❝ they are the hunters, we are the foxes and we run ❞
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012. escape
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓, going from deafening chaos to eerie silence, as if someone had flipped a switch. One moment, it was the usual New York City noise — cars honking, J. Jonah Jameson’s voice booming from every screen, the hum of a thousand conversations — and the next, all that was left for Ingrid was the ringing in her ears and the pounding of her heart, each beat feeling like it might burst through her chest.
Ingrid had always been the type to fight, never flight. When danger loomed, her first instinct wasn’t to flee; it was to face it head-on, fists clenched, fire literally surging within her. Fear didn’t make her freeze. It ignited something primal in her. She never shied away from a confrontation. But now, surrounded by a crowd that pressed in tighter by the second, with phones raised like weapons and eyes wide with curiosity, that instinct failed her.
She didn’t want to fight. She didn’t even want to run. She wanted to vanish, to stop existing, just for a moment. But disappearing wasn’t an option. So, she did the next best thing: she took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay composed, though her insides were trembling. She focused on breathing, on keeping her fire under control, trying to ignore the fact that she was being crushed on all sides by people whose attention had shifted from the news to her. To them.
Someone shoved into her, and she stumbled, colliding with a middle-aged woman. The woman spun around, eyes wide, and gasped loudly. “Oh my God!” she shrieked, like she had seen a ghost. The words hit Ingrid like a punch, making her wince.
Before she could step away, the woman pointed directly at her, turning heads. “It’s her!” More phones lifted, lenses zeroing in on Ingrid, capturing every second of her frozen shock.
A dam broke. The questions, the shouting, the demands for answers — they hit all at once, a tidal wave of noise that was impossible to process. She couldn’t make out individual words, couldn’t separate one voice from another. It was all too much. The crowd surged closer, suffocating her with their presence, their curiosity turning into something darker, more invasive.
“Is it official?” A voice cut through the noise. A man, tall and persistent, kept repeating the question, his words pounding against her eardrums until she couldn’t ignore him anymore. “Are Solar Flare and Spider-Man officially dating?”
Ingrid’s mouth opened, but no words came. The phones kept flashing, and the man’s voice wasn’t the only one. Others joined in, shouting over each other. They weren’t asking — they were demanding. Like she owed them something.
Before she could react, someone grabbed her arm, yanking her around to face them. Panic flared in her chest, hot and bright. Instinctively, she tugged her arm back, the fire inside her flickering to life, but she suppressed it. She couldn’t lose control here. Not now.
