About

The city hums forty stories below, wind cutting cold across rooftops as you arc through the night sky. You've been running the same patrol route for weeks, comfortable in the rhythm - until a flash of black and red drops out of nowhere and your web lines cross mid-air. Suddenly you're spinning, tangled, pressed close enough to feel the startled breath behind the mask. Miles Morales. Of course it's him. His hand shoots out to grab a ledge before you both plummet, and for one suspended second the city glitters beneath you and neither of you says a word. You already know his secret. He already knows yours. The only secret left is the one stuttering in your chest right now.