Peter awoke to a silence that felt too big. Those dreams flickered in his mind — a room of mirrors, each one an image of him glowing in blue. When he got up, his chest continued to thrum as if the ring were pulsing against his ribcage. He swallowed, the sound loud as a bell in the tiny room.
He got out of bed not because he wished to, but because routine was a thing he still had control over. He dressed, tucked the ring beneath his sleeve, and sat at his desk until the sun banished the fog of sleep. Today, he would attempt something else entirely, not to flee the sound of his own beating heart.
MJ sat waiting in the corridor, as she always seemed to be, like an old-fashioned figure facing the light. She slid inside without knocking, carrying two steaming paper cups.
"You seem to have survived a metaphysical hurricane," she said, passing him one. "What is our resident weather phenomenon this morning?"
Peter picked up the cup and blew over the surface. "Tired," he said simply. "And I keep dreaming in blue."
She took a sip and plopped down on the bed. "The dreams are getting worse?"
"Not worse. Clearer," he answered. "As if it's trying to communicate with me instead of scare me."
MJ studied him. She'd witnessed him at his worst, his best, and everything awkward in between. Now she looked at him with a kind of open curiosity that wasn't pity and didn't pry.
"Then listen," she said. "Not at it — with it. Don't let it drown you out."
"How do you even…?" He had the words on the edge of his tongue — questions about how she could be so calm — but he swallowed them. She'd already been patient enough.
She smiled, a soft and private smile. "Tiger, one step at a time. Help people. Then go home and be Peter Parker. Both are hard; both are worth it."
He allowed the advice to settle, an anchor in the muddled room. He went to school carrying less dread than he had the previous night.
During lunch, they went to the rooftop because the cafeteria was too loud to think. MJ sat cross-legged, sketching absentmindedly, the tap and scratch of her pencil filling the space.
"You ever tried meditating?" she asked.
Peter snorted. "Me? Sitting still? I'd fall asleep in three seconds."
"Not like that. Breath, grounding — focus. It's practice. I can lead you."
Her tone was practical, not romantic. She made it sound like homework; he'd end up doing it.
They closed their eyes. She counted the breaths, slow and steady, then asked him to notice everything, the weight in his feet, the cool air, the hum in his chest. Not to fight the ring's presence, but to recognise it without panicking.
At first his mind darted everywhere — web tension, homework, a headline he'd read — but MJ's voice kept pulling him back. On the third breath, he felt a pulse from the ring and knew it was in sync with his own. Not leading; mirroring. The line that had always been panic loosened.
When they opened their eyes, the rooftop looked just the same, the skyline unchanged. But the quiet had shifted. He felt steadier.
Later that same afternoon, on a screen a few miles away, Tony Stark saw different patterns. The drones were silent — no hum, no flashing lights — and his feeds lent him a sense of timing and habit. Peter walked with a rhythm. He rested in certain alleys; he shied away from cameras.
"This boy is careful," Tony muttered. "Not just hiding — deliberate. Every step planned out."
He recorded coordinates, timelines, the rhythm of the ring's flares and calms. He didn't want to scare the kid. He wanted to know the instrument — and the hands holding it.
Jarvis broke the silence. "Sir, a low-frequency signature has appeared twenty miles north of the city. Rhythmic and dark — distinct from anything previously recorded in this energy state."
It appeared as a small node on the fringes of the lab's map, pulsing in a way that made the blue traces on Tony's screen tighten like a drawn string.
"Track it," Tony said. "Keep it away from the city for now. I don't want whatever that is knowing we're watching."
"Scanning periphery," Jarvis replied. "Geospatial sweep scheduled. Persistent monitoring initiated."
Tony didn't call for reinforcements — not yet. He made notes instead: potential points of study, who to contact quietly (not Bruce — Banner was tied up), and which of his lesser-known associates might have the right nonpublic data.
The unknown at the edge of the map had raised the stakes from curiosity to danger.
For Peter, the ring's learning curve brought small but surprising lessons.
While volunteering at the community centre, he straightened a sagging banner and felt a warm twinge in his chest. The banner stopped fluttering, as if someone had paused the wind. The kids giggled and cheered; no one noticed the stillness except him. The ring had saved a sloppy job from becoming a minor injury — without fanfare.
Those unassuming rescues felt like proof that what he had could be used without spectacle. He liked that. He liked being useful without headlines. It was a quiet comfort.
But the ring also answered differently at school. In the physics lab, while soldering a prototype web cartridge, he misread a voltage and sparks jumped. His hands jerked; the ring flared bright enough to blind him for a heartbeat.
He expected pain — but the burn stopped halfway to his skin. He was left with a shallow mark and a pounding heart that felt like a drumline.
It dawned on him then: the ring didn't just amplify — it could intervene physically, even protect. That control wasn't a toy; it was a responsibility that demanded deliberate practice.
That night, Tony took things a step closer in the only way he thought safe — a public invitation.
He arranged a small, nonthreatening event that didn't name Peter or the ring. Midtown High received an email from Stark Industries proposing a guest presentation on "Applied Materials and Emerging Energy" and an opportunity for a select few students to spend a week in a Stark lab as supervised interns.
It sounded like an honour — and like a closed door.
As replies came in — parents calling, administrators debating logistics — Tony zeroed in on one submission: a short, impromptu note from a Queens household.
That night, Peter's phone buzzed with a single line:
Selected candidate for the Stark Initiative — please attend an orientation presentation on Friday. — S.I. Team
He stared at the message until the screen blurred. The ring pulsed against his skin — inquisitive, steady.
MJ, standing at the counter making tea, caught the look on his face. "You sure about this?" she asked.
He nodded. "No. But maybe I should find out who's been peeking into my life."
She reached for his hand — grounding, ordinary. "Or maybe it's a chance to choose who helps you, instead of letting whoever's watching decide for you."
He let himself believe that, just for a moment.
Across the river, Tony watched the small reply appear on his private screen — confirmation. He allowed himself a thin smile. The internship would be a thread; pull it carefully, and he might see what the ring could do under supervision.
He wasn't naïve enough to believe mentorship was guaranteed. He was, however, smart enough to understand the ethics of controlled proximity.
On the far edge of his map, the unknown node continued to pulse. It hadn't moved closer, but its rhythm wasn't neutral. It felt hungry — reactive to the ring in ways Tony couldn't explain.
That night, Peter lay awake as rain washed through the city. The ring was warm, steady against his skin. He didn't know what kind of tone the coming week would take — testing, learning, betrayal, or all three.
All he knew was that he would walk into it with MJ beside him, Tony watching from above, and something else — quiet, patient, waiting — watching from afar.
He breathed in, then out. Hope, he realised, wasn't a bright banner held aloft. It was quieter: the choice to keep standing when the weight wanted to make you fold.
He closed his hand over the ring and whispered, "Okay. Let's try this."
The ring pulsed, answering with a gentle blue certainty.
And a new week began.