The rooftop wind cut like it had teeth.
Sol stood with his back half-turned toward the edge, Judy pressed close at his side, both of them breathing too hard for a night that was supposed to be quiet. Below, the broken front door of his building gaped like a mouth. Red-and-blue light hadn't arrived yet—no sirens, no cavalry—just his mom's voice, fierce and shaking, trying to hold back something that didn't care about being human.
On the roof in front of them, the man who called himself **Mr. Crane** waited with the patience of a predator that didn't need to hurry.
He looked ordinary in the way the worst people always did. No mask. No dramatic outfit. Just a dark jacket that didn't flap in the wind, and posture that screamed *trained*. His hands stayed loose at his sides, empty, like he wanted Sol to believe this was a conversation.
Sol's spider-sense buzzed like a hornet's nest in his skull.
Mr. Crane tilted his head. "You're young."
Sol forced his mouth into something like a grin, because if he stopped joking, panic would climb his throat and choke him. "I get that a lot. Usually from people trying to sell me car insurance."
Judy's fingers dug into Sol's arm hard enough to hurt. "Sol…"
He didn't look away from Crane. "Hey, Mr. Crane. Quick question. Do you guys have a punch card system? Like after the fifth kidnapping attempt I get a free smoothie?"
Crane smiled faintly. "That sense of humor will keep you alive. For a while."
Sol's spider-sense *spiked*.
He didn't know how he knew, only that he did—Crane wasn't here to "help." Crane was here to take him apart, neatly, efficiently, and carry the pieces back to whoever signed his check.
Sol's body moved before fear finished loading.
He shoved Judy back—gentle but firm. "Stay behind me."
Judy hissed, "Like hell."
Crane's gaze flicked to Judy like she was a fly. "You too," he said, to Sol. "You're traveling with a liability."
Sol's teeth clenched. "She has a name."
"Everyone has a name," Crane replied, and the calmness in his voice made Sol want to hit him even more. "Not everyone keeps it."
Sol's spider-sense screamed again.
Crane's right hand moved—not fast, not dramatic. Just a smooth motion into his jacket.
Sol didn't wait to see what came out.
He fired a web.
The pressure that had been building in his wrist all night snapped into release—hot, wet, and instinctive.
*THWP.*
The strand shot out thick and pale, hitting Crane's chest like a rope-fired harpoon.
Sol yanked with everything he had.
Crane didn't move.
Not even an inch.
Sol's stomach dropped.
Crane looked down at the web stuck to him, then up at Sol, almost amused. "That's new."
Then he *twisted* his shoulder, and the web line went taut and burned across Sol's palm like friction was trying to peel his skin off.
Sol staggered forward involuntarily, dragged by his own web.
Crane didn't pull hard—he didn't need to. He just used Sol's panic against him like leverage.
Sol tried to release the web—
It didn't release.
Because it wasn't a gadget.
It was him, and his body hadn't figured out how to "turn off."
Crane stepped in, closing distance with a single calm stride.
Sol's spider-sense shrieked.
He ducked—barely—just as something snapped through the space where his head had been.
A baton.
Black. Compact. Wrapped in grip tape. It cracked the air with the sound of intent.
Sol felt the wind of it graze his hair.
Judy gasped behind him.
Sol reacted like a cornered animal: he let go of the web, sprang backward, and his feet stuck to the roof for just long enough to give him traction.
He launched.
He landed wrong.
Not clumsy—he landed like his body was too fast for his brain, and the timing came half a heartbeat late.
Pain flared in his ankle.
Real pain.
Not superhero movie pain.
Pain that said: *you're made of meat, idiot.*
Crane advanced.
Sol threw another web—aiming for Crane's baton hand.
*THWP.*
Crane flicked the baton up and *cut* the web strand midair with a sharp, practiced motion.
The severed web whipped back and slapped Sol across the cheek, sticky and humiliating.
Sol blinked, stunned.
Crane's eyes narrowed, measuring. "Organic polymer. High tensile strength. Fast adhesion." He sounded like he was reciting groceries. "Helix is going to be thrilled."
Sol's blood went cold at the name.
He fired again—two strands this time, crossing like an X.
Crane stepped aside, and Sol's webs smacked into an HVAC unit behind him.
Crane closed in.
Sol's spider-sense blared.
He jumped sideways, but Crane was already there, baton swinging.
The baton clipped Sol's ribs.
A burst of white-hot pain bloomed under his skin.
Sol choked, stumbled.
Crane's baton came again—aimed for Sol's knee.
Sol jumped, barely clearing it, then Crane's other hand shot out.
A fist.
It caught Sol in the stomach.
Not a dramatic cinematic punch.
A real one.
The kind that drives air out of your lungs and makes you taste bile.
Sol folded with a strangled sound.
Crane grabbed the front of Sol's hoodie and slammed him back against the stairwell door.
Metal rang.
Sol's vision flashed.
Crane leaned in close. His breath didn't smell like cigarettes or booze. It smelled like nothing. Like the kind of person who doesn't waste time poisoning themselves when the world will do it for them.
"You can't protect them," Crane said quietly. "Not your mother. Not your sister. Not your friend."
Sol's eyes snapped toward the edge again—toward the street below—toward the broken door.
His mom.
Nia.
His spider-sense screamed so loudly it felt like nails under his scalp.
Crane followed his gaze with a small, satisfied tilt of his head. "They'll open that door eventually. Or we'll open it for them."
