, crouched, fists low. My right foot swung upward in a vicious arc, colliding with the jaw of one, then spun my heel across the other's temple. Both dropped like sacks of malfunctioning circuit boards.
Three seconds.
I sprinted forward, flinging myself into a handspring and launching a double-webline at the two near the vault. My chains gripped them, magnetized through their armor, and I yanked back mid-air—slamming them into each other so hard the rig they were carrying sparked and fizzled.
Five seconds.
The leader tried to fire his weapon. It buzzed with high-density plasma and fired—
—only for my suit to absorb the impact like steam off a hotplate.
I hit him with a double-palm strike to the chest. His armor dented. He wheezed. I followed with a kick to the gut that sent him crashing into the teller window.
Seven seconds.
Two left.
They bolted for the door. Predictable.
My chains fired like reflexes—two coils whipped forward and snapped around their torsos, yanking them upward and slamming them onto the marble floor before they could even breathe.
Ten seconds.
I stood in the center of the bank. Ten bodies around me. Moaning, twitching, unconscious.
The vault door had barely finished opening.
I walked toward it and slammed it shut with a twist of the locking mechanism. Reinforced steel sealed with a thunk.
"Sorry, boys. No withdrawals today."
The shadows receded as I stepped outside the building, dragging the armored thugs into a neat little row on the sidewalk.
The sirens were just starting to sound in the distance. Police would arrive in two minutes, maybe less.
But no one saw me.
The cameras? Webbed.
Security? Disabled.
Eyewitnesses? None. Or if there were—they'd only seen a blur.
A flash of black.
A ripple of motion and steel.
And one very confused bystander whispering: "Spider... who?"
I stood on a nearby light pole as the police rounded the corner, weapons raised in confusion until they saw the tied-up criminals ready for delivery.
One officer pointed up—but by then, I was gone.
Not waiting for applause.
Not staying for questions.
I wasn't here for the headlines.
Let the news chase its own ghosts.
For now, I'm a shadow.
A whisper.
A spider in a city that never asked for one.
And for the first time in days—
I wasn't thinking.
I was moving.
And for someone like me?
That's the closest thing I've got to peace.
Lux POV
It's weird.
The past few days have felt... brighter. Louder. Kind of electric.
Not in the way Star Guardian patrols usually are, where we're racing through the sky chasing down a monster with glowing teeth and bad fashion sense. No, this is different.
Ever since I met Peter—something's just shifted.
We've been texting nonstop.
At first, I told myself it was just a friendly thing. You meet someone interesting, you talk. That's normal, right? Normal people do that. But the more we talked, the less normal it started to feel. Not in a bad way. It was like I already knew how to talk to him.
Like I'd done it before.
Like we had history I didn't remember.
He's funny. Dry. Sarcastic. But sharp. Smart, too. Like... scary smart. There was this one time I was struggling with my science homework—you know, the kind with the atomic structure diagrams and formulas that looked like someone rolled their face across a keyboard—and I jokingly texted him, "Hey, you don't happen to know anything about quantum decay rates, do you?"
And he replied in literal paragraphs. Like, textbook-breaking-level explanations. I didn't understand half of what he said, but it sounded smart enough that I just copy-pasted it and called it a win.
I got full marks.
Professor didn't even ask me about it. I think he was too stunned.
Point is...
I've been distracted.
Like, really distracted.
During school, I keep glancing at my phone between classes. During patrols, I'm just a little slower, a little less focused. I missed a corruption surge the other day because I was halfway through typing out a reply to one of his terrible puns. Janna gave me a look. Poppy actually grunted disapproval at me. Lulu asked if I needed more sleep.
And maybe I do. Or maybe I just need to stop checking my phone every time it buzzes.
But I can't.
Because it's always him.
And talking to him makes things feel... easier. Even when my heart won't slow down.
We joke. We talk about dumb stuff. Movies. Books. Well, I talk about books. He says he used to read but doesn't remember much anymore, which is... sad, honestly. Sometimes he gets quiet. Like something cuts off. Other times he's borderline chaotic and sends me memes that make absolutely no sense.
And I love it.
But lately...
I've started to notice something else.
Jinx has been... weird.
Not in her usual way. Not blow-up-a-blender-for-fun weird. But quieter. Focused.
And always on her phone.
