Chapter 3
She didn’t expect it to feel this… natural.
Swinging through Earth-42’s skyline at dusk was like gliding on the beat of a city’s heart finally starting to calm. Maybe it was temporary. Maybe it was fake. But Gwen could feel it—the streets weren’t bleeding chaos like before. Fewer break-ins. Fewer robberies. Less of that eerie tension clinging to the corners of every alley.
And she was part of the reason.
Spider-Woman had become more than just a costume now. She was getting the hang of the timing, the movements, the feeling of air cutting past her cheek. Her body didn’t ache with every landing anymore. Her aim with the webs was cleaner, her reflexes sharper. A few folks even started cheering when they saw her—less panic, more relief.
After one more patrol swing past the rooftops of Prospect Park, she headed home.
By the time she slipped through her bedroom window, she had five minutes to clean up before her dad got home for dinner. Gwen yanked off her mask, heart still racing from the last rooftop leap. She threw on a hoodie and tied her hair back into a quick bun, laughing at her own reflection. Her cheeks were flushed with adrenaline, but her eyes were alive.
The front door opened. “Gwen? You home?”
“Kitchen!” she called, wiping her palms on her jeans before setting the plates.
Captain George Stacy walked in, unbuttoning the top of his uniform shirt. He looked exhausted, but there was a rare softness to his face tonight. Less tension in the jaw. Less stress behind the eyes. Gwen noticed. She always noticed.
“You’re actually home on time?” she teased, placing down the forks.
“Miracle, huh?” He pulled her in for a quick hug. “City’s finally breathing a little. I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is—I’ll take it.”
She sat across from him at the tiny table. “Heard the Prowler’s been keeping quiet.”
“Mm. For now,” her dad muttered, stabbing at his rice. “Still a menace. Last week, there was a weapons shipment intercepted on our watch. No one saw who, but I got a feeling it was him. And that new masked one—Spider-Woman or whatever—don’t even get me started on her.”
Gwen bit the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s reckless. Jumping into danger, interfering with operations. Kids thinking she’s some kind of hero.” He sighed and pointed his fork at her. “If I ever catch you swinging from a rooftop, I swear—”
“You’d ground me?” she smirked.
“I’d lose my mind.”
They both laughed, and for a few minutes, it was just dinner and jokes and the hum of a TV next door. Gwen let herself melt into the peace of it. Her dad was smiling. The city was resting. And under the table, she flexed her fingers, feeling the faint tingling rush in her veins.
She was changing. But she wasn’t alone.
The city never slept, not in Earth-42. Even if crime rates had dipped slightly since Spider-Woman swung onto the scene, trouble still simmered under the surface.
Gwen crouched on a rooftop, breathing in the night air. Her suit clung to her like a second skin—cool, streamlined, comfortable now. The streets below buzzed, neon lights bouncing off graffiti-tagged walls. Her comm picked up a crackle, and then came the voice of a nearby patrol officer through the tapped frequency:
“All units—corner of Bristol and 47th. Suspected Prowler attack. Repeat, possible Prowler sighting.”
Her heart jumped. Prowler.
She’d heard the name before. Whispers. Graffiti tags. Stories about a masked thief who operated in precision—smooth, unbothered, untouchable. No one ever saw him long enough to tell the tale clearly.
Until now.
Gwen shot a web to the nearest antenna and launched herself into the air. Wind roared in her ears as she soared across the skyline. A few blocks later, she landed on the side of a brick building and peered down.
The scene was mid-heist.
A sleek figure in a matte black and deep violet suit knelt beside a tech transport truck, one hand on a glowing lock that was sparking and cracking open.
The Prowler.
He moved like music. Controlled, efficient, artistic in his chaos. Gwen couldn’t help but watch for a moment—his posture, the way he checked his surroundings without ever fully turning his head. He knew the streets like they were his own body.
Then he spoke.
“Thought you’d show up, Spider-girl.”
His voice was smooth. Confident. Gwen blinked. How’d he know she was there?
She flipped down anyway, landing in a crouch across from him.
“Spider-woman,” she corrected.
Prowler chuckled, standing fully upright. “Didn’t mean to offend. You're smaller than I imagined.”
“Funny. You’re exactly as dramatic as I imagined.”
He tilted his head. “You play hero often, or just when there’s a crowd to impress?”
Gwen narrowed her eyes. “Only when there’s someone worth stopping.”
He tossed the stolen tech part in the air and caught it lazily. “Then you came to the right place.”
With that, he lunged.
Gwen blocked his first strike with a web-shield and shot herself upward to gain height. Prowler followed with a grappling hook, slamming into her mid-air. The two tumbled into a nearby building’s fire escape.
Metal clanged, sparks flew.
He was fast. Strong. But so was she.