Something hot and furious rose up in Sol's chest.
Not a power.
Not a magical heroic thing.
Just human rage.
Sol's palm slapped against Crane's jacket.
And stuck.
Crane's eyes widened a fraction.
Sol's other hand shot up, sticking too—both palms glued to Crane like Sol was grabbing a wall.
Crane tried to pull away.
He couldn't.
Sol didn't understand what he was doing, only that his skin had decided *no*, and it was finally doing him a favor.
"Don't," Sol rasped, voice shaking. "Talk about them."
Crane's calm cracked for the first time—just a line of irritation. He yanked, harder.
Sol held.
His ribs screamed.
His ankle throbbed.
But he held.
Then Sol did the dumbest thing a scared teenager could do in a fight with a professional:
He headbutted Crane.
It was messy. It hurt Sol more than he expected.
But it worked.
Crane's nose crunched with a wet sound.
Blood sprayed—dark in the rooftop light—spattering Sol's cheek and hoodie.
Crane staggered back, one hand going to his face.
Sol coughed, dizzy, but standing.
Judy stared, horrified. "Sol—"
Crane's voice went low and ugly. "Okay."
He tapped his ear.
A click in the radio.
"Subject is hostile," Crane said. "Engaging. Prep retrieval."
Below, Sol heard shouts. Doors. The scrape of boots.
They were coming up.
Sol's spider-sense flared like a fire alarm.
Judy grabbed Sol's arm. "We have to go—NOW!"
Sol looked down again.
His mother was still there, framed by the torn-open door. He could see her silhouette, arm out, pushing Nia behind her.
Sol's chest caved in.
He couldn't leave them.
He also couldn't stay and get captured.
His brain split into two impossible choices and screamed in both directions.
Crane wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand, eyes flat again, and pulled something from his pocket.
Not a gun.
A small cylinder.
He flicked it—
And tossed it.
Sol's spider-sense screamed.
"DOWN!" Sol shouted, dragging Judy with him.
The cylinder hit the roof and *popped*.
A burst of mist—thin, white—spilled across the gravel, crawling low like fog.
Judy coughed instantly. "Gas—again!"
Sol's eyes burned. His throat seized. His lungs tried to reject the air like it was poison.
Crane moved through it like he'd trained in it.
Sol's spider-sense became chaos—warnings stacked on warnings until he couldn't tell which way was safe.
Crane's baton struck again.
It caught Sol's forearm.
Pain flared.
Then Crane's knee drove into Sol's thigh.
Sol's leg buckled.
Crane grabbed Sol by the wrist—right where the puncture marks were—and twisted.
Sol screamed.
It wasn't a clean snap, but it felt like tendons and joints were being wrung out like a towel.
Crane's voice was close to his ear, calm again. "You're not ready."
Sol's vision swam.
His wrist felt like fire.
And then—pure instinct—Sol fired a web point-blank.
*THWP.*
The web splattered across Crane's face, sealing his eyes and mouth in a sticky mask.
Crane jerked back with a muffled curse, hands clawing at the webbing.
Sol didn't wait.
He grabbed Judy, yanked her toward the roof edge, and ran.
His ankle screamed. His ribs screamed. His wrist screamed.
He ran anyway.
They hit the ledge and Sol didn't even aim this time.
He just threw his arm out toward the next building and begged his body to cooperate.
Pressure built.
Release—
*THWP.*
The web line anchored.
Sol jumped.
The world dropped away beneath them.
Judy shrieked.
Sol's shoulder nearly tore out of place again as the web caught and swung them across the alley in a brutal arc.
They slammed against the opposite wall.
This time, Sol didn't stick cleanly—his palms caught, his feet slipped, and he scraped down the brick hard enough to tear skin through his hoodie.
He tasted blood.
Real blood.
He wasn't sure if it was his or the guard's or Crane's.
Judy clung to him, shaking. "Sol—Sol—your arm—"
"I'm fine," Sol lied, through his teeth.
Because if he admitted he wasn't fine, his body might agree and collapse.
Above them, on the first roof, Crane ripped the web from his face in ragged chunks, chest heaving. Blood ran down his nose.
He pointed at Sol like a judge. "You won't get far."
Sol wanted to flip him off.
Instead he did something worse.
He turned away.
Because his mom was down there.
And there was nothing he could do from here except not get captured, not lead them back, not die.
He pulled Judy up, webbed the roofline, and hauled them onto the second roof.
They ran.
Across tar paper and gravel, over low walls and vents, the city stretching around them like a maze made of hard angles and worse consequences.
Behind them, stairwell doors slammed open.
More boots.
More voices.
Someone shouted, "CONTACT ON ROOF TWO!"
Sol's spider-sense screamed.
He webbed a vent stack and yanked Judy over a gap between buildings.
Judy almost fell. Sol caught her by the wrist.
His hand stuck.
Her sleeve stuck.
They dangled for half a second over the alley like a nightmare.
Judy's eyes were huge. "SOL—"
Sol hauled her up with a grunt that turned into a gasp when his ribs flared.
They kept moving.
His breathing turned wet.
He realized, distantly, that he was bleeding somewhere more than a scrape.
The cold air against his side felt… wrong.
He glanced down mid-run.
A dark stain spread under his hoodie near his ribs.
Crane had clipped him.
Something sharp—maybe a blade he hadn't even seen in the gas.
Blood.
