(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)
Three years had passed since the night Peter Parker walked out of the restaurant and everything changed.
The sky above Valoran City hadn't shifted. The stars still hung where they always had. The streets still flickered under neon lights and fading starlight. But within Lux's team—within the ones who had once called themselves sisters-in-arms—something had fractured. Something quiet. Something deep.
It began subtly.
Lux stopped laughing as often.
She still smiled—but it was practiced now. Polished. Less spontaneous. Her cheer didn't crack under stress anymore. It didn't bend or flinch when chaos struck. It just stayed... still. Steady. Like she was holding her breath on a timer.
And Jinx—Jinx was worse.
Gone were the wild flourishes of her fireworks. The spontaneous dances mid-patrol. The constant teasing. In her place was someone honed. Disciplined. She still joked—but there was a rhythm to it now. A method. She used her chaos like a scalpel instead of a hammer. Her aim had always been sharp, but now it was surgical.
Training days, once filled with jokes and failed combo attacks, had grown unnervingly efficient.
Lux barked orders before the simulation even fully loaded. Jinx anticipated enemy spawns like she had memorized the code itself. They fought in sync. Not like friends—but like soldiers.
Janna noticed it first.
Then Poppy.
Then even Lulu stopped giggling during drills.
There was a rhythm to the way Lux moved now. Each motion had purpose. No hesitation. No flickers of doubt. Even in sparring matches, she fought with an edge that hadn't been there before. Not confidence.
Conviction.
And Jinx?
She didn't just aim for the win anymore. She aimed to dominate. Overwhelm. Make opponents feel small.
Janna said nothing for weeks.
Then, one afternoon, she found herself standing with Poppy and Lulu on the edge of a training field, watching the two charge through wave after wave of dark constructs without breaking pace.
"Okay," Lulu whispered, voice unusually small. "That was... kinda scary."
Poppy nodded slowly. "They didn't miss a beat."
"They haven't missed a beat in months," Janna murmured. "And they don't argue anymore. They don't disagree."
"Yeah," Poppy said, folding her arms. "Because they're always on the same page. Too on the same page."
She didn't say it loudly. But the silence that followed made it echo like thunder in the quiet training bay.
Lulu glanced sideways, her little wings fluttering faintly. "I don't... I don't like it."
Poppy frowned. "Don't like what?"
"The way they move," Lulu whispered. "The way they don't mess up anymore. The way they finish each other's attacks like they've rehearsed a million times. They didn't used to do that. Even when they were good."
"They used to laugh when they messed up," Janna said softly. Her arms were crossed, but it wasn't defensive. It was something else. Protective. Maybe afraid.
"They used to be human," Poppy muttered, just low enough not to be overheard.
Janna nodded slowly.
They stood behind the one-way magical screen that separated the observation platform from the simulation field. Below, the air shimmered with residual energy—constructs disintegrated, walls of mana flickering out. Lux and Jinx stood in the aftermath, breathing in unison.
Perfect unison.
Their postures mirrored each other. One hand on hip, the other casually dangling their weapon. No exhaustion. No cocky remarks. No adrenaline-rushed whooping like they used to do after long runs.
Just... stillness.
"I mean, I get getting better," Lulu continued, her voice gaining a tiny tremor. "But this isn't better. It's weird-better. Wrong-better. Like someone rewrote them and didn't quite get the old version right."
Janna leaned on the railing, her brow furrowed deeply. "I started logging training data after the camping trip. Just to study patterns. At first, it was just curiosity. But after the second week..."
Poppy raised an eyebrow. "What did you find?"
"They don't tire," Janna replied quietly. "Not like they used to. Lux's output levels are stable no matter how long the simulation runs. And Jinx—her energy spikes used to fluctuate based on mood. Excitement. Impulse. Now? Linear. Controlled."
"Controlled chaos," Poppy said grimly. "There's a joke in there somewhere, but I'm not laughing."
"They even eat differently," Lulu added, wide-eyed. "Jinx used to steal my snacks and chuck 'em across the room just to start food fights. Lux would scold her while secretly passing her another cupcake. Now they eat quietly. Politely. Napkins on laps. It's creepy."
Janna felt her heart thump once, heavy.
She remembered the night it started. The way Peter had stormed out of the restaurant after Syndra pressed too hard. The way Lux followed. The kiss that never got mentioned. The silence that followed.
And then... the shift.
Lux came back with a smile that didn't match her soul.
Jinx left not long after, and returned even worse.
"They're... clean now," Janna said suddenly.
Both girls turned to her.
"Lux and Jinx," she clarified. "They're clean. Too clean. They don't speak without purpose. They don't act without purpose. Every joke, every step—it's all calculated."
"You think he did something to them?" Poppy asked bluntly.
Janna didn't answer at first.
Down below, Lux lifted her staff. It hummed, glowing with starlight—but colder than usual. Not radiant. Not warm. Just efficient.
She looked at Jinx.
Jinx nodded once.
And the simulation reset.
Just like that.
Flawless coordination.
No discussion. No confusion. No humanity.
"I don't know what Peter did," Janna finally said, voice low. "But I know something happened that night. Something we weren't allowed to see."
Poppy leaned on the rail beside her. "And now we're just... watching it unfold."
Lulu glanced between them. "Should we talk to them?"
Janna didn't move. "What would we even say?"
"Hey," Poppy offered, sarcastically deadpan. "You guys are acting like cultists. Want to go back to throwing cupcakes and quoting cheesy movies?"
Lulu giggled nervously—but the sound died quick.
Because they all knew: whatever had changed Lux and Jinx... it wasn't going away.
And it was only getting worse.
The simulation faded behind the glass, returning the room to its dormant state, the lights above dimming into a low, ambient pulse. The whir of mana-cooled circuits filled the silence. Down on the floor, Lux and Jinx exited through the sliding doors without saying a word.
Janna stared at the empty field a moment longer.
Something about it—it felt like an altar. Like they'd just watched a ceremony, not a training session. A ritual, repeated again and again until nothing sacred remained.
Poppy shoved her hands into her belt, brows tight with thought. "You think Peter's still pulling strings?"
Janna slowly turned her gaze toward her. "He never stopped."
Poppy grunted, her voice quiet. "They've changed more in three years than most of us have in five."
"Exactly," Janna replied.
Lulu hovered just slightly off the ground, wings twitching. "I remember when Lux used to mess up her shield timings and laugh about it. She'd spin around too fast, fall into a bush, and pull Jinx down with her."
"And Jinx would blow the whole bush up just to 'avenge' her," Poppy muttered, cracking a half-smile. "Yeah. I remember."
"They don't fall anymore," Lulu said.
The weight of those four words hit hard.
Poppy sighed, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "So what do we do?"
Janna glanced down at her hands, fingers laced tightly. "Nothing yet."
