ᴡɪᴛʜ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ

3 - A Web of Secrets

   ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆Peter POV⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

I stare at the letter MJ gave me, the words blurring together as I try to make sense of it. It's 6 p.m., an hour before we're supposed to meet whoever sent this. An hour's passed since she showed it to me, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around who could've sent it. Whoever it is, they know about Oscorp. They know about her. That can't be good.

I should be worried about her safety—hell, I am—but I can't shake this feeling of curiosity. Who's pulling the strings here? And why drag MJ into it?

I check the time again. The address she showed me is only a few blocks away. I could be there in minutes, but what then? What am I walking into? MJ seemed so sure, like she had everything under control, but she doesn't know what she's dealing with. Not like I do.

Still, it's not my job anymore. I'm not him. Spider-Man isn't showing up tonight—just me, just Peter. Except that never feels like enough, not when things like this happen.

I grab my jacket, feeling the weight of the letter in my pocket. MJ's probably already on her way by now, headstrong and stubborn, just like Gwen used to be. That thought hits me harder than I expect. Gwen. I can't let that happen again. I won't.

   I gave MJ my number on the way out of The Bugle, just in case she needed anything. I do think that she can handle herself, but I should probably leave before something does happen—i need to be there to stop it.

I reach for the handle to the front door, but my hand hesitates, hovering in the air. Doubt gnaws at me, twisting in my gut like a vice.

Turning on my heel, I race back to my room and fling open the closet door. My heart is pounding in my chest as I rummage through the clutter, panic rising with every passing second. Where is it? Where the hell is it? I toss aside old clothes, desperation fueling my frantic search.

Then, finally, my fingers brush against the familiar fabric, and relief washes over me like a wave.

My suit.

It feels almost alive, calling out to me, whispering promises of who I used to be. I grip it tightly, but the moment is fleeting as a sense of urgency crashes down on me. I can't just stand here.

I throw on the suit underneath my clothes, my hands shaking as I struggle to get it on. The weight of the moment settles over me, pushing me into action. I look in the mirror, and a flashback hits me—the first time I put it on, the rush of adrenaline, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders.

Reality snaps back, and I glance at the clock. Panic surges through me; I'm running out of time. I rush out the door, my heart pounding as I walk to the address on the paper, determination coursing through my veins.

I push through the crowded streets, the bustling city fading into a blur around me. My heart races as I draw closer to the building. Each step feels heavier, laden with the weight of uncertainty and concern for MJ. The streetlights flicker to life, casting long shadows that twist and turn in the gathering dusk.

And then, just a few paces ahead of me, I spot her. MJ is striding confidently toward the entrance, her auburn hair catching the last light of day. Relief washes over me, but the thought of her stepping into whatever danger awaits makes me want to call out for her to stop.

I quicken my pace, adrenaline surging through my veins. "MJ!" I call out, my voice rising above the evening noise.

She turns slightly, her expression focused and determined. "Peter?"