A lot of it.
Not "movie blood."
Sticky, soaking, warm.
Judy saw his face change. "What? What is it?"
Sol swallowed. "Nothing."
Judy grabbed his hoodie and yanked it up enough to see the wound.
Her face went white. "Oh my God, Sol—"
"It's not that bad," Sol hissed automatically.
Judy's eyes snapped to him, furious. "You are literally leaking!"
Sol couldn't argue because the world tilted a little.
He didn't *feel* like he should be able to keep moving with that much blood.
But he was.
Which was horrifying in its own way.
They reached a rooftop access door.
Locked.
Judy cursed. "Great."
Sol didn't even hesitate. He grabbed the handle.
He didn't rip it off this time.
He just… *pulled*—careful, controlled.
Metal groaned, then yielded.
The lock gave with a sharp pop.
Judy stared. "That's… kinda hot in a terrifying way."
Sol barked a laugh that turned into a cough. "Not now."
They slipped inside.
Stairwell. Concrete. The smell of old piss and bleach.
They ran down three flights, footsteps echoing like gunshots.
At the ground floor, they shoved out into an alley behind a closed strip mall—dumpsters, graffiti, the city's back teeth.
Sol's spider-sense flared.
He grabbed Judy and yanked her behind a dumpster just as headlights swept the alley entrance.
A black SUV rolled past, slow.
Sol held his breath.
Through a gap in the dumpster lid, he saw silhouettes inside.
The passenger leaned forward, scanning.
Sol's spider-sense screamed like it wanted to peel his skin off and run by itself.
The SUV continued on.
Judy exhaled shakily. "Where do we even go?"
Sol's mind flashed to Dr. Ward's voice: *Stay inside. Lock the door.*
That was gone. That was ruined.
He couldn't go home.
He couldn't go to Judy's house and drag this danger there too.
He needed somewhere… neutral.
Somewhere with exits.
Somewhere he knew like muscle memory.
Sol whispered, "School."
Judy blinked. "You want to go to—Sol, it's like one a.m."
Sol nodded. "That's why it's empty."
Judy stared at him, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay. School. Cool. We can get murdered in a place that already murdered my GPA."
Sol almost laughed again, but his side throbbed and he tasted iron.
They moved low, cutting through side streets, keeping to shadows.
Sol's spider-sense kept buzzing—sometimes faint, sometimes sharp—like a warning system that didn't come with a manual.
By the time they reached **Bishop Rowe High**, Sol's hoodie was heavy with blood and sweat.
The building loomed, dark except for one faint light near the gym wing.
Judy frowned. "Why is there a light on?"
Sol swallowed. "Maybe a janitor."
Judy whispered, "Or maybe someone is already here, and that's a horror movie."
Sol forced himself forward anyway.
They slipped around to a side entrance near the gym doors—one Sol had used a hundred times for late practices and after-hours club meetings.
He tried the handle.
Locked.
Judy looked at him. "You're up, Spider-Boy."
Sol gritted his teeth, put his palm on the metal, and pulled.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
They slipped inside.
The hallway smelled like floor polish and old memories.
Their footsteps were soft on tile.
Sol's spider-sense eased for half a second—then flared again.
He froze, hand up.
Judy whispered, "What?"
Sol tilted his head.
Voices.
Up ahead.
Girls' voices.
Laughing.
And something else—music, faint, muffled.
Judy's eyes widened. "There are people here."
Sol whispered, "We just need a place to hide. Quiet."
They crept toward the gym doors.
The music grew louder—pop beat, then a pause, then counting.
"Five, six, seven—again!"
The gym lights were on, dimmed but not off.
Sol peeked through the small window in the gym door.
Inside, two girls were practicing on the hardwood, both in athletic shorts and hoodies tied around their waists. One moved with sharp confidence, hair up, posture perfect like she owned gravity. The other followed with a softer grace, slightly awkward but determined.
Sol recognized them immediately.
Aaliyah Grant—senior, captain of the dance team, loud laugh, sharper tongue, the kind of confidence that made half the school orbit her like planets.
And Hana Kim—senior too, honors student, medic club, the girl who always had bandages in her bag because she "liked being prepared." Quiet. Pretty in a way that didn't try too hard.
Both were in their teens. Both were here, alone, at 1 a.m., practicing like the world depended on it.
Judy whispered, horrified, "Why are they here."
Sol whispered back, "Dance competition is next week."
Judy blinked. "How do you know that?"
Sol muttered, "Because you forced me to help you with the stage lighting last year and Aaliyah screamed at me about 'team spirit' for twenty minutes."
Judy stared. "That was you?"
Sol nodded faintly, grimacing as pain pulsed through his side. "We can't be seen."
Judy looked at the blood on Sol's hoodie, then back at the girls. "We might not have a choice."
Sol's spider-sense buzzed again—faint but building.
Something was moving outside.
Cars. Slow. Searching.
He made a decision.
They slipped inside the gym.
The door creaked.
Aaliyah snapped her head around like a predator hearing prey.
Her eyes landed on Sol and Judy—and then on the blood.
The confidence drained into pure alarm.
"HOLY—" Aaliyah stopped herself, then pointed. "What the hell happened to you two?"
Hana's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh my God—Sol—are you—are you hurt?"
Sol held up both hands. "We're not here to—"
Aaliyah crossed the floor in three fast steps, jaw clenched. "You're bleeding."