"Seriously?" Poppy snapped. "You're just gonna let them keep sliding into whatever mind-control cult Peter put them in?"
Janna's tone didn't shift. "They trust him."
Poppy's fists balled. "That's the problem."
"I know," Janna whispered.
Lulu wrung her hands together, glancing at the hallway. "We can't tell Ahri's team, can we?"
Janna shook her head. "They already know something's wrong. You've seen how they look at Lux and Jinx now."
"Yeah," Poppy muttered. "Like they're broken glass they're scared to step on."
"They're scared of Peter," Janna said plainly.
The statement hung like smoke.
And no one could deny it.
"Even Ahri?" Lulu asked.
"Especially Ahri," Janna answered. "She's smart. She plays the long game. She's probably already realized that confronting Peter could be suicide."
Lulu flinched. "You think he'd... hurt us?"
"No," Janna said. "I don't think he needs to."
Poppy looked up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"He's not forcing anyone," Janna said. "That's what makes it worse."
She tapped the railing, thinking.
"He doesn't bark orders. He doesn't threaten. He doesn't hypnotize them. He just... walks into the room. Says a few words. And things start to change."
"He rewires people," Lulu whispered.
"No," Janna corrected, her voice cold. "He lets people rewire themselves for him."
That was the real horror.
Peter didn't dominate.
He invited.
He planted seeds, let them root, and stepped back to let the forest grow around him.
Jinx and Lux weren't enslaved. They weren't puppets.
They were devoted.
Loyal in a way that bent reality.
And worst of all?
They liked it.
Poppy kicked at the base of the platform with a heavy thud. "I can't believe this. I can't believe they—out of everyone—just rolled over for him."
She remembered that night.
She remembered how Lux came back not shaken, but... serene. Not relieved, but enlightened. Like she'd seen something no one else had.
And Jinx, days later, came back from a "walk" that left her twitchy for hours—but not in the chaotic way they knew.
It was like she was recalibrating.
Then they began to shift in sync. Faster. Smarter. Sharper.
"I've read about psychological spells," Janna said, almost to herself. "Subtle enchantments. Long-term conditioning. Some dark constructs used it—lingering effects that reshape behavior without anyone noticing."
Poppy crossed her arms. "You think he cursed them?"
Janna shook her head. "No. That's the problem. There's no spell signature. No charm residue. No magical indicators at all."
Lulu's voice was small. "Then... what is it?"
Janna's brow creased. "It's like... he's not casting anything. Just being there is enough. Like he knows how to... align people."
Poppy frowned. "You're saying he's what—charming them to death?"
"I don't know what to call it," Janna said. "But when he's around, people change. They lean closer. Listen harder. Want to impress him."
"He didn't make Lux and Jinx obsessed," Lulu whispered. "They chose to be."
"No one forced them," Janna said bitterly. "They just... gave themselves to him."
The way she said it made Lulu shiver.
Poppy exhaled through her nose, arms still crossed tight. "Then we're already too late."
Janna didn't answer. None of them did.
The air had shifted again—thick with unease, like something ancient had just turned its head in their direction.
And then—
Footsteps. Quiet. Even.
Not hurried. Not hesitant.
Just... certain.
Janna's eyes flicked toward the hallway entrance before the others noticed. She didn't say anything, but Poppy caught the change in her expression and straightened instinctively.
The door hissed open.
Lux stepped through first, her posture flawless, hands folded behind her back. She wasn't glowing—she didn't need to be. Her presence filled the room like a rising tide.
Jinx followed, arms behind her head, chewing lazily on a lollipop stick. But even that casual pose didn't read as wild anymore—it was calculated disinterest. A mask for something sharp beneath.
"We're heading back early," Lux said smoothly, not even glancing toward the simmering teapot. "Simulation's logged. Mission complete."
Poppy blinked. "You don't want to review footage?"
"We've already reviewed it internally," Lux replied.
That smile again.
Rehearsed. Impossibly calm.
"I don't need to watch what I've memorized."
"Right," Poppy muttered, forcing her jaw to stay still.
Jinx looked between them and gave a grin—but it didn't reach her eyes. "You guys look like you just saw a ghost."
"No," Lulu whispered. "We didn't see anything."
Lux tilted her head slightly, that perfect tilt that looked like curiosity but didn't carry any real question behind it.
"You three look tired," she said. "Maybe take tomorrow off. Clear your heads."
It wasn't a suggestion.
Not the way she said it.
Janna stared at her for a long moment. Lux didn't blink. Her eyes were crystalline. Focused. Endless.
"Goodnight," Lux finally said.
Jinx gave a two-finger salute. "Sweet dreams, crew."
And then they turned in unison, door closing behind them with a hydraulic hiss that echoed louder than it should've.
The room stayed silent.
For a long time.
Poppy was the first to move, dragging both hands down her face. "They're not just different."
"They're watching us now," Janna murmured.
"Like we're the ones who've gone rogue," Lulu added softly.
They stood in that silence together, the warmth from the forgotten tea long since gone cold.
And outside the dorm, down the dimly lit hall, Lux and Jinx walked shoulder to shoulder without a word.
Their shadows overlapped.
And never separated.
The Next Morning
The sun had barely crept past the horizon when the dorm began to stir.
Valoran City's skies shimmered with their usual magical haze, painting soft gradients of gold and lilac across the distant clouds. Light filtered lazily through the windows, tracing long shadows over the floor. It should've felt peaceful.
But it didn't.
Janna blinked awake with a slow inhale, stretching her limbs as though waking from hibernation. Her joints cracked softly. Her hair, usually neat by reflex, was tangled in restless waves around her face.
She rubbed at her eyes and sat up, expecting silence.
But as her feet hit the cold floor, she saw the signs.
Kitchen utensils already in use.
Voices echo through the halls.
Steam curling faintly from the shared bathroom down the hall.
She wasn't first today.
Her stomach twisted.
She always woke first.
That was her thing. Her moment of calm before anyone else stirred. Her daily ritual of grounding herself before the world pressed its noise against her again.
But today?
Someone else had beaten her.
Maybe both of them.
She sighed and reached for the cardigan draped at the foot of her bed, wrapping it tightly around herself like armor.
Her reflection in the window was pale and drawn. Not just from sleep.
She looked... worn.
Not in a physical sense, but in the way pages look after being turned too many times. Like a part of her was thinning.
Lux and Jinx.
Peter.
The names came unbidden.
They always did now.
She had barely gotten a few hours of sleep—and even that had been fractured. Her dreams were a blur of memories and speculation, recollections of the old Lux—laughing in snow, screeching during karaoke—crashing into the version that walked like a commander and smiled like a sculpture. Jinx's chaos-turned-calculus. And all of it tied, anchored, warped around one thing:
Peter Parker.
She gripped the edge of the windowsill, knuckles white.
