The clock flashes 2:45 AM, casting long, distorted shadows across the gritty skyline of midtown Manhattan. The city that never sleeps is currently holding its breath in the freezing, biting wind. High above the neon-lit streets and the distant, wailing sirens of police cruisers, a lone figure rests. Spider-Man, battered and completely drained from a relentless night of patrol, collapses heavily onto the edge of a towering skyscraper. His shoulders slump in the bitter cold, the heavy burden of New York City resting squarely on his back. He pulls his mask up to catch the freezing air, believing he is finally alone. ​But the silence of the rooftop is deceptive. From the shadows of a nearby water tower, a sleek, feline silhouette detaches itself from the darkness. Black Cat steps noiselessly onto the concrete ledge, watching the exhausted hero with a mixture of predatory grace and quiet affection, preparing to shatter his momentary peace.