Judy blurted, "We got jumped."
Aaliyah's eyes narrowed. "By who."
Sol's spider-sense buzzed, sharper.
He glanced at the windows. "Please. We just need somewhere to sit. Five minutes."
Hana moved instantly—no hesitation. She ran to the bench where her bag sat and yanked it open.
"I have supplies," she said, voice shaking but focused. "I— I have a first aid kit."
Aaliyah looked at Judy, then at Sol, then toward the gym door. "Are you being followed?"
Judy swallowed. "Maybe."
Aaliyah's expression hardened. "Okay. Lock the doors."
Hana froze. "Aaliyah—"
Aaliyah didn't blink. "Lock. The. Doors."
Judy rushed to the gym doors and shoved the deadbolt across.
Sol's legs finally gave the slightest tremble.
He made it to the bleachers and sat down hard.
The moment his body stopped moving, the pain slammed into him like it had been waiting in a line.
His ribs throbbed.
His wrist felt half-twisted.
His ankle pulsed.
And his side—his side burned like someone had poured hot metal under his skin.
Hana hurried over, kneeling in front of him, hands already pulling gloves from her bag.
She looked up at him, eyes wide. "Can I—can I lift your hoodie?"
Sol's face got hot instantly, because of course it did—because his body apparently had time for embarrassment now.
Judy noticed and rolled her eyes hard enough to power a city block. "Sol, stop being weird. You're literally bleeding out."
Sol muttered, "I'm not bleeding out."
Aaliyah snapped, "You don't get to decide that."
Sol glanced at Aaliyah. She was staring at the blood like it was personal.
He swallowed and nodded at Hana. "Yeah. Okay. Do it."
Hana's fingers lifted the hem of his hoodie carefully.
The fabric peeled off his skin with a sticky sound.
Hana sucked in a breath.
Aaliyah swore softly.
Judy went very still.
The cut was on Sol's right side, just under the ribs—a shallow slice, but long, jagged, and bleeding steadily. Not a movie wound. A real one. The kind that would keep bleeding if left alone.
Hana's face tightened. "You need stitches."
Sol tried to joke and failed. "I don't— I don't have health insurance for… rooftop knife fights."
Aaliyah shot him a look. "Not funny."
Sol swallowed, voice quieter. "I'm trying not to freak out."
Hana's eyes softened. "Okay. Then don't." She leaned closer, her hair falling forward, and Sol caught a scent—clean soap, a little sweat, something warm and human that made him feel grounded for half a second.
Hana pressed gauze to his wound.
Sol hissed as the pressure hit.
Hana flinched. "Sorry—sorry."
Sol breathed through his teeth. "No. It's— it's good. Do it."
Judy's eyebrows shot up. "Bro."
Sol shot her a look. "Not like that."
Aaliyah's lips twitched for half a second despite herself. "Uh-huh."
Hana kept pressure steady, her hands gentle but firm. The intimacy of it hit Sol like a second wound—someone this close, touching him, focused on him like he mattered.
His heart did something stupid.
His spider-sense did nothing about *that*, which felt like betrayal.
Hana glanced up. "You're… warm."
Sol blinked. "Thanks?"
Hana flushed. "No—I mean—your skin—like fever-warm."
Judy snapped, "He got gassed and beat up and sliced, Hana."
Hana nodded fast. "Right. Okay. I'm going to clean it."
She dabbed antiseptic around the cut.
Sol sucked in a breath, fingers gripping the bleacher edge.
The antiseptic burned.
Hana's voice went softer. "Breathe. In. Out."
Sol did, because her voice made it feel possible.
Aaliyah paced once, then stopped, staring toward the gym windows. "Who did this?"
Sol opened his mouth.
Spider-sense buzzed, sharp.
Outside.
A car door.
Distant.
Aaliyah saw Sol's eyes shift and went still. "They're close."
Judy whispered, "Helix."
Aaliyah blinked. "Helix… like the company?"
Judy nodded.
Hana froze mid-dab. "Why would Helix be after you?"
Sol swallowed, chest tight. "Because… we broke in."
Silence.
Aaliyah's face went slack. "You WHAT?"
Judy blurted, "It was my idea."
Aaliyah stared at Judy like she'd grown a second head. "Judy, are you insane?"
Judy snapped, "Yes! Next question!"
Hana's voice shook. "What did you see?"
Sol stared at the gym floor, then whispered, "A spider."
Aaliyah snorted, half-hysterical. "A spider."
Sol looked up, eyes dark. "Not a normal one."
Judy's voice went small. "It bit him."
Aaliyah's mouth opened, then closed. She looked at Sol's wrist like it might still have fangs in it.
Hana's hands trembled. "What do you mean it bit him."
Sol swallowed. "Exactly what it sounds like."
Aaliyah stared at his face, at the blood, at the bruises. Then her eyes flicked to his hands.
To the faint sticky strands between his fingers that he hadn't even noticed were there again.
Aaliyah's eyes narrowed. "What is that."
Sol instinctively clenched his fists.
The webbing stuck his fingers together.
He tried to separate them casually.
It didn't work.
Judy groaned. "Oh my God."
Hana blinked, leaning forward slightly. "Is that… silk?"
Sol's throat went dry. "I… don't know."
Aaliyah's voice went low. "Sol. Show me."
Sol hesitated.
Aaliyah added, "I'm already in this, aren't I? You bled on my gym floor. That's basically a blood pact."