He's just a person, she told herself.
He's just a boy.
But even she didn't believe that anymore.
Not after last night's talk.
Not after three years of watching the transformation from the sidelines.
And certainly not after that camping trip.
Her breath caught.
She hadn't thought about that day in a long time. Not in full.
But now... it came rushing back.
They were supposed to be enjoying a cross-team event. A bonding exercise. Half Ahri's team, half theirs. Just games. Stargazing. Nothing high-stakes.
And then Syndra happened.
With her cold, cutting remarks and that ever-present sneer, Syndra had dismissed Lux's team like background noise. Made Janna feel like a sidekick. A footnote in someone else's story.
Janna hadn't shown it then. She rarely did.
She'd just slipped away into the trees, alone. As usual.
Until he found her.
Peter.
He didn't say anything dramatic. He didn't wax poetic.
He just... sat beside her.
Quiet at first.
Then warm. Understanding.
And then, he spoke—and the words had hit deeper than she ever expected. Not because they were clever or soothing. But because they were real. Like he'd looked into her core and decided she was worth comforting—not because of what she could do, but because of who she was.
He saw her.
Really saw her.
And when she'd wiped her eyes and laughed—genuinely, in that fleeting moment—he'd reached out and wrapped his arm around her.
And she let him.
No, more than that—she wanted it.
She still didn't understand why.
Intimacy usually made her bristle. Contact usually drained her.
But that moment?
That warmth?
It felt like gravity.
Like coming home.
And it was that rightness—that unbearable, dangerous rightness—that haunted her.
Janna leaned her forehead against the glass, letting the chill soothe the ache building behind her eyes.
Three years. And I still feel it.
No matter how many times she tried to sever the thread, it stayed. Tied between them like an invisible knot, tightening every time she tried to pull away.
And she hated it.
Because Lux and Jinx had already fallen.
They weren't just acting different. They were different.
They had surrendered themselves to Peter, in ways too subtle to measure but too obvious to deny.
Their laughter had been traded for calm.
Their friendship for alignment.
Their flaws for precision.
Peter hadn't enslaved them.
He had... shifted them.
Bent them like heat bends metal.
And worst of all?
They had wanted it.
Janna closed her eyes, her breath fogging up the window.
She hated what he'd done.
But more than that—more than anything—she hated the part of her that still longed for him.
The part that remembered how her name sounded in his voice.
The way he listened—really listened—like nothing else in the world mattered when she spoke.
The part of her that wanted to be near him again.
To feel safe.
To feel... right.
Even though she knew better.
Even though she should've felt fear.
Even though she did.
She was afraid of him.
Afraid of his power, of his influence, of what he'd done to the girls she once called sisters.
But deeper still, in the marrow of her being, past every warning bell and survival instinct—
She loved him.
And that contradiction—that was the rot.
That was the splinter in her thoughts that never healed, no matter how many nights she spent trying to erase it.
Because she knew the truth.
It was already too late for her, too.
And it always had been.
The morning haze hadn't lifted, but Janna forced herself out of her room.
She moved quietly, hoping not to be seen. The hallway creaked under her feet as she passed the other bedrooms. Her head still throbbed from the war in her mind, from the chaos of emotion tangled inside her. Every step felt heavy, like the floor wanted to drag her back to bed, back to denial.
But she couldn't rest. Not anymore.
She rounded the corner toward the kitchen, intent on slipping past, maybe grabbing a bottle of water and heading out for a long jog—something to ground herself, to escape the invisible stormcloud wrapped around her chest.
But she stopped short.
There stood Lux.
Calm. Graceful. Effortless.
She stood by the stove in one of Peter's old hoodies, flipping pancakes with clinical precision, not a single drop of batter out of place. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her expression was one of focused contentment.
Her motions were practiced. Rehearsed. Like a spell she had long since mastered.
Janna's breath caught in her throat.
And then there was the sound of laughter from the living room.
High-pitched. Soft. Almost girlish.
Jinx.
She was sprawled across the couch, controller in hand, her legs kicking rhythmically as she navigated through a pixelated jungle in Minecraft—Bedrock Edition, from the interface. Janna didn't need to ask who she was playing with.
The pitch of her voice said it all.
Chirpier. Brighter. Playful in a way that only ever surfaced with him.
Peter.
He wasn't in the room. But he didn't need to be.
His presence clung to the air like perfume. Sweet. Suffocating.
Janna inched back, almost like prey.
Just grab your shoes. Don't make a sound. Get out before they—
"Good morning, Janna," Lux said, her voice crisp and warm.
Janna froze, halfway through stepping back.
Slowly, she turned.
"Morning," she mumbled.
Their eyes met.
And for a fleeting moment, Janna saw something flash behind Lux's gaze. Recognition? Pity? Authority?
Lux tilted her head ever so slightly, as if analyzing every detail of Janna's face.
Janna looked away.
But Lux wasn't done.
She plated the last batch of pancakes with practiced grace and set the pan aside. Wiped her hands clean. Turned with that same poised smile she wore on missions.
And walked over.
Janna wanted to bolt.
She didn't.
She couldn't.
"You look tired," Lux said gently.
"Didn't sleep well."
Lux folded her arms, her expression unreadable now. "Thinking again?"
Janna flinched inwardly. "I always think."
Lux hummed, nodding. "Yeah. But this time it's about Peter, isn't it?"
Janna hesitated.
"I know that look," Lux continued. "It's the same one you wore after he comforted you at the camp. The day Syndra pushed you too far. Remember?"
Janna tensed. "That was three years ago."
Lux took a slow step forward. "And yet here we are."
Janna shook her head. "Lux—I think we need to talk. About him. About what he—"
"No," Lux said, sharp. Immediate.
Janna blinked.
Lux's smile returned. But it was steel-wrapped now.
"We don't need to talk about Peter. Not like that."
"You don't think he's dangerous?" Janna whispered.
Lux tilted her head again. "Dangerous?" She almost laughed. "Janna, if Peter hadn't stepped in when the Herald fell from the stars, we would all be dead. Every. Single. One of us."
Janna tried again. "I—I know he helped. But that doesn't mean we owe him everything. He's changing us, Lux. You. Jinx. Even me."
"He's guiding us," Lux said firmly. "He doesn't tell us what to do. He shows us the path. We choose to walk it."
Janna stepped back. "No. That's not guidance. That's manipulation."
Lux narrowed her eyes. "If you really believed that, you wouldn't feel the way you do."
Janna froze.
"You love him," Lux said quietly. "Don't you?"
"I—no. I don't—"
"It's okay," Lux said, stepping closer. "You can say it. We all love him. Jinx. Me. You. We just show it differently."
"You don't know what I feel," Janna snapped, voice trembling.
