The Tuesday lunch rush at Midtown High had finally died down, leaving the hallways smelling faintly of mystery meat and floor wax. Peter leaned his back against a row of dented blue lockers, enjoying a rare moment of quiet digestion. Beside him, Harry Lyman was staring a hole into his phone screen, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.
Suddenly, Harry locked his screen and turned to Peter with a gleam in his eye.
"Peter. I have a plan."
A cold, visceral shudder ran down Peter's spine. His Spider-Sense didn't actually go off, but his pop-culture survival instincts practically screamed. Anytime someone said 'I have a plan' with that specific, manic tone, it usually ended with someone getting shot in a snowy mountain camp or fighting Pinkertons in a video game.
Harry blinked, noticing Peter's sudden rigidity. "What's wrong, buddy? You look like you just swallowed a lemon."
"I'm fine," Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just that my historically accurate intuition is telling me you are about to pitch a spectacularly bad idea."
"How could it be a bad idea?" Harry crossed his arms, looking genuinely offended. "I think it's brilliant. At the next Detective Club meeting, we bring up the Kravinoff Estate. We convince Senior Jessica to launch a full-scale, on-site investigation. We grab flashlights, drive upstate, and break the twenty-year mystery."
Peter stared at him for two agonizingly long minutes. He didn't blink.
"Harry," Peter finally said, keeping his voice painfully level. "That is, without a doubt, the worst idea you have ever vocalized in my presence. Are you insane? If Sergei Kravinoff was still hunting lions in Africa, maybe we could go poke around his lawn. But he is in New York right now! What if he's actively living there? What if he catches a bunch of high schoolers trespassing on a KGB-adjacent compound?"
Harry waved a dismissive hand, entirely unbothered. "Stop joking around, Pete. We're just a bunch of teenagers going on an urban exploration adventure. We'll take a few photos for the club board and leave. What could possibly happen?"
"Harry, that is the exact opening monologue of every slasher movie ever filmed. The teenagers go into the spooky woods. The teenagers find the creepy mansion. The teenagers get mounted on a wall."
"There are no superheroes in horror movies to save them," Harry countered with a smug grin, completely confident in the fact that his best friend could bench-press a bus. Besides, rumors about the Kravinoff place had been floating around Queens for decades. Kids went up there to drink cheap beer all the time, and nobody ever got hurt.
Peter opened his mouth to explain the massive difference between a local ghost story and a fully-trained Russian super-soldier, but a smooth, melodic voice cut through the air.
"What are we talking about, boys?"
Peter snapped his mouth shut. Felicia Hardy leaned against the locker next to him. She moved so quietly that even Peter's enhanced hearing hadn't picked up her footsteps over the ambient hallway noise. She wore a fitted leather jacket over her school uniform, her platinum blonde hair falling perfectly over one shoulder.
Before Peter could wave her off, Harry immediately launched into his pitch. "I was just saying that the Detective Club hasn't visited the Kravinoff Estate yet. I want to organize a field trip."
Felicia tilted her head, a slow, highly amused smile spreading across her lips as she looked at Peter's pained expression. "Unfortunately, Harry, most of the senior club members drove up there last year. Except for the four new recruits in your grade, everyone's already seen it. It's a bit unrealistic to ask Jessica to organize an official club trip for old news."
Peter let out a heavy sigh of relief. "See? Logistical impossibility. Dreams crushed. Let's go to AP Chem."
"However," Felicia interrupted, her green eyes locking onto Peter's. "If you really want to go, I'd be more than happy to drive you boys up there to scout the perimeter. Just say the word and we'll arrange a time."
Harry pumped his fist. "Yes! Thank you, Senior Felicia. I'm going to go text Amadeus right now so he can prep the thermal cameras." He turned back to Peter, grinning widely. "And don't listen to Peter. He thinks it's a horror movie set."
Harry practically sprinted down the hallway, already dialing Amadeus's number.
Felicia shifted her weight, stepping just a fraction of an inch closer to Peter. She smelled like expensive vanilla and danger. "Spider-Man is worried about horror movie sets?" she purred, keeping her voice low enough that passing students couldn't hear.
"Yeah, well, what if the house is cursed?" Peter muttered, crossing his arms. "What if it's a Final Destination situation? You can't punch an invisible death curse, Felicia." He dropped the act, his voice hardening slightly. "What are you doing? Why encourage him?"
"I'm trying to figure out what you're hiding, Peter," Felicia whispered, a playful glint in her eyes. "If you are this desperate to stop your best friend from poking around an empty house... it means there's something incredibly interesting hidden inside it."