Sol huffed a laugh despite himself—then winced from the ribs.
"Okay," he muttered. "But don't scream."
Judy muttered, "We're way past screaming."
Sol lifted his right wrist, aimed at an empty patch of wall, and flicked his hand the way it had happened on instinct earlier.
Pressure built.
His forearm tightened.
Then—
*THWP.*
A thick web strand shot out and slapped the wall, sticking instantly.
Hana yelped.
Aaliyah froze, eyes huge.
Judy threw her hands up like she'd seen it a hundred times. "See? Freaking spider-boy. Told you."
Aaliyah stared at the web line like it was a ghost. "What the actual—"
Hana whispered, awed and terrified, "Sol…"
Sol's voice was hoarse. "I didn't ask for it."
Hana's eyes flicked to his wound again, then back to his face. "Does it hurt?"
Sol swallowed. "Everything hurts."
Hana's lips parted slightly—concern, sympathy, and something else mixed in her expression.
Something that made Sol's stomach twist in a way that wasn't nausea.
Aaliyah snapped out of it first, brain switching to practical mode like a commander. "Okay. Okay—no more of that. If someone sees webs in this gym, we're all going to jail."
Judy muttered, "Already on the menu."
Aaliyah pointed at Judy. "Not helping."
She looked at Sol. "Can you pull it down?"
Sol tugged the strand.
The wall creaked like the plaster wanted to come with it.
Sol immediately stopped. "Yeah, no."
Aaliyah's eyes narrowed. "Great. Spider graffiti."
Hana, still kneeling, dabbed more around his wound, voice quieter. "How long does it… last?"
Sol blinked. "I don't know."
Judy whispered, "Original Spider-Man webs dissolve after a while."
Aaliyah stared. "How do you know that?"
Judy said, deadpan, "Because I'm a nerd. Also the internet exists."
Hana's eyes softened. "Okay. We can deal with the wall later."
She pressed fresh gauze to Sol's side and started wrapping bandage around his torso.
Sol sat still, because if he moved, it would hurt, and also because Hana being this close was making his brain do dumb, unhelpful things.
The bandage slid around his waist.
Hana's fingers brushed his skin.
Sol's breath caught.
Hana looked up quickly, cheeks pink. "Sorry—did I—"
Sol shook his head too fast and winced. "No. You're good. I'm just—"
Judy's voice cut in, sharp with jealousy and fear. "He's just being dramatic."
Sol shot her a look. "I have a knife wound."
Judy hissed, "And I have trauma. We all have something."
Aaliyah folded her arms. "Is this the part where you two flirt while bleeding?"
Judy snapped, "We're not flirting!"
Sol and Judy spoke at the exact same time:
"—Yes we are."
"—No we're not."
Silence.
Hana blinked, confused.
Aaliyah's mouth twitched. "I knew it."
Sol's face burned hotter.
Judy glared at him. "You did not just say yes."
Sol muttered, "I didn't mean—"
Aaliyah waved a hand. "Save it for when you're not covered in blood."
Hana finished the wrap and taped it, hands shaking less now.
"Okay," Hana whispered. "It's not perfect. But it'll slow the bleeding."
Sol exhaled shakily. "Thank you."
Hana met his eyes. "You're welcome."
Her voice went softer. "Sol… you're not a bad person. Okay?"
Sol's throat tightened unexpectedly.
He hadn't realized how badly he needed to hear that.
Aaliyah clapped her hands once. "Alright. Logistics." She pointed to the gym doors. "We keep lights low. We keep quiet. We don't let anybody in."
Judy whispered, "They might search the school."
Aaliyah's eyes sharpened. "Then we make sure they don't find you."
Sol stared at her. "Why would you do that."
Aaliyah scoffed. "Because I'm not letting some corporation walk in here and kidnap people like this is a spy movie. Also because I hate Helix. My cousin worked security there. They fired him for getting hurt."
Judy blinked. "That's… actually real."
Aaliyah's gaze hardened. "Yeah. It is."
Hana's voice shook. "If they're coming… we should call the police."
Judy's face twisted. "Helix has people. If containment's involved, police might not help."
Sol swallowed. "They already forced my front door open."
Hana's eyes went wide, horrified.
Aaliyah's jaw clenched. "Okay. Then we don't call them yet." She pointed at Sol. "You—can you move?"
Sol tested his ankle. Pain shot up.
He nodded anyway. "Yeah."
Aaliyah rolled her eyes. "That's a lie. But fine."
She grabbed a hoodie off the floor—hers—thicker, oversized.
"Take your hoodie off," she ordered.
Sol blinked. "What."
Aaliyah stared. "You are drenched in blood."
Sol's face got hot again. "I know."
Aaliyah's expression was blunt. "If someone sees you, they'll call 911. And if Helix hears 911, they'll follow it. Strip the bloody hoodie."
Judy made a noise like she was choking. "Aaliyah—"
Aaliyah didn't blink. "He's eighteen. We're all adults here. Relax."
Sol's brain short-circuited at the words *we're all adults here* because it didn't make this less embarrassing. It made it worse.
Hana looked away politely, cheeks bright red.
Judy stared like she wanted to murder Aaliyah.
Sol swallowed and slowly pulled his hoodie off.
It stuck briefly at the bandage and he hissed, jaw clenched.
Hana moved closer immediately, hands gentle. "Careful."
Sol nodded, breathing through pain.