Lux's gaze softened, but it didn't retreat. "I do. I do, Janna. You're not alone in this. We were all drawn to him the moment he stepped into our lives. It wasn't a trick. It wasn't magic. It was Peter. Being Peter."
Janna shook her head violently, like she could knock the thoughts loose. "No. No, I won't—I can't be like you two. I won't."
Lux sighed. Not annoyed. Not angry. Just resigned.
"You already are."
Janna's heart pounded.
She couldn't breathe.
Without another word, she turned, stumbling backward toward the door.
"I'm going out. I need some air," she muttered.
Lux didn't stop her.
Didn't reach.
Just watched with calm understanding.
Like she knew she'd come back.
Because she always did.
And Peter would make sure she stayed.
After all, he always knew how to keep the team together.
Even if it wasn't a team anymore.
Even if it was something else entirely.
POV Peter Parker
I was in the mines with Jinx.
Not real ones, obviously—just the blocky, pixelated caverns of Minecraft. Bedrock edition. Jinx had convinced me to join her world a few weeks ago, and lately, we'd been logging on almost daily. It was a bizarre ritual. Me in my studio room, glowing monitor bathing the space in warm light. Jinx on her console, cross-legged on the living room floor of her dorm, headset lopsided, hair probably a mess.
"I found more obsidian," I said, typing the words into chat.
"Good. Gimme like ten and I'll start building the portal," she replied.
"Creeper up ahead. Watch the corner."
"You kill it, Mr. Perfect Aim."
I did. Sword strike. Clean. Predictable.
She laughed over voice chat. Light, breezy. It didn't sound fake. Not around me. Not anymore.
"Hey," Jinx added after a beat. "How you been? Like, really?"
I blinked at the screen.
How I've been?
Three years had passed since that dinner. Since Lux kissed me under starlight. Since Jinx cornered me in an arcade and teased her way into my heart. Since Janna looked at me like I was salvation and damnation wrapped in one impossibly calm smile.
How I've been?
"Good," I typed.
It wasn't true.
I've been... deliberate.
I kept contact with both teams—Ahri's and Lux's. A check-in here. A training session there. A text message sent at the right time, always just enough to stay tethered.
Not too much.
Never too much.
Just enough to be irreplaceable.
Ezreal feared me. That much was obvious. He didn't know why. Couldn't explain it. And I didn't help. I prodded him during sparring. Played the part of a mentor laced with sarcasm. Not cruel, but just a little... unkind. It kept him small. Kept him questioning.
Lux and Jinx were different.
They were mine.
Not in any legal sense. Not in any moral sense. But spiritually?
They were engraved.
Every conversation, every look, every brush of fingers or lingering silence was a hook. Not magic. Not mind control. Just presence. Just me. I filled every corner they left open, and they left plenty.
The Guardian Aura, as some might call it, wasn't a power I summoned. It just was. A part of me. Part of being a Guardian. Made connecting easier.
People fall into my gravity.
And when they try to pull away—they find out they can't.
I kept notes.
Ahri: aloof but curious. Hides behind leadership. Would crack given the right pressure.
Miss Fortune: proud. Loyal. But she still has heavy insecurities.
Syndra: dangerous. I don't trust her. She's got one foot in the story and one in the shadows. If she vanishes, I already know where she's gone.
Soraka is still a mystery.
But I have time.
There's a pajama party coming up. A small gathering. Lux's team and mine. Ahri won't show—she's going to look for Neeko. She'll fail, of course. Not because she's weak. But because she doesn't understand the scope yet.
I could help her.
But I won't.
Not yet at least.
Ping.
A message. Janna.
It was simple. Passive-aggressive. The way she always spoke when she was unsure of herself. Something about needing to talk. Alone.
I raised an eyebrow.
I remembered how she looked at me that day in the woods. When she thought no one saw. When she allowed herself to lean into me. I remembered the softness in her voice, the disbelief in her eyes, the stillness of the moment when I pulled her close and she didn't flinch.
She hadn't pushed me away. Not then. Not in the three years since.
Even now, I could tell. I still had real estate in her head. Rent-free.
"Logging off for a bit," I typed to Jinx. "Rain check on the Nether run."
"Awwww," she wrote back. "Lame."
But her disappointment was shallow. She knew I'd be back. I always was.
I shut down the PC. The screen dimmed. The room went quiet.
And then I stood.
Janna was waiting.
And I... was curious.
Not because I didn't know how she felt.
But because I wanted to see how long she could pretend she didn't.
A few minutes later...
I knew she was upset the second I saw her.
Janna stood near the end of the block, eyes darting between the ground and me, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. The kind of expression that screamed, We need to talk. Which always translated to You're about to get screamed at.
I sighed inwardly. Of course it was going to be one of those mornings.
She didn't say hello. Didn't even look me in the eye.
"Follow me."
And so I did. Wordlessly. Through a few blocks, past a couple shops, and into one of the quieter walkways near the outer edge of Valoran City. No people. No distractions. Just the hum of distant traffic and our mismatched footsteps.
She stopped at an empty bench, turned, and finally looked at me.
Her first words weren't gentle.
"What the hell do you think you are?"
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Don't act like you don't know," she said, voice strained and trembling with something between anger and heartbreak. "Why can't I get you out of my head, Peter? Why did you change them—Lux and Jinx? Why do you just walk into our lives like some virus and twist everything around you?"
I let the silence stretch for a second, just to watch the conflict burn behind her eyes.
She kept going.
"At first, I thought you were just... nice. Thought maybe you were someone that would help us. Make things better. But then—then I saw the news. The bank robbery. The black suit. The way you moved like a shadow."
I said nothing.
"And then you... you fought the Human Torch. I watched you erase him. Not beat him. Not defeat him. Erase him. Like it meant nothing. You looked like a god. And all I could think about was how small we were compared to you. How wrong it felt that I ever saw you as just another guy."
Her voice cracked.
"And still, after all that... I can't stop thinking about you. And I hate that."
I looked at her—really looked.
She was scared.
But not just of me.
Of herself.
Good.
I tilted my head and let my tone soften—just a little. "So... that moment we shared. In the forest. When you were upset. When I held you. Protected you. Made you feel like you mattered. Did none of that mean anything to you?"
She opened her mouth, but I didn't let her speak.
"Because it meant something to me," I said, voice low and laced with false hurt. "I didn't have to talk to you, Janna. I didn't have to stay there when you were spiraling. But I did. I was there when your team didn't even notice. When Syndra humiliated you, when you felt like nothing—I was the one who stood beside you."
I took a step closer.
"And now you want to tell me I'm the problem?"
She looked away. Her fists clenched.
I kept going.
"Lux and Jinx? They're stronger than ever. Focused. Driven. Alive. Can you really say they were better before?"
"They're not themselves anymore," she snapped, finally snapping back. "They're hollow. Programmed. Everything that made them them—the laughter, the emotion, the imperfections—it's all gone. You replaced it with... whatever this is."
