Chapter 8
Gwen’s breath caught in her throat.
She stood in the middle of a familiar rooftop—Brooklyn’s skyline burning red and orange in the sunset, wind tugging at her hood. Miles was there, just a few feet away, but the distance between them felt endless.
His eyes, usually warm and soft, were frozen.
"You lied to me," he said. No emotion. No heat. Just cold, cutting disbelief.
“I didn’t mean to—” she tried, voice trembling. “I was going to tell you, I swear—”
Miles took a step back. “You’ve been Ghost-Spider this whole time. You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”
“No! I was scared, I didn’t know how you’d react—”
“Scared?” His laugh was bitter. “You think I don’t know what that’s like? You think I wouldn’t have understood?”
He shook his head. “You wore a mask with me, Gwen. The whole time. You say you love me, but you couldn’t even trust me.”
Tears blurred her vision. She took a step forward.
He stepped away.
And then he said it. “You disgust me.”
Gwen jolted awake with a gasp, her sheets twisted around her legs like a web. Her chest heaved. The room was still, just the soft hum of the campus radiator and Amaya’s faint snores across the room.
It was just a dream. Just a stupid, cruel dream.
But it didn’t feel like just a dream.
Gwen wiped at her face with trembling fingers. Her heart was still pounding. Her mouth was dry. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to breathe.
You disgust me.
She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. Her fingers flexed, gripping the edge of the blanket. It wasn’t real—but it could be. What if it was? What if that’s exactly how Miles would react? What if the moment he found out, he’d never look at her the same way again?
He deserved better. He deserved someone who didn’t keep secrets. Someone who didn’t sneak off in the middle of dates. Someone who didn’t hide behind a mask.
She pressed her forehead to her knees.
Maybe she wasn’t protecting him.
Maybe she was protecting herself.
But the damage had already started. She could see it in his eyes every time they met between classes. The quiet. The confusion. The disappointment.
It would only get worse if she kept dragging him along.
She’d already decided, hadn’t she? She couldn’t let him find out—not like this. Not ever. She couldn’t risk it.
She had to end it.
Gwen looked up at the pale ceiling, teeth clenched and eyes glistening.
“I’ll break up with him,” she whispered to no one.
Her voice cracked.
“It’s the only way.”
The city lights glimmered like stars fallen to earth, casting long shadows between alleyways and rooftops. Brooklyn was quiet tonight—eerily so—but Gwen knew better than to trust the stillness.
Ghost-Spider perched atop a streetlamp, one leg dangling as her fingers curled around the metal. The wind tugged at her hood and the edges of her suit. She blinked slowly behind the mask, her body swaying with fatigue. Her limbs ached, her eyes burned, and her head was pounding. She hadn’t slept in nearly two days—not since the nightmare.
Not since she decided it was over.
Every patrol felt heavier. Every leap, every swing, every breath.
Still, she kept going.
I can’t let Miles find out. If I’m going to leave him, I have to do more. Be better. Be stronger. Be someone worth losing.
A scream cut through the quiet.
Her head jerked up.
A man in a gray hoodie tore through the street below, clutching a stolen handbag. Behind him, a woman cried out, stumbling on the sidewalk.
Without thinking, Gwen launched forward.
She swung low, trailing behind the thief like a shadow. Her timing was off—her arc too slow. Her web hit the wall instead of the pole she was aiming for, throwing off her momentum. She landed hard, boots scraping asphalt.
The thief glanced back, startled. But Gwen forced herself to keep going, pushing her burning legs forward and closing the distance.
She leapt.
The world tilted sideways as her foot caught on a trash bin. She recovered midair, barely managing to throw her body forward and tackle the thief to the ground.
Too hard.
The man hit the pavement with a sickening crack.
“Oh no—oh no no no—” she whispered, stumbling to her feet and crouching beside him. He groaned, holding his shoulder. Conscious, but barely.
“Sorry! I—I didn’t mean—” Gwen said, breath catching in her throat. Her fingers hovered above him but didn’t touch. You’re too tired. You’re losing control.
“Ghost-Spider!”
She turned at the sound of a familiar voice.
Spider-Man dropped down beside her, landing in a perfect crouch. His red and black suit was as sharp as ever in the dim streetlights, and even through the lenses, she could tell he was squinting at her.
“You okay?” he asked, glancing from the mugger to her. “You look… off.”
Gwen stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Just tired.”
“You let him almost get away.”
“I know,” she muttered, looking away.
Spider-Man sighed, webbing the mugger to a lamppost. “You shouldn’t be out here like this if you’re that out of it.”
“I can handle it,” she snapped.
But it came out too soft. Too broken.
He looked at her again. Not angry. Just… concerned.
“You sure?”
Gwen hesitated. Then whispered, “No.”
There was a long pause.
“I’ll take it from here,” he said gently.
She nodded once, then turned and ran—leaping into the night, heart heavy, head spinning.
And this time, she didn’t feel like a hero at all.
The floor of Studio Lumière was cool against Gwen’s back.