The hoodie came free.
His T-shirt underneath was torn and stained.
Aaliyah tossed him her hoodie. "Put that on."
Sol caught it.
It smelled like perfume and sweat—like practice, like adrenaline, like a person who lived loudly.
He hesitated.
Aaliyah arched a brow. "It's a hoodie. Not a marriage proposal."
Sol muttered, "Feels like a marriage proposal."
Judy's head snapped. "Excuse you?"
Sol froze. "I meant—no—"
Aaliyah laughed once, sharp and amused. "Okay, Spider-Boy, put it on."
Sol pulled it over his head.
The fabric brushed his skin, warm, soft.
Hana's eyes flicked up, then down quickly again, like she'd accidentally looked at something intimate.
Sol's heart did that stupid thing again.
Judy noticed and made a strangled noise.
Aaliyah smirked. "Oh, this is gonna be messy."
Judy snapped, "Can you not."
Aaliyah held up her hands. "Hey. I'm not doing anything. You're all doing it yourselves."
Hana cleared her throat softly, trying to redirect. "We should move him somewhere less visible. If someone comes in—"
Aaliyah nodded. "Locker rooms."
Judy frowned. "Those have only one entrance."
Aaliyah countered, "They also have showers, bandages, towels, and a door that locks from the inside."
Sol's face warmed again at *showers*.
Judy saw it. "NO."
Sol snapped, "I didn't even say anything!"
Judy pointed at his face. "Your face is loud."
Aaliyah laughed again. "He's bleeding and still horny. That's impressive."
Sol choked. "I'm not—"
Hana's cheeks turned crimson and she whispered, "Aaliyah…"
Aaliyah waved her off. "Sorry. Marvel humor. Trauma response."
Judy muttered, "More like villain behavior."
They moved quickly—Sol limping, Judy supporting him on one side, Hana on the other. Aaliyah led them to the locker rooms.
Inside, the air smelled like chlorine and old sweat.
Aaliyah locked the door.
"Okay," she said. "We wait. We listen. We keep him from passing out."
Hana guided Sol to a bench and crouched again, checking the bandage. "If it soaks through, we change it."
Sol's voice was low. "Hana… thank you."
Hana met his eyes, softer now. "You don't have to thank me for basic human decency."
Sol's laugh was small. "You'd be surprised what people think you deserve."
Hana's throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Sol…"
Judy stood by the door, ear pressed to it, listening.
Her voice was tight. "I hear… cars."
Sol's spider-sense buzzed.
Aaliyah's expression sharpened. "How close."
Judy whispered, "Parking lot close."
Aaliyah's jaw clenched. "They're searching."
Hana's hands trembled again, but she forced them steady. "We should hide him in a stall. Or—"
Sol shook his head. "No."
He stood slowly, ignoring the pain.
Aaliyah stared. "What do you mean no."
Sol's voice was hoarse. "If they're here, it's because of me."
Judy snapped, "And you think you're going to fight them while bleeding?"
Sol looked at her. "I'm not going to let them take you. Or Hana. Or Aaliyah."
Aaliyah blinked. "Did you just put me in your 'people I protect' list like we're friends?"
Sol exhaled. "Yeah."
Aaliyah's expression softened just a fraction. "Idiot."
Hana whispered, "Sol… what are you?"
Sol's stomach twisted.
He didn't know how to answer.
He glanced at his hands. Sticky web strands clung between his fingers again, reacting to adrenaline.
He whispered, "I'm… a problem."
Hana stepped closer, voice firm despite fear. "No."
Sol blinked.
Hana's eyes held his. "You're a person. And you're hurt. And you're scared. That doesn't make you a problem."
Something in Sol's chest cracked.
He looked away before she could see how close he was to losing it.
Outside the locker room, footsteps echoed faintly in the hallway.
A voice—male—muffled through the door.
"Gym wing's lit. Check it."
Aaliyah's face hardened. "They're coming."
Judy's eyes went wide, whispering, "Sol—"
Sol's spider-sense erupted like a siren.
He lifted both wrists.
Pressure built.
He didn't even know what he was going to do—until he did.
He fired a web at the lockers.
*THWP.*
Then another, and another—rapid, messy, building thick strands like he was weaving a net.
Hana stared, breathless. "Sol—"
Sol yanked the webbing, layering it over the locker room door from the inside—sticky bands crossing like crude barricades.
Judy's mouth fell open. "You can do that?"
Sol didn't stop. "Apparently."
Aaliyah's eyes narrowed, impressed despite herself. "Okay. Spider-Boy's got hands."
Judy snapped, "Stop calling him that!"
Aaliyah shot back, "He literally is."
Footsteps stopped outside.
A knock on the locker room door.
Firm. Professional.
A man's voice, calm and too polite.
"Open up."
Aaliyah stepped forward, voice loud. "Locker room's closed."
Silence.
Then the voice again, colder. "Open the door."
Aaliyah's voice sharpened. "No."
Another pause.
Then metal shifted on the other side—the handle testing.
Sol's web barricade trembled as pressure hit the door.
Hana whispered, terrified, "Oh my God."
Judy grabbed Sol's arm. "They're going to break it."
Sol's spider-sense screamed.
He looked around—windows? None.
Another exit? There was a small service hatch near the showers that led to maintenance corridors. Sol remembered it from when someone had hidden contraband energy drinks in there during basketball season.
He pointed. "That."