“You don’t seem like the team-up type,” Gwen grunted, dodging his sharp gauntlet swipe.
“I don’t play well with others,” he replied, flashing a grin beneath his mask.
They clashed again—webs against claws, finesse against brute power. He wasn’t trying to kill her. He was testing her. Teasing her. Gwen could tell by the way he paced their fight, always a step ahead, but never aiming for anything fatal.
“You’ve got moves,” he said at one point, pinning her briefly to a rooftop ledge. “But you’re new. Reckless.”
She flipped him over her shoulder. “And you talk too much.”
He laughed as he landed in a roll and disappeared into the shadows.
Gwen stood alone, panting. He was gone. The tech was gone. But so was the fear.
She’d met the
Prowler.
And he definitely wasn’t just some street-level thug.
The city pulsed beneath Gwen’s feet as she followed Dezi down a narrow backstreet lit with only purple LEDs and the occasional flicker of a neon sign. Dezi walked like she owned the place—bright pink puffer jacket bouncing with every step, her phone screen lighting her face as she navigated.
“This place is kinda underground. Like, actually underground,” she said with a smirk. “My boy Ganke’s spinning tonight—he knows people. You’ll love it.”
Gwen grinned, adjusting the oversized hoodie she wore to hide her suit beneath. “If there’s dancing and music, I’m in.”
They ducked through a graffitied metal door, then descended a dim stairwell where the thump of bass grew louder with every step. The air inside the rave was thick with sweat, smoke, and sound—low ceilings painted with glowing murals, kids dancing in clusters beneath shifting lights. It felt like a world away from the chaos of Earth-42’s streets.
Reina waved them over from the side of the dancefloor, already bopping to the beat with a drink in hand. Gwen slipped into the rhythm, letting the music wash over her, her tension easing. She wasn’t Spider-Woman here. No masks. No stakes. Just Gwen.
But then—
Her eyes caught him across the room.
Lean against the far wall in a black hoodie, arms crossed, gold chain peeking beneath the collar, half-shadowed by the flicker of lights—Miles Morales.
Gwen blinked, half-convinced it was her brain playing games. But no. It was him. Same sharp jawline, same quiet confidence in the way he stood like he didn’t care who noticed him—but knew they would.
“What’s wrong?” Dezi nudged her.
“That guy,” Gwen said under her breath, “I think I know him.”
“Oh him?” Reina chimed in. “That’s Miles. Ganke’s boy. He’s always here, never dances though. Too cool for it or whatever.”
Gwen wasn’t sure what made her walk over. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was how calm he looked in a world built on noise. Her heart was already doing flips.
“Hey,” she said, standing a little awkwardly beside him.
Miles turned, slow. His eyes scanned her. Recognition flashed, maybe. Or was that hope?
“You came,” he said simply.
“You remember me?” Gwen asked, a bit surprised.
“Hard to forget someone who breakdanced like that,” he said with the faintest smirk.
Gwen smiled, heart pounding.
He leaned back, gaze lazy but alert. “You good out there?”
“I manage,” she said, looking around. “It’s loud, but kinda freeing.”
They stood in silence for a second, bass vibrating the floor.
Gwen played with the hem of her hoodie. “I was hoping I’d see you again.”
Miles didn’t answer right away. He didn’t flirt, didn’t lean closer. Just looked at her, calm and unreadable.
“You got good timing,” he finally said. “Crowd’s not bad tonight.”
It wasn’t the response she’d hoped for. But it wasn’t rejection, either.
“You ever dance?” she asked.
He raised a brow. “Only if the floor’s empty.”
Gwen laughed, hiding her disappointment behind a smile.
Maybe he wasn’t into her. Or maybe he was just Miles—quiet, collected, impossible to pindown.
Either way, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The moon hung low over the rooftops of Earth-42, bathing the city in a sickly orange glow. Gwen swung silently between buildings, her white and pink suit cutting through the shadows like a whisper. She’d gotten good at this—reading the city’s rhythm, slipping in and out of trouble. But tonight? Trouble found her.
A familiar boom shook the air. Then came the crackle of alarms, followed by screams echoing from a jewelry store two blocks over. Gwen didn’t hesitate.
She landed on a rooftop just across from the scene, crouching low behind a billboard. The Prowler was there—again. But this time, he wasn’t rushing. He was taking his time. Examining a purple and gold necklace through the tinted visor of that gleaming mask, claws glinting in the flickering streetlight.
“You got expensive taste,” Gwen called down, flipping onto a streetlamp just behind him. “Aren’t you tired of being dramatic?”
The Prowler’s head tilted slowly toward her, almost amused. Then, a chuckle. “Spider-girl. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
She landed a few feet away. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He stepped forward with a casual swagger, his clawed hand twirling the necklace like it was nothing. “You always talk this much, or just when you’re nervous?”