Mirrors lined every wall, stretching the light from the overhead chandeliers and dancing it across polished wood floors. The elegant calm of ballet class was always a haven for her—a place where she could breathe, where she wasn’t Ghost-Spider or Gwen the liar. Just Gwen Stacy, the girl who danced.
At least… that’s who she used to be.
Today, every plié felt like it was pulling her apart. Every spin made the room tilt and sway like she was on a ship during a storm. Her legs were trembling. Her vision was foggy. Even the gentle music playing in the background was starting to sound like static in her ears.
Miss Lumière’s voice called out something in French—she always did that when she was especially focused—but Gwen couldn’t make out the words. She nodded anyway and pushed herself into another pirouette, arms sweeping out, toes pointed.
The room spun.
Too fast.
Her knees buckled.
Gwen’s world tilted sideways as her body crumpled to the floor.
“Gwen!” Miss Lumière’s sharp voice pierced the quiet.
The music stopped. All the girls turned, the whisper of tights and satin shoes freezing in place. Someone gasped.
Miss Lumière was at her side in seconds, gently lowering her to a resting position. “Ma chérie, are you alright? Gwen? Can you hear me?”
Gwen blinked slowly, her vision flickering back into place. “I’m okay,” she mumbled. “I’m just… tired.”
Miss Lumière frowned deeply, brushing Gwen’s damp bangs from her forehead. “This is more than tired. You fainted.”
“I haven’t… I haven’t really slept,” Gwen admitted softly.
“That’s obvious.” Miss Lumière stood, reaching for her phone. “I’m calling your parents.”
“No—wait,” Gwen croaked, her voice raw. “My mom’s just gonna say to let me rest.”
The teacher hesitated, clearly torn.
A few minutes later, Gwen sat on a bench near the wall, sipping lukewarm water as her classmates resumed their dancing, casting her careful glances.
Miss Lumière returned, lips pursed. “I spoke with your mother. She said—well—exactly what you predicted. That you’ll be fine. That this happens sometimes.”
Gwen didn’t meet her eyes. “It’s true. It’s just stress.”
“Gwen,” Miss Lumière said, kneeling in front of her again. “You’ve always been one of the brightest, most disciplined students I’ve had. But you are clearly running on empty. This isn’t sustainable. I don’t know what’s going on outside these walls, but if something is hurting you—”
“I’m fine,” Gwen said again, barely above a whisper. “I just need some sleep.”
The teacher didn’t press. But her eyes stayed sad.
Later, when Gwen left the studio and stepped back into the cold night air, she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.
Every part of her ached.
And still, the pressure didn’t go away.
She was cracking.
And she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold it all together.
“I’m breaking up with Miles.”
The words hit the air like a brick through glass. Amaya nearly choked on her bubble tea.
“You’re what now?” she said, wide-eyed. “Did you just—Gwen—what?”
Gwen sat curled up on Amaya’s bed, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around them like she might fall apart otherwise. The room was a cozy, chaotic mess—clothes on the floor, sewing patterns tacked on the walls, a half-finished superhero sketch lying on Amaya’s desk. The walls were lined with polaroids and posters, a dreamy, pastel galaxy of their shared lives. It made Gwen feel like she didn’t belong in this world anymore.
“I said I’m going to break up with him,” Gwen repeated, softer this time.
Amaya stood frozen, holding the drink in both hands like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “Are you serious?”
Gwen nodded. “I’ve already decided. I just… I can’t keep doing this to him.”
“Doing what?” Amaya snapped, dropping into her desk chair. “Loving him?”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, you know what’s not fair? You lying to him every single day and then deciding to rip his heart out without even giving him the truth! Gwen—he loves you. And you love him. You can’t just end it like this.”
Gwen’s throat tightened. “Exactly. He loves Gwen Stacy. Not Ghost-Spider. If he knew… if he ever found out…”
“Then he’d deal with it,” Amaya cut in. “He’s not a baby. He’s literally Spider-Man!”
Gwen flinched.
Amaya caught it immediately. Her voice lowered. “You’re scared,” she said softly.
“I had a dream,” Gwen confessed, wiping her eyes. “A nightmare. He found out. And he looked at me like I was a monster. He said I ruined everything. That he could never trust me again.”
“It was a dream, not a prophecy.”
“You didn’t see his face.”
Amaya was quiet for a long moment, then stood and sat beside her, placing a hand on her arm. “So… what, you’re just going to vanish? Hurt him now so he doesn’t hurt you later?”
“I’m protecting him.”
“No, Gwen. You’re protecting yourself. And I get it, okay? I get being scared. But this isn’t the way.”
Tears prickled behind Gwen’s eyes again, hot and stinging. “Every time I look at him, I think about what happens when it all falls apart. I can’t stop lying, Amaya. I have to lie.”
“Then maybe don’t lie. Tell him.”
“I can’t!”
The room filled with silence.
Amaya exhaled slowly, then whispered, “You’re going to break his heart.”
“I already am.”
Gwen stared at the floor, the weight of it all settling into her chest like stone.
She didn’t want to do this.
But she had to.
Because love couldn’t survive the secrets she was keeping.
And Miles Morales deserved better than a girl who couldn’t even tell him who she really was.