"What is it with everyone and secret basements?" Peter muttered as they spiraled down into pitch-black nothing. "Lincoln Heights has one. Now this. Everyone's out there making sure I am playing Supervillain Bingo."
"To be fair," ARIA said, drifting beside him with that unfair goddess glide—wings tucked neatly so they didn't scrape like Spirit Halloween cosplay—"underground facilities have better security, stable temperatures, and zero satellite selfies. It's efficient."
"It's also how every bad action movie starts. Like, this is the part where the rock gets dropped on us."
"It can be both, Master." She grinned—angelic, feral, and definitely planning crimes. "But something big's down here. Huge. Like 'cancel your insurance' huge. Like 'James Cameron just felt a disturbance in the Force' huge."
The stairs dumped them at a door that clocked Peter instantly—palm scan, gold flash, and the door vanished like it got embarrassed and rage-quit existence.
What was on the other side?