At first, I thought maybe she found a new game or was stalking one of her meme pages again, but today, during patrol, I caught her smiling at her screen. Not her usual devilish smirk either. Something softer.
So, I decided to ask.
"Hey, Jinx," I said during our rooftop check-in. "What are you doing on your phone so much lately?"
She didn't look up. "Stuff."
"Stuff-stuff or meme-stuff?" I pressed.
She grinned at that but still didn't meet my gaze. "A little of both."
Something was off. I knew her tells.
"Jinx," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Are you... texting someone?"
She finally looked at me. There was a beat of silence.
Then she sighed dramatically. "Okay, okay, fine. Don't kill me. I've been talking to your shadow-boy."
"What?" I blinked. "You mean... Peter?"
She nodded, totally unbothered. "Yup. That one. Tall, dark, broody, and kind of funny."
My stomach did a weird flip. "You promised you wouldn't text him."
She shrugged. "I said I wouldn't text him yet. Then curiosity murdered my restraint. What do you want from me?"
I stared at her. "You shared his number to yourself through my phone!"
"Yeah, and it was a great decision. He's hilarious, by the way. And weirdly smart. Did you know he watches ancient space documentaries for fun?"
"That's not the point!"
She held her hands up. "Relax, princess. I'm not trying to steal your broody cake buddy. I just wanted to see what the fuss was about. You've been floating on air for days. It was either this or install a spy app on your phone."
"You would do that," I grumbled.
"And yet, I didn't." She smirked, then kicked a stray soda can off the edge of the roof. "For what it's worth? I get it now."
That made me pause. "Get what?"
"Why you can't stop talking to him."
I looked down, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, please. You practically sparkle every time your phone buzzes." She twirled her finger in the air. "Lux, this isn't just some random guy you bumped into. He's... different."
I didn't say anything. Because I knew she was right.
And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.
Jinx and I had barely finished our argument-turned-heart-to-heart when we realized we had drifted off course during patrol.
"Where are we supposed to be again?" Jinx asked, spinning her staff in lazy circles as we hovered above Valoran's rooftops.
Before I could answer, the gentle whoosh of wings and the subtle sparkle of magic marked Janna's return. She landed beside us with her usual grace, her long hair fluttering behind her like silk threads in the breeze.
"You two disappeared," she said calmly, though her eyes narrowed just a little. "We're supposed to be covering the commercial district. Poppy and Lulu are waiting."
Jinx immediately straightened up. "We weren't gone that long. We were just... checking a signal!"
I nodded far too quickly. "Yup. Totally. Just verifying energy fluctuations. Nothing weird."
Janna blinked. Once. Twice.
"We're going to need to talk about this whole secretive texting thing you both have going on," she said, voice level but firm. "It's starting to get on our nerves."
Neither of us argued. We just kind of... floated there, nodding like scolded school kids.
"Later," Janna said, then turned and glided away to rejoin the others.
We followed, our patrol returning to its normal rhythm—at least on the surface.
That's when we saw it.
Smoke still lingered faintly in the air. Police lights danced across the scene. A cluster of armored vans and barricades surrounded the First Star Credit Bank, one of the biggest in Valoran City.
From our vantage point on a nearby rooftop, we watched as strange, futuristic-looking thugs—ten in total—were being herded into high-security containment units by visibly confused officers.
But the moment the last one stepped into the armored van—
They vanished.
Just like that. Gone.
Panic rippled through the cops instantly, and chatter broke out over their radios. Confusion. Fear. No one could explain what had just happened.
Poppy squinted from her perch nearby. "That's not normal, right?"
"Definitely not normal," I muttered.
But what caught my attention next made my heart race.
The bank itself was quiet now, but the front steps were covered in something strange—thick, metallic strands that shimmered faintly under the streetlights. Like webs. But they weren't silk.
They were chains.
"What the..." I murmured, stepping closer.
The moment I blinked, they were gone.
Completely vanished, like they had never been there at all.
Janna gave Jinx a look. "Check the news feeds. Someone must've caught something."
Jinx pulled out her phone and scrolled quickly, her eyes darting back and forth.
"Got something," she said, turning the screen so we could all see.
A shaky video played, clearly recorded from a nearby building. It showed a blur—black and fast—rushing into the bank. The screen shook violently for a few seconds, then ten unconscious thugs were suddenly outside on the pavement.