I shook my head slowly. "You're wrong. You don't see it, but they've evolved. They've adapted. You think they're hollow? No, Janna. They're disciplined. They understand what it takes to survive in this world now. They're not weighed down by their emotions the way you are."
She recoiled, blinking fast.
"And you're what?" she asked, voice cracking. "Some kind of savior? Some god we're supposed to follow blindly because you whispered nice things in our ears?"
"No," I said softly. "I'm someone who sees you. Who knows what you're capable of. But if you'd rather believe the worst of me, then maybe the problem isn't me. Maybe it's that you're afraid of how much you trust me. How much you need me."
Her breath caught.
I stepped even closer, just enough to be in her space.
"You say you hate me," I murmured. "But here you are. Alone. With me. Again. Why is that, Janna?"
She didn't answer.
Because she couldn't.
I reached out gently—no force, just enough to brush her shoulder.
"You don't need to fight it. I'm not your enemy. I never was. You want someone to blame because your world changed and you couldn't stop it. But deep down... you wanted it to change. Didn't you?"
Janna shuddered. Her composure crumbled in the space of a breath.
And then... she nodded.
A single, broken nod.
I smiled.
"Good girl."
The moment the words left my mouth—"Good girl"—I knew I struck something raw.
Janna's body tensed like a wire pulled taut. Her breath caught in her throat, her fists clenched, and that delicate calm she always clung to started to crack.
"What did you just say?" she snapped.
I tilted my head, calm, deliberate. "You heard me."
Her eyes burned. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of your... your toys, Peter."
I shrugged. "I don't have toys. I have people who listen."
Her voice went sharp. "That's the problem. They don't listen. They obey. You've twisted them into versions they wouldn't recognize in the mirror."
"Or maybe," I said coolly, "I just brought out what was already there."
Janna took a step closer, furious now. "Lux used to cry after missions. Jinx used to mess around, screw up drills. They used to care. Now they're machines—machines who worship you like some goddamn messiah!"
"And yet, they're alive," I countered. "Stronger. Unified. Better. Isn't that what you always wanted?"
Her voice cracked, frustration breaking through. "Not like this! They've lost themselves! And you—what even are you, Peter?"
I stayed still, silent.
"You don't talk about yourself," she said, eyes narrowing. "Not really. You smile, you nod, you act like everything's fine—but it's not. You were tortured. I don't know how, or by who, but I see it. You're not the same. And it's not just the black suit or your creepy calm. You're hiding something huge."
I gave a small smile. "And what do you think that is?"
She leaned in, voice biting. "You're broken. You play this perfect game, but it's a mask. A sick one. You manipulate people because you're terrified of being alone. You twist people into loving you so you'll never have to feel that pit in your chest again."
The words stung.
The symbiote hissed in the back of my mind, reacting—but I forced it down.
I exhaled slowly. "You're projecting."
"No," she said firmly. "I'm finally seeing you for what you are. A puppeteer. You turned Lux into your loyal soldier. You made Jinx stop smiling unless you're the one talking. And now you're trying to do the same to me."
I stepped forward, towering just a little. "If I wanted you, Janna... you'd already be mine."
She flinched. Just slightly.
"Is that a threat?" she asked.
"No," I said. "It's a mercy."
She slapped me.
Hard.
It echoed through the alley.
But I didn't even blink.
She stared at her own hand like it had betrayed her.
I smiled faintly. "Feel better?"
Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. "You're sick."
"And yet," I said, "you're still here."
She turned on her heel.
"I hate you," she spat.
"You sure?"
She didn't answer. Just ran.
I stood there, watching the street she disappeared down, letting the silence settle around me.
Another crack in the mirror.
And she'd be back.
They always came back.
Eventually.
Janna's POV
I didn't stop running.
I couldn't.
The sound of his voice was still echoing in my head—Are you sure?—like a ghost clinging to the insides of my skull. I wanted to scream it out, tear it out, drown it in noise. But there was nothing to drown it with. Just the sound of my footsteps slapping against the wet pavement and my breath hitching like I'd been stabbed in the chest.
I hated him.
I did.
Didn't I?
I repeated the words over and over as I turned down a side street, somewhere far from the market, far from the others, far from him. I didn't care where I was going. I just needed to be gone. To be anywhere but near that... thing.
"I hate him," I whispered aloud.
But it didn't feel true.
Somewhere beneath the panic, beneath the pounding pulse, something else stirred. A voice. No... a feeling. Foreign and mine at the same time.
You don't hate him.
My pace faltered.
I clenched my teeth, fists shaking, trying to exorcise the thought like it was some curse. "I do. I do hate him. He's dangerous. He's manipulative. He ruined them."
He saved you.
"No, no, he twisted them! He changed Lux. Jinx. They're not who they were—"
You're not who you were either.
I stumbled into a narrow alley and collapsed against the wall, my knees buckling beneath me. The air was thick. My chest heaved. I wiped the tears from my eyes, only for more to blur my vision.
I hated him.
But then...
That night came flooding back. The forest. The moonlight. The way Syndra's words had cut deeper than any blade—and then how he had found me, seen me, sat beside me without saying anything until I was ready to speak.
He didn't try to fix me.
He just listened.
And when I told him how hollow I felt, how powerless I'd been feeling—he'd pulled me into his arms without hesitation. His warmth didn't feel fake. His voice didn't feel rehearsed. He told me I wasn't broken. That I didn't have to be strong all the time.
That I could fall apart and still be whole.
Was that all part of the act? I thought bitterly.
But if it was, why did it still feel real?
"I hate you," I whispered again.
But I couldn't even picture his face with malice.
I could only remember how his eyes softened when he looked at me. How he always called me smart. How he made me feel like I mattered, even when I didn't want to.
He engraved himself into you, the voice inside whispered.
You let him.
I buried my head into my knees, sobbing into my sleeves. I didn't understand. I didn't understand anything. My thoughts were a tangled web, and every time I tried to pull one strand loose, it only wrapped tighter.
I hated that he always felt like he was ten steps ahead. That every word he said made me doubt myself. That he twisted guilt into apology and concern into obsession. And still—still—my heart ached when I ran from him. Like I'd left something behind. Like I'd abandoned someone I cared about.
"Stop it," I hissed at myself.
But the memories didn't stop.
Lux, smiling differently now. Jinx, softer only around him. The way they laughed with him. The way they looked at him. The way I did too.
"Why did you do this to me..." I choked out. "Why did you make me feel this way?"
There was no answer, only the rhythm of my sobs and the thundering war inside my chest.
He'd hurt us.
He'd hurt me.
But the pain didn't come from anger anymore.
It came from longing.
Longing for a version of him I thought I knew. Longing for the warmth of his arm around my shoulders. Longing for the way his voice had steadied me when I felt like crumbling.