Peter scoffed, shaking his head. "Be careful. Curiosity killed the cat."
Felicia didn't miss a beat. She reached out, playfully flicking the collar of Peter's flannel shirt. "If you're really that worried about the cat getting killed, you should just try satisfying her curiosity. Trust me, Peter. Anyone who owns a cat knows the only way to keep them from being naughty is to completely exhaust them first."
She offered a devastating wink and turned on her heel, walking smoothly down the corridor.
Peter watched her go, entirely unsure if that last comment was a clever distraction or a deliberate threat.
What do you think? Peter asked internally, directing the thought inward.
The black symbiote shifted beneath his skin, the sensation like cold water running over his ribs. [No problem,] Venom's deep, echoing voice vibrated against the inside of Peter's skull. [Let the boy go. If the Russian is there, we will simply eat him. No one can beat us.]
Right. Try telling that to the Hulk or Thor. They might have a slight disagreement with your power scaling.
[We have beaten a Hulk before.]
Peter sighed, rubbing his temples. An alternate-universe Hulk, he corrected mentally. And it nearly killed us. Still, despite the alien's usual hyper-violent bravado, Peter realized the symbiote actually had a point. If there was genuine danger waiting upstate, ignoring it wouldn't make it go away. Harry was stubborn. If he wanted to go, he was going to go—likely disguised as a weekend student adventure.
I need to clear the board, Peter decided. He would swing up to the Kravinoff Estate tonight, under the cover of darkness. He would scout the perimeter, map the defenses, and trigger his Spider-Sense. If Kraven was actually hiding out there, plotting revenge for the Chameleon, Peter would draw him out early. He could take the fight to the trees, miles away from Harry, Amadeus, and Felicia. And if it went south? Peter was confident he could outrun a guy who fought with hunting knives.
A sudden, sharp tap on his shoulder yanked him out of his tactical planning.
Peter spun around to find Gwen Stacy standing there, clutching a stack of sheet music to her chest. She followed his lingering gaze down the hallway toward where Felicia had disappeared.
"Who was that?" Gwen asked, her eyebrows raised in mild judgment.
"Felicia Hardy," Peter said quickly. "Senior in the Detective Club. She's... well, she's a professional thief. A vigilante, kind of. She specializes in robbing from bad guys."
Gwen let out a long, very dry 'Oh.' She shifted her books to her other hip. "Quick question, Pete. Why is it that ever since you put on a spandex mask, incredibly dangerous, gorgeous women keep randomly appearing in your life?"
"Or," Peter countered, holding up a finger, "you should ask why our public high school is statistically swarming with superheroes and anti-heroes. Seriously, the zoning laws here are ridiculous."
Gwen rolled her eyes, but a fond smile broke through her annoyance. She knew Peter's deflection tactics better than anyone. She stepped closer, her tone softening. "What's wrong? You've got your 'carrying the weight of the world' face on. Something bothering you?"
"I'm just stressed," Peter admitted, leaning back against the lockers. "I told Harry and Amadeus my identity because Norman Osborn essentially forced my hand. But now they feel invincible. Harry found an abandoned mansion upstate that definitely belongs to a lethal Russian mercenary, and he wants to go 'explore' it."
"And you're worried about his safety."
"I can't talk him out of it, Gwen. When Harry gets an idea in his head, it's bolted down."
Gwen let out a bright, genuine laugh. "Peter, that is the easiest problem in the world to solve."
Peter blinked. "It is?"
"Yep," Gwen smiled, leaning in. "Liz told me this morning that her dad officially wants her boyfriend to come over to their house for dinner this weekend. Meet the parents. The whole terrifying ordeal."
Peter's eyes went wide.
He already did his research.
Adrian Toomes. The Vulture. Harry going to dinner at a future supervillain's house was a completely different kind of nightmare, but it was a domestic nightmare. "If Harry finds out..."
"...He won't even be thinking about the Kravinoff Estate," Gwen finished for him. "He'll be too busy hyperventilating over what shirt to wear to meet Mr. Allan."
Peter let out a massive breath, feeling a huge chunk of tension evaporate from his shoulders. "Gwen, you are a lifesaver. What do I owe you?"
"Why do you always assume everything is a transaction?" Gwen teased, swatting his arm playfully. "We've known each other since we were kids. I look out for you."
She took a few steps backward down the hall, offering a quick wave. "But, if you're offering... my band has a rehearsal after school today. You should come listen."