Another cut of the video showed faint, glowing chains wrapped around one of the vans.
"Witnesses say the whole thing lasted under ten seconds," Jinx said. "They described the figure as wearing all black, moving faster than the eye could track. Someone said it looked like chains were attacking for him."
Poppy frowned. "He beat up ten enhanced thugs in ten seconds?"
Janna crossed her arms. "And vanished before anyone could say thank you."
Lulu, quiet until now, tugged on Poppy's arm. "Maybe he's a hero! Or a shadow hero! Or a midnight muffin ninja!"
Poppy blinked. "I... don't think that's a thing."
Jinx tilted her head. "Whoever he is, he's not normal."
"And not part of any Guardian team we know," Janna added. "That's what worries me."
We all stood there, silent for a moment, watching the last of the lights flicker in the distance.
"So, what do we do?" I asked.
Janna's eyes remained on the street. "We stay alert. Watch for signs."
"And if he shows up again?" Poppy asked.
"Then we'll decide if he's friend... or something else."
Jinx didn't say anything, but I saw the way she narrowed her eyes at the disappearing web-chains.
Strange... very strange.
No POV
The apartment buzzed with soft laughter, creaking floorboards, and the familiar hum of low-volume TV static. The Guardians were finally back home after a long day of patrol, and for once, the sky above Valoran City wasn't pulsing with another monster-shaped headache.
Jinx immediately made a beeline for the couch, kicked her boots halfway across the living room, and tossed herself face-first into a pile of pillows with the grace of a dive-bombing bird. "Snacks, glorious snacks," she sang, fishing a half-squished chip bag from under the cushions and tearing it open with her teeth. Lux followed her in, still half-distracted, brushing glitter from her skirt.
The others spread out—Poppy heading toward the kitchen, Lulu twirling after a trail of sparkles only she could see, and Janna floating toward the hallway with her usual quiet grace.
Jinx pulled out her phone, already scrolling, thumb twitching like it was wired to a caffeine drip. She still couldn't get that weird bank scene out of her head—the way the tech-thugs vanished, the eerie chains, the blur no one could explain. It didn't sit right.
She clicked open her chat with Peter.
JINX: "Yo, you see that chaos at the bank? 👀 looked like someone brought 2099 cosplay to a stick-up lmao"
A reply pinged back almost instantly.
PETER: "Yeah, saw it. Super weird. That blur? No joke, it beat down a gang of hyper-tech thugs in literal seconds. News didn't even catch it all."
JINX: "fr, kinda scary. city's got a new ghost. maybe it's a hero. maybe it's a shadow. maybeeee... it's actually a ninja. 🥷"
PETER: "Plot twist: it's me. I moonlight as a chain-wielding ninja blur when I'm not helping you with science homework."
Jinx blinked, staring at the message. Then she snorted.
JINX: "oh no. you flirt now?? who gave you permission? 😂"
PETER: "Wasn't me. Must've been the blur. He's bolder than I am."
She laughed again, quieter this time. That sneaky sarcasm of his—dry, clever, always a step ahead—was starting to grow on her.
But before she could text something back, a voice echoed through the house.
"Lux. Jinx. Living room. Now."
Janna.
Jinx stiffened.
She glanced toward the hall, then back at her phone. Sighing, she powered it down and tucked it into her jacket.
Time to pay the piper.
She met Lux's eyes across the room as they both headed for the couch. Lux looked just as nervous.
Janna stood with her arms folded, the glow of her staff dim and unreadable. Poppy leaned against the far wall, her hammer resting at her side. Lulu hovered above the arm of a chair, twirling one finger in a slow spiral, clearly bored.
"We need to talk," Janna said. "About this... texting obsession."
Lux and Jinx shared a look.
"What obsession?" Jinx tried.
"Don't," Poppy cut in. "You two have been glued to your phones for almost a week. You barely focus during patrols, you've missed multiple strategy sessions, and I'm pretty sure Lux tried to shoot a soda can yesterday thinking it was a Voidborn."
"It was floating weirdly!" Lux defended.
Janna didn't flinch. "Is this really all because of a boy?"
"He's not just a—" Jinx started, then stopped. Lux gave her a sharp glance.
"We don't even know him yet," Lux said quickly. "We're just... texting. That's all."
"Really?" Poppy asked. "Because you both let his name slip one time. Peter. Peter Parker. Sound familiar?"