“I only get nervous when the bad guys don’t flirt with me,” she snapped back, masking the heat crawling up her neck.
He laughed—low, smooth, and infuriating. “Didn’t realize you had jokes, princesa.”
“You’re stalling,” Gwen growled, narrowing her eyes.
“So are you,” he said, stepping closer. The way he moved was calculated—like every shift of his weight was meant to intimidate or distract. Or… maybe tease.
“Want your necklace back?” he asked, holding it out. “Come take it.”
Without another word, Gwen launched at him.
They clashed hard—her fists fast and clean, his claws meeting her with brutal precision. The fight was tighter than last time. Gwen was learning his rhythm now, how he fought in waves—calm, sudden, overwhelming.
But between hits, he kept talking.
“You been practicing.”
“You’re not as scary when I’m not surprised.”
“Oh, I’m scary. Just not to you, huh?”
He pinned her against a wall briefly, his arm across her shoulders, their faces close. She could hear his breath under the mask. Feel the heat rolling off him.
“You always this flustered up close?” he whispered, voice like velvet and fire.
Gwen slammed a knee into his side and flipped them, pinning him now. “You wish.”
His laugh was breathless. “Maybe I do.”
She threw him off her and landed in a crouch, panting. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re kinda fun,” he said, standing with ease. “Guess that makes us a good match.”
Before she could answer, he vanished in a burst of smoke and static, his grappling tech pulling him into the night.
Gwen stood there for a second, jaw clenched, cheeks burning. Her heart was racing—and not just from the fight.
“What the hell is his deal?” she muttered.
Whatever it was… she knew this wasn’t the last round.
“He’s the worst,” Gwen groaned, collapsing face-first onto her bed with a dramatic flop. “Like, the worst. With his stupid claws and his smooth voice and his—ugh—way of talking like he’s already won just by showing up.”
Peter, sitting cross-legged on her desk chair, arched a brow. “Sooo… you hate him?”
Gwen twisted onto her back and tossed a pillow at him. “Don’t even.”
He caught it, grinning. “Just checking. ‘Cause it kind of sounds like you’re obsessed.”
“I’m not obsessed,” she snapped, sitting up and pointing a finger at him. “I’m annoyed. There’s a difference.”
Peter shrugged, clearly amused. “Sure. But like, a cute kind of annoyed?”
“Peter!”
“Alright, alright!” He held up his hands in surrender. “But you’ve been talking about the Prowler for, like, ten minutes straight. That’s a lot of mental real estate to give a guy you ‘don’t care about.’”
She grabbed her other pillow and screamed into it.
The truth was… she was flustered. The guy just got under her skin, and not in a normal villain way. He flirted like he wasn’t trying. Fought like he didn’t need to try. And worst of all, he knew how to get a reaction out of her. Gwen didn’t like that. At all.
“He called me ‘princesa,’” she muttered through the pillow.
Peter coughed. “Okay, yeah, that’s definitely villain flirting.”
“And then he vanished! Like—like some edgy drama king!”
“Well, at least he’s committed to the bit.”
Gwen glared. “I’m taking you down with me if I explode.”
Peter just snorted.
A voice called from the other room: “Dinner! Now!”
“Saved by the dad,” Peter mumbled, hopping to his feet.
They headed into the kitchen where Captain Stacy was already sitting at the table, flipping through a tablet with the news on. He barely looked up.
“Spider-woman’s been active again,” he said, tapping the screen. “Two rooftops totaled. One of the store owners says she ‘webbed a man to a cop car like a present.’”
Peter snorted into his drink. Gwen rolled her eyes. “Would he rather the guy escaped?”
Her dad finally looked at her. “I’d rather you didn’t encourage vigilante behavior, Gwen.”
“She’s literally saving people.”
“She’s not a cop. She’s not trained. And now there’s this Prowler guy running around. You think these masked freaks make the city safer?”
Gwen tried not to wince. Her dad never meant it to be personal—he didn’t know it was personal—but it always landed like a punch.
“Prowler’s worse,” Peter offered, trying to lighten the mood. “At least Spider-woman doesn’t rob people.”
“Great,” Captain Stacy muttered. “So now we’re ranking criminals.”
Gwen pushed peas around her plate. “Maybe people are tired of waiting for help that never comes. Maybe Spider-woman’s doing something because no one else will.”
He sighed and set his tablet down. “Look, I get it. I do. But the more masks show up, the harder my job gets. I don’t want to see this city fall into chaos.”
There was a heavy silence after that.
Peter cleared his throat. “So… dessert?”
Gwen didn’t laugh. But she did shoot him a grateful glance.
Even with the city getting safer, dinner with her dad felt like walking a tightrope. And now with the Prowler in the mix?
Her double life just got twice as complicated.