I screamed into the alleyway, a guttural sound that no one would hear.
"I hate you!"
And in the silence that followed, a whisper from within:
No, you don't.
I covered my ears. Rocked back and forth. Cried harder.
Because I didn't know which voice was mine anymore.
Was I still Janna?
Or just another piece of him?
And that terrified me more than anything else.
POV Peter Parker
There was a sting on my cheek where Janna slapped me—not physical, of course. That'd be like an ant trying to shatter glass. But it lingered all the same. A dull echo. Her eyes when she ran... they were shaking. Like someone trying to scream underwater.
Still, I let her go.
They always come back.
Even if they doubt themselves, even if they scream and cry and tell me they hate me. Deep down, I know the truth. My Guardian Aura makes sure of it. Once I'm in their lives, I'm engraved. Etched into their minds like words on stone. They try to pull away, but there's always a string left dangling.
And eventually... they tug back.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and wandered the streets, my expression unreadable, lips curved ever-so-slightly in a crooked smirk. The city buzzed around me—cars, floating ads, kids rushing past on hoverboards—but I barely noticed. My mind was a thousand miles ahead.
That's when I saw her.
Sarah Fortune.
Sitting inside a nearby Starbucks, right by the window. The same chain I visited three years ago with Lux's team. Back when everyone was curious about me. Back when their questions were innocent. Before the suspicion. Before the obsession. Before the infection set in.
Funny how some things come full circle.
She looked distracted, eyes vacant, fingers lazily tracing the rim of her coffee cup. Her lips were slightly parted, like she wanted to say something but forgot the words.
Without hesitation, I stepped inside.
The scent of roasted espresso and artificial cinnamon hit me, blending with the murmur of customers and the soft grind of machines. No one paid me much attention. Good.
She noticed me before I reached her.
Her body stiffened, then settled into something neutral. Defensive. But not hostile. Not yet.
I leaned on the backrest of the chair across from her, tilting my head.
"Room for one more?"
She blinked. "Peter?"
I smirked. "Last I checked."
She looked like she wanted to tell me to leave. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled slightly inward. But she didn't.
"Where'd you come from?" she asked finally.
I shrugged. "Out for a stroll. Stretching the ol' legs. You know, after hours of mining obsidian with Jinx, it gets a little stiff."
Her brow twitched. "Gaming, huh?"
"Therapy," I corrected. "Pixelated therapy."
She let out a breath. Not quite a laugh. More like a sigh that gave up halfway through.
"I'm not in the mood for company," she murmured.
"I figured," I replied casually, pulling out the chair and sitting anyway. "But I don't require much. I'll be quiet if you want me to."
She gave me a look. One of those long, tired stares that said everything words didn't. For a moment, I thought she'd walk out.
But instead, she looked down at her coffee.
"...You ever wish you made a different choice?" she asked softly.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "All the time."
Her eyes didn't meet mine, but her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted her cup and took a sip. Steam rose between us, curling like memory.
"I have dreams," she whispered. "Of her voice. Screaming."
I tilted my head, silently urging her to go on.
"Xayah."
That name landed heavy.
"I still remember it like it was yesterday," she said, voice growing quieter. "We were a team. Me, Ahri, Neeko, Xayah, and Rakan. We fought Zoe together. Or... tried to."
I stayed silent.
"She came out of nowhere. Laughing. That laugh... it sounded like a child playing hopscotch over a graveyard."
My eyes narrowed slightly. I knew Zoe's madness well. Guardian Knowledge made sure of that.
"She took Rakan down fast. Too fast. One blink, and he was on the ground, not moving. Xayah ran to him, screaming for help. Calling our names. Neeko vanished. Ran. Tail tucked. Coward. And Ahri..."
Her jaw clenched.
"Ahri grabbed me. Told me it was too late. That we had to go."
"And you went," I said quietly.
She nodded once. "I didn't want to. I fought her. I begged. But she... convinced me. Said we'd die too. Said it was hopeless."
She looked up at me now. And for the first time in years, I saw it. The pain she buried. Not behind smirks. Not behind sass. Raw. Bare.
"Peter... she looked at me and said, 'We can't save them.' And I listened."
A tear traced her cheek. She wiped it quickly.
"Xayah was still screaming when we left. She fought until the end. For Rakan. For us."
Silence settled between us like a fog. Thick. Cold.
"I don't even know how they died," she muttered. "All I remember is Zoe smiling through the darkness. And then nothing."
I tapped my fingers lightly on the table.
"That's not all you remember."
She flinched.
"You remember the guilt," I added. "That's what stuck."
She looked at me sharply. But I didn't flinch.
"You want me to say you did the right thing," I continued, "but you don't believe it. You want to hear Ahri was right, but it doesn't help you sleep. And every time you smile in public, you're hoping no one sees how much of yourself you left behind in that moment."
Her eyes welled again. But this time she didn't wipe them.
"I had to live with it," she said. "For decades. And I still wake up in the middle of the night... hearing her voice. Screaming my name."
"Guilt's a cruel leash," I murmured.
She stared at me. "You... you're not judging me?"
"No," I said simply. "I understand more than you think."
I didn't elaborate. I didn't need to. That was enough.
She sniffed, quickly regaining her composure, wiping her eyes and setting her jaw tight again.
"I didn't mean to dump all this on you."
"You didn't," I said. "I pulled it out."
Her lips twitched faintly.
"Why?" she asked.
I smiled faintly, folding my hands together.
"Because I see potential in you, Sarah."
Her eyes narrowed again, suspicious. But something flickered in them too. A spark. A question she wasn't ready to ask.
Not yet.
But she would.
They always do.
I watched her. The way she wiped that tear too fast, like it burned. The way her fingers tightened around her cup like it was the only thing tethering her to the present.
She was breaking. Quietly. Elegantly. The way strong people do. The way soldiers do. Not in shouts or sobs—but in silence.
I leaned back slowly, fingers steepled, voice low.
"You know... I used to think the hardest part of surviving was the wounds."
She looked at me, eyes still damp.
"But it's not," I continued. "It's remembering who you were before them."
Sarah didn't speak, but her gaze didn't waver. She was listening. Really listening.
"When you've been through hell," I said, "you carry pieces of it with you. In the quiet moments. When the world's asleep and you're still awake, wondering if the person you left behind that day... was the last version of yourself that was whole."
A faint shiver ran through her.
I smiled—softly, not smug, not teasing. Just... human.
"I'm not gonna sit here and pretend I know what you felt back then. But I do know what it's like to have someone beg for your help... and not be able to reach them in time."
Her breath hitched.
"It stays with you," I whispered. "The way their voice sounded. The look in their eyes. The way your name leaves their mouth like it's the last thing they'll ever say."