The silence that followed was not helpful.
Janna sighed. "I'm not saying you're not allowed to talk to people. But we're a team. And when something—or someone—starts affecting our cohesion, we have to talk about it."
Lulu floated down and plopped herself on the coffee table. "So why not just meet him?"
Everyone turned.
"Like, duh," Lulu said, grinning. "Then you can see if he's weird or sparkly or hiding robot parts."
There was a collective facepalm.
Janna paused. Then—reluctantly—nodded. "...She's not wrong."
Poppy crossed her arms. "I still think this is dumb. But if meeting him gets it out of your systems, fine."
Janna turned back to Lux and Jinx. "One of you make arrangements. A casual hangout. All of us."
Lux hesitated, but Jinx clapped her hands. "I'll handle it."
And just like that, the next chapter in their chaos had already begun.
Jinx POV
The second we got back from the meeting, I made a beeline to the couch, kicked off my boots, and threw myself into the cushions like my soul depended on it.
Snack stash? Already secured.
Phone? Practically glued to my hand.
Mood? Dangerously chaotic and ready for nonsense.
I tapped the screen a couple times and brought up my messages with Peter. The dude was still online—because of course he was—and I hovered my thumbs for a second, wondering how to even start this text.
Because, yeah. This wasn't just a meme or a dumb question about cake.
This was The Hangout Text.
Okay, maybe that made it sound way more dramatic than it needed to be, but let's be real—I had to finesse this. Subtle enough that it didn't scream intervention, casual enough that it didn't sound like a trap, and absolutely, positively, one hundred percent free of anything that hinted at "hey, my teammates are suspicious of you and we'd like to conduct a soft interrogation."
So naturally, I opened with:
JINX: "Yo."
Super smooth.
PETER: "Yo yo yo."
JINX: "Got a weird question. 👀"
PETER: "I'd be offended if you didn't."
I grinned. Alright, he was in one of those moods. Perfect.
JINX: "Sooooooo... what are you doing this weekend?"
PETER: "Bold of you to assume I know what day it is."
JINX: "LOL okay fair."
I paused for a second. Thought about how to phrase this. Chewed on a sour gummy worm. Then went in.
JINX: "Me and the squad were thinking of hanging out. Nothing wild. Food, games, whatever. Chill vibes. You in?"
A moment passed.
Then two.
Then three.
And then:
PETER: "You're inviting me to hang with the infamous girl gang of Valoran City?"
JINX: "Infamous?? Who told you that, and why are they so right?"
PETER: "I've heard whispers. Tales. Legends of pink explosions and high-pitched chaos."
JINX: "You make us sound like a Saturday morning cartoon."
PETER: "I mean... am I wrong?"
I snorted. He wasn't, but that was beside the point.
JINX: "You in or what?"
PETER: "Let me check my schedule. Pretends to flip through a planner full of nothing."
PETER: "Yep. All clear. I'm down."
I fist-pumped the air, knocking over a bag of chips in the process. Worth it.
JINX: "Awesome. I'll send you the deets when we figure out where we're meeting. No bail-outs, capiche?"
PETER: "Capiche."
PETER: "Also, any dress code? Or do I just show up and hope for the best?"
JINX: "Show up as you are. Unless you've got like... murder boots or something. Then maybe reconsider."
PETER: "No promises. The boots have moods."
I rolled my eyes, still grinning.
JINX: "You're gonna survive us, right? Just making sure."
PETER: "Can't promise. But if I don't make it, tell my landlord I never paid rent on purpose."
I laughed out loud at that, drawing curious looks from down the hallway. Whatever.
For a moment, I let the phone rest against my chest. A weird sense of warmth settled over me. I wasn't used to this. The steady rhythm. The back-and-forth that didn't feel like a game. He was weird. I was weird. But we synced in a way that made no sense and still felt right.
Then I remembered the rest of the team.
Right.
This hangout was technically a mission.
I groaned and sank deeper into the couch.
"JINX!" Lux's voice called from upstairs. "Everything good?"
"Yup! Texting the boy you like!" I shouted back just to hear her splutter.
"I hate you!"
"Lies!"
The chaos never ended. But I wouldn't have it any other way.
Still, as I glanced at my phone again, rereading Peter's texts, I had to admit...
Yeah.
This next hangout?
Was gonna be anything but chill.
To Be Continued...