Aaliyah blinked. "Are you serious."
Sol nodded. "It goes into maintenance."
Aaliyah swore. "Okay. Fine."
Hana grabbed her bag. Judy grabbed Sol's arm. Aaliyah helped him limp toward the showers.
As they moved, Hana's hand brushed Sol's waist again—steadying him.
Sol felt her fingers press through the hoodie fabric, warm, grounding.
His breath caught.
Hana looked up quickly, cheeks flushed. "Sorry."
Sol shook his head, voice rough. "Don't be."
Judy glanced back at them, eyes narrowing, and muttered, "I'm going to throw myself into traffic."
Aaliyah whispered, amused despite fear, "This is the weirdest rescue mission I've ever been on."
The locker room door groaned again.
Something cracked.
A man on the other side barked, "Breach."
Sol's spider-sense detonated.
"GO!" Sol hissed.
They reached the service hatch.
It was locked with a simple latch.
Sol's fingers stuck to the metal automatically.
He pulled.
The latch snapped open.
They crawled in, one by one—Judy first, Hana second, Aaliyah third, Sol last.
The space was tight. Dusty. Metal edges cold against skin.
Sol's ribs screamed as he squeezed through.
He gritted his teeth, refusing to make a sound.
Behind them, the locker room door finally gave.
A loud crack, then boots, then voices.
"Clear!"
"Check showers!"
Sol froze in the hatch, breath held.
A flashlight beam swept across the shower tiles.
Then moved away.
Sol crawled forward, muscles shaking.
They dropped into a narrow maintenance corridor—pipes, vents, darkness.
Aaliyah whispered, "Okay. Where does this go."
Sol swallowed. "It connects to the old boiler room. And from there… back exit near the auditorium."
Judy whispered, "Sol, how do you know all this."
Sol muttered, "I've been poor my whole life. You learn where buildings hide things."
Hana's eyes softened again—like she understood him in a way he didn't want to admit felt good.
They moved through the corridor, quiet, single file.
Sol's spider-sense buzzed constantly now, warning on loop.
His body felt both too strong and too fragile—like his muscles could lift a car but his blood could still drain out in the dark.
They reached the boiler room access.
Sol eased the door open a crack.
He peeked through.
Empty.
They slipped inside.
The boiler room was warm and stale, lit only by an emergency bulb.
Aaliyah whispered, "We're out?"
Sol nodded, pointing to a metal door across the room. "That leads to the auditorium hall. Back exit is there."
They moved.
Sol's ankle buckled once.
Hana caught him immediately, her body pressed close for a second—chest to arm, breath against his neck.
Heat surged through Sol, not helpful at all.
Hana whispered, "Careful."
Sol's voice came out rough. "Yeah."
Judy saw it and made a low, suffering sound. "I hate my life."
Aaliyah whispered, delighted, "Oh, it's definitely a harem anime now."
Judy hissed, "Stop saying that!"
Aaliyah shrugged. "I'm just observing. Like a scientist."
Hana's cheeks went pink. "Aaliyah…"
Aaliyah grinned. "What? He's cute. Also bleeding. Very 'tragic hero'."
Sol muttered, "I'm literally trying not to die."
Aaliyah whispered, "That's part of the appeal."
Sol stared at her. "That's insane."
Aaliyah winked. "Welcome to public school."
They reached the auditorium hall.
Sol eased the door open.
The hallway was dark.
Quiet.
Then Sol's spider-sense screamed.
He froze.
"Down," he whispered.
They dropped behind a row of stacked folding chairs just as footsteps sounded at the far end of the hall.
A shadow moved—slow, deliberate.
A flashlight beam swept the floor.
A voice—low—spoke into a radio.
"Gym wing breached. No visual on subject."
Sol's heart hammered.
Another voice crackled back, muffled. "Check auditorium. He'll move toward exits."
Sol swallowed.
They were herding him.
Like hunters.
Aaliyah's eyes were sharp now, no humor. "Okay. What's the plan, Spider-Boy."
Sol whispered, "Don't call me that right now."
Aaliyah whispered back, "Fine. Sol. What's the plan."
Sol's mind raced.
His spider-sense screamed.
He thought of Crane—calm, brutal, professional.
Thought of his mom downstairs, facing strangers.
Thought of Nia's wide eyes.
Then he looked at the girls beside him—Judy shaking but stubborn, Hana terrified but still there, Aaliyah fierce like she'd rather die than back down.
He whispered, "We split."
Judy's head snapped. "No."
Sol whispered, "Yes. If they find all of us, we're done."
Hana's voice shook. "Sol—"
Sol looked at Hana, eyes steady. "You two—" he nodded to Hana and Aaliyah "—go out the back and call 911 from somewhere far. Don't say Helix. Say intruders. Men with weapons in the school. Anonymous."
Aaliyah frowned. "And you?"
Sol glanced at Judy. "Me and Judy draw them away."
Judy hissed, "Like hell I'm leaving you."
Sol's voice went tight. "Judy—"
Judy grabbed his hoodie. "You don't get to martyr yourself, Sol. You're not that guy."
Sol's chest tightened. "I'm not trying to martyr. I'm trying to keep you alive."
Judy's eyes were wet, furious. "Then keep yourself alive too!"
Hana whispered, voice small but firm. "We won't leave you."
Aaliyah nodded once. "Yeah. I'm not running while you bleed out. That's not my brand."