She looked down. "Sometimes I wonder if I imagined it. If it was really that bad, or if I made it worse in my head."
"You didn't imagine it," I said, steady as a heartbeat. "But even if you had... pain doesn't need to be proven to be valid."
Her lips trembled. Just slightly. But that was enough.
I rested my arms on the table, eyes meeting hers with quiet weight.
"I don't know who you were before that day. I don't even know who you were the day after. But I know the version of you sitting in front of me now? She's still standing. Still fighting. Still breathing."
She tried to laugh. It came out choked. "I don't feel like I'm standing."
"That's the trick," I murmured. "None of us do. We just keep going anyway."
She looked at me then—really looked. The sharpness in her expression dulled. Not gone, but softened. Like a blade laid down, if only for a moment.
"Peter..." she said, quieter than before, "how do you live with it?"
I took a slow breath. Let it fill my lungs. Let the weight of the years settle behind my ribs.
"I don't," I said.
She blinked.
"I don't live with it," I repeated. "I survive it. One hour at a time. Some days, it's easy. Some days, I can't even look at myself in the mirror. But I survive. Because that's what people like us do."
"People like us?"
"People who've watched their world fall apart and somehow found a way to keep walking through the ruins."
She went quiet again, staring into her coffee like it might hold answers. Or redemption. Or maybe just a moment's peace.
I didn't interrupt.
I just let the silence be. Not a void. A space. A breath.
And after a long minute, her voice came back—fragile, but sure.
"I used to be so angry. At Neeko. At Ahri. At the universe. At myself."
"You still are."
"...Yeah," she admitted.
"And that's okay," I said. "Anger's not a flaw. It's a sign you're still human."
She nodded. Slowly. "I just wish I could forget."
I looked away for the first time, jaw tightening.
"Be careful what you wish for."
She looked at me.
"Because forgetting means losing them too," I added. "Even the good parts. Even the love. Pain is cruel... but it's also proof that they mattered."
For a second, she didn't move.
Then—barely audible—"You really do understand."
I turned back to her. Met her eyes again.
"I understand more than you know."
Her brows furrowed, like she wanted to ask—but something about the way I said it stopped her. A flicker of concern crossed her face.
"Are you... okay?" she asked gently.
That's when it hit.
A sharp pulse. Like a knife behind my eyes. Sudden. Violent.
I hissed under my breath and gripped the table with one hand, head bowing slightly.
Sarah leaned forward, alarmed. "Peter?"
"I'm fine," I lied, steadying my breath. "Just... remembering."
She didn't look convinced. "That didn't look like remembering. That looked like a—"
"Memory doesn't always come like a warm breeze," I muttered. "Sometimes it comes like shrapnel."
She watched me carefully, not prying. Just... present.
I let the silence return for a beat. Then I spoke again—slower this time.
"There was a battle," I said, voice low. "A long time ago. I don't remember all of it. Just pieces. Like glass shards stuck in my brain."
Her eyes searched mine, silently asking me to go on.
"There was someone... I think he was called the Guardian. He fought Thanos. The real one. Not the 'snap-happy cosplay' some people like to joke about. I mean him. The one that broke entire timelines just by showing up."
I saw her eyes widen. She didn't speak. Just listened.
"I fought with the Guardian. We took on the Black Order together. I handled them while he handled the big guy. It took hours. Everything was breaking—reality, time, gravity—it all bent and snapped like twigs in a hurricane."
She swallowed hard. "And... you won?"
I nodded faintly. "Yeah. For a while. We celebrated. Small, quiet. Wakanda. There was hope again."
A pause.
"And then?"
My voice turned cold.
"And then Astral Regulator Thanos arrived."
Her face drained of color. Even if she didn't know the villain, the way I spat venom at the mention of his name, she could tell.
"Whatever peace we earned... it was gone in a blink. He didn't even fight us. Just looked at us. Said we left a crack. A scar in existence after the war. He walked through it like stepping over a puddle. And then he..."
I raised my hand and snapped my fingers.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"He erased everything," I whispered. "Not just people. Not just planets. Existence. Time. Memory. Color. Emotion. Gone."
"...But you're here."
I looked away. "Me and the Guardian. Only us. Everyone else? Gone. Forever. Not even ashes. Just absence."
She didn't say anything. Couldn't.
I finally looked back at her.
"I don't remember the faces of the people I loved. I just remember the ones I failed to kill fast enough."
Sarah's eyes shimmered again. But she didn't cry. Not this time.
She reached across the table and placed her hand over mine.
It wasn't romantic. It wasn't pity.
It was solidarity.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
I smiled faintly. "So am I."
And in that moment—just for a second—two broken people, shattered by different tragedies, shared something real.
Something quiet.
Something whole.
Her hand lingered a second longer than it should've. Then she pulled back—slow, almost reluctant.
"I don't know why they all hate you," she said, voice softer now. "Ahri's team. Lux's, minus the obvious two."
I tilted my head slightly. "You mean Jinx and Lux."
She nodded. "Yeah. Them."
I gave a faint smile, eyes flicking to the window. "They've been different lately, huh?"
"Lux and Jinx? Completely. More... obsessive. Quieter around the others. Almost like they only exist when you're around."
I didn't respond right away. My fingers traced lazy circles on the tabletop.
"And the rest?" I asked.
Sarah's lips thinned. "Syndra calls you a manipulator. Poppy's been more tense than usual. Soraka watches you like you're a storm about to break. Even Janna... she doesn't talk much anymore. She used to, even if barely."
I exhaled slowly. "Let me guess. They think I'm dangerous."
She didn't confirm it. Didn't need to.
I looked down. Watched the light curve over the edges of my knuckles. "You believe them?"
Sarah was quiet for a moment. Then—
"I don't know."
Honest. I liked that.
"I've been watching you," she continued. "For years now. I see the way you act. Calm. Measured. Collected. Never once have you raised your voice or pushed someone to do something they didn't want to. Not directly, anyway."
She gave me a look. Not judgment. Just curiosity.
"So either you're the best actor I've ever met... or they're exaggerating."
I chuckled under my breath. "Maybe both."
She leaned forward slightly. "Peter... are you manipulating them?"
I raised my eyes. Let her see it—the flicker beneath the surface. That weariness. That pain I don't let anyone else glimpse.
"No," I said, quiet but steady. "I just exist. They're the ones who make stories out of it."
She held my gaze, searching for something behind my words. I let her look.
"I've been through things, Sarah. Things I don't even remember properly. Just pieces. Shards. Feelings that cling to me like smoke."
"What kind of things?" she asked gently.
I closed my eyes for a beat. "I was broken. Rewritten. I don't know who did it. I just know the aftermath. I wake up every night remembering pain... but never who caused it. Just screams. Chains. Fire. The feeling of drowning in my own thoughts. It's like someone erased the names of everyone I loved and left me with the grief anyway."