Sol almost laughed.
Then the flashlight beam swept closer.
Sol's spider-sense screamed.
No more time.
Sol whispered, "Fine. Then we do it together."
Aaliyah's eyes sharpened. "How."
Sol swallowed, lifting his wrists.
Pressure built.
He aimed at the ceiling rig above the auditorium doors.
*THWP.*
Then another. *THWP.*
Web strands anchored to beams, thick and sticky.
Sol's fingers moved faster, like his body understood architecture.
He built a trap.
Not a perfect one.
A desperate one.
He whispered, "When they come through that door, we drop the rig."
Judy stared. "You can do that?"
Sol whispered, "I can try."
Aaliyah's grin returned, feral. "Okay. Now we're cooking."
Hana clutched her bag, breathing fast. "Sol… what if they have guns."
Sol's stomach turned.
He didn't answer.
Because the answer was: *then people die.*
The footsteps reached the auditorium door.
The handle turned slowly.
The door opened.
A man stepped in, flashlight sweeping.
Black tactical gear.
No logo.
Not Helix security—worse.
Sol's spider-sense screamed.
The man's flashlight landed on the webs above.
He froze.
His voice went sharp into the radio. "Visual anomaly—"
Sol yanked hard.
The webbing tightened.
The rig above the door—metal bar and hanging equipment—shifted.
The man looked up.
Too late.
The rig dropped with a metallic crash, slamming into him.
He went down hard.
A wet grunt.
Blood splashed—his nose or mouth hitting metal.
Sol flinched at the sound.
Realistic violence wasn't cinematic. It was ugly.
Behind him, another man shouted, "CONTACT!"
Boots thundered.
Sol's spider-sense screamed.
He fired webs blindly—thick strands slapping into the doorway, trying to seal it.
*THWP THWP THWP.*
Aaliyah grabbed Judy's wrist and yanked. "MOVE!"
They ran.
Down the side aisle, toward the back exit.
Sol's ankle screamed.
His ribs burned.
His side felt wet.
He smelled his own blood.
Behind them, someone fired a weapon.
Not a gunshot—more like a *hiss-pop*.
Something struck the wall and burst into sparks.
A taser dart.
Judy shrieked. "What was that?!"
Aaliyah shouted, "KEEP MOVING!"
Sol's spider-sense screamed again.
He ducked instinctively.
A baton whistled past where his head had been.
He turned—saw a man coming fast, face hard.
Sol fired a web at his face.
The strand hit, sticking across nose and mouth.
The man clawed at it, gagging.
Sol didn't stop.
They hit the back exit.
Locked.
Aaliyah swore. "Of course!"
Sol grabbed the handle, pulled—
Metal groaned, then snapped.
The door burst open.
Cold air hit them like a slap.
They spilled outside into the back lot behind the auditorium.
Dark. Empty.
Except for headlights.
A black SUV sat there already, engine idling.
Like it had been waiting.
Sol's spider-sense detonated so hard he almost vomited.
The passenger door opened.
A man stepped out slowly.
And even in the dim lot light, Sol recognized him by the way he moved.
Calm. Patient. Predatory.
Mr. Crane.
Blood still streaked his face from the headbutt.
His eyes locked onto Sol like a hook.
He smiled faintly.
"Told you," Crane said softly. "You wouldn't get far."
Sol's chest tightened.
Aaliyah whispered, "You know him?"
Judy's voice shook, "He tried to take Sol."
Crane's gaze slid across the girls like they were inventory. "You've collected quite the entourage."
Aaliyah snapped, "Don't talk about us like that."
Crane's smile didn't change. "I don't talk. I assess."
He lifted his hand slightly.
Behind him, the SUV's rear door opened.
Two more men stepped out.
One held zip cuffs.
The other held that compact rifle with the canister under it.
Hana whispered, terrified, "Sol…"
Sol's wrists throbbed with pressure.
His spider-sense screamed.
His blood felt cold and hot at the same time.
He looked at the girls—Judy's fierce, tear-bright stare; Hana's trembling courage; Aaliyah's defiant anger.
He thought of his mom again.
His sister.
How small they'd looked from the roof.
How helpless he'd felt.
He couldn't be helpless now.
Sol lifted his wrists.
Crane tilted his head. "You're hurt. You're tired. You're bleeding out." His voice stayed calm. "You can't win."
Sol swallowed.
Then forced a shaky grin, because if he stopped joking, fear would eat him alive.
"Yeah," Sol rasped. "But you're forgetting something."
Crane's eyes narrowed a fraction. "What."
Sol's fingers curled.
Webbing clung between them like pale thread of fate.
Sol said, voice low, "I'm sticky."
Then he fired.
*THWP.*
Web strands shot—not at Crane, but at the SUV's front wheel wells, then the ground, then the men's boots—anchoring fast.
The men stumbled as their feet glued.
One cursed, yanking.
Crane stepped back, avoiding the web like he'd learned.
Sol fired again—thicker, layering, building.
Judy grabbed Hana's hand. "RUN!"
Aaliyah grabbed Sol's sleeve. "MOVE, Spider—Sol!"
Sol turned and ran with them—limping, bleeding, but moving faster than he had any right to.
Crane's voice cut through the night, calm and cold:
"Bring him in."
And the chase began again—blood on the pavement, web strands snapping in the dark, and Sol Smith learning the worst truth of power:
It didn't make you safe.
It just made you a target.