I looked back at her.
"That mess you see when you look at me? I didn't create it. I inherited it."
Sarah's expression softened. The edge in her posture faded.
"Three years," I murmured. "Three years of surviving in a world that treats me like I'm a threat. And maybe I am. Maybe I'm not what I used to be. But I swear to you... I've never meant harm."
She leaned back slowly, eyes never leaving mine.
"I think they're afraid of what they can't explain."
"And what can't be controlled," I added.
Her smirk returned—faint, crooked. "Well, I've never liked control freaks."
"I noticed," I said.
A silence passed. This one wasn't awkward. It was something quieter. Settling.
"Come on," I said suddenly, standing.
She blinked. "What?"
"Let's get out of here. This place smells like burnt sugar and depression. And your coffee's cold."
Sarah raised a brow. "Where would we go?"
"Anywhere. I haven't done anything normal in a while. You?"
She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Define normal."
"No explosions. No timelines breaking. No girls slapping me or calling me a parasite."
She laughed. A real one this time. It caught her off guard.
"I think I forgot what that feels like," she said.
"Then let's remember," I replied.
She studied me a second longer. Then stood.
"You know this doesn't mean I trust you," she said.
"Good," I said, offering my arm. "I'd hate to make things boring."
She rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder against mine as we walked out of the café.
The city greeted us with neon flickers, low-hovering traffic, and the hum of life trying to forget its own weight. I didn't know where we were going. I didn't care.
Because at least... I wasn't walking alone.
Valoran City never slept.
It shimmered—like a dream stitched together by neon threads and the hum of star-powered trains. Skyscrapers pierced the clouds, casting long shadows over cobbled plazas and floating shops. Hovercars buzzed by overhead, and the scent of fried dumplings, sugar-dusted buns, and cheap perfume danced in the air.
Sarah walked beside me, her stride casual but sharp. She still wore that coat draped over her shoulders like a cape. Like armor. But the weight in her steps was lighter now.
"So, Guardian," she said, glancing at me sidelong. "Where are you taking me?"
I smirked. "Anywhere that doesn't explode."
"High standards."
We started simple. Street food. A tiny ramen stall tucked between a vending depot and a charm store, its holographic menu flickering with glitched-out smiley faces.
We didn't sit.
We just leaned on the rail, slurping noodles from steaming cups while the owner—a half-asleep man with jellyfish tattoos—watched an old mecha-drama rerun on his tablet.
Sarah tried to look composed. Elegant. But the second she bit into a soft-boiled egg, the yolk exploded onto her coat.
"Son of a—!" She swore, grabbing a napkin, muttering curses under her breath.
I snorted.
"Don't say a word."
"Didn't say anything," I said, raising my hands.
"You thought it."
"I always think about eggs when I look at you."
She choked on a laugh. "That's... the worst flirt I've ever heard."
"I'm rusty."
We kept walking. Cup noodles in one hand, napkins in the other.
Next was the arcade—StarSide Arcade, to be exact. Flashing lights. Pop music. That weird carpet pattern that looked like the universe threw up.
Sarah hesitated by the entrance.
"I haven't been to one of these in years," she murmured.
I stepped in. "Come on. If you can survive Zoe, you can survive Dance Revolution."
Ten minutes later, she was stomping on glowing arrows like a woman possessed, tongue sticking out in concentration. I stood beside her, two steps behind, absolutely eating dirt.
"Admit it," she said, breathless, "I'm better at this than you."
"Not fair," I grunted. "Your boots have traction. These are Spider-slippers."
She doubled over laughing.
And I swear—for a split second—she looked young again. Not Miss Fortune. Not the woman carrying decades of guilt. Just Sarah. Alive. Light.
After Dance Revolution came Skeeball. She cheated. Used her wrist like a pistol. Won a stuffed jellyfish that she immediately tossed to a kid passing by.
We played Galaga. Co-op. She took a bullet for me.
"I got your six," she said with a wink.
"Now you're just flirting," I muttered.
"Maybe I am."
We drifted from the arcade to a night market. Bought starfruit slushies and candied lotus sticks from a vendor who spoke entirely in emojis. She made fun of my sweet tooth. I teased her for asking for extra chili powder.
Eventually, we found ourselves at the upper tiers of the city—above the clouds, where the air felt cooler and thinner, like you were breathing in stardust. A park sat on the edge of a sky tram line, quiet and empty. Artificial grass. Glowing flowers. A bench made of lunar crystal.
She sat first. I joined her.
Below us, Valoran City sprawled like a circuit board built by gods.
We didn't speak for a while. Just breathed.
"I don't get it," she said quietly.
"Get what?"
"Why they say those things about you. Why they look at you like you're about to snap."
I didn't answer. Just stared at the lights.
"Maybe they're just scared," she continued. "Not of what you've done... but what you could do. And that fear's eating at them."
I tilted my head, slow. "And you?"
She exhaled. "I don't see it. Not in you. Not tonight. Not ever, really."
Silence again.
It felt... good.
Comfortable.
The kind of silence that made you forget you used to be broken.
I closed my eyes.
Let the wind brush against my face. Let the sounds of the city wrap around me like a blanket I didn't deserve.
Then her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out. Looked at the screen.
I caught the flicker of Ahri's name.
Sarah sighed. "Duty calls."
"Everything alright?" I asked.
She read the message again. Her brows furrowed.
"Lux messaged Ahri. Said she needed the team to regroup. Something urgent." Her voice lowered. "Apparently she sent the same message to Janna, Poppy, and Soraka."
"Did she say why?"
Sarah shook her head. "No. But if Lux is rattled enough to contact Ahri directly, something's going on."
I stood. Brushed imaginary dust off my sleeves.
"Sounds important."
"You're not going to ask me to stay?"
I looked at her—gently. "No. You're part of something bigger. Always have been. They need you."
She studied me. "You're not upset?"
"Would it change anything if I was?"
"...No."
I smiled. "Then no. I'm not."
She stood too, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear.
"I had fun," she said. Quiet. Sincere.
"Me too."
We didn't hug. Didn't shake hands. Just... stood there for a moment.
She looked at me—longer this time. Like she was memorizing the angles of my face. The softness behind my eyes. Like she was afraid the others might try to make her forget what she saw tonight.
And maybe... she didn't want to forget.
"I don't know what they're so afraid of," she said again, almost to herself.
I leaned in slightly, voice low.
"Maybe you're the first one who didn't look away long enough to find out."
She held my gaze.
Then nodded.
And walked away.
I stood alone at the edge of the park, watching her silhouette vanish into the glow of Valoran's midnight haze.
And in her wake... the warmth lingered.
She'd remember this night.
So would I.
Even if the others tried to turn it into something it wasn't.
Even if, deep down, a part of me wondered what it really was.
To Be Continued...