"Synthetic spider silk base. My own formula. Cures on contact with air in under half a second." Peter glanced at her. "You worked that out from watching me use it twice."
"I extrapolated," Gwen said. "The material had to solidify almost instantly or the physics wouldn't hold up. You'd just be flinging liquid at buildings."
Peter felt something close to a smile pull at his mouth. "That's exactly right."
Gwen caught herself a second later, aware of how much enthusiasm had leaked into her voice, and straightened up, clearing her throat like she could take some of it back. "It's a reasonable design," she added, more subdued.
MJ was watching the exchange with open amusement. "You two are ridiculous."
"I'm being scientific," Gwen said.
"You're being a fangirl," MJ said. "It's fine. I get it. He built spider tech from scratch. That's objectively cool."
Peter held up the two shooters. "These are spares. Older prototypes, less refined than what I use now, but stable and safe for training." He looked at both of them. "I wasn't planning to introduce these yet. But if you want to try swinging, this is how it happens."
MJ was already reaching for one. "Yes. Obviously yes."
Gwen took the other with more restraint, though her eyes were already tracing the mechanism, turning it slightly to see how the cartridge seated into the housing.
Peter walked them through it. How to hold the wrist steady during the tap. How the recoil felt different from anything either of them had experienced. How to judge the arc before committing to the swing.
They practiced dry fires first, no fluid, just getting used to the trigger motion. Then short test shots into the padded wall, watching the webbing form and hold.
"Okay," Peter said finally. "Low rig. Ten feet. If you fall, you fall soft."
Gwen went first. Her shot fired clean, caught the rigging above, and she swung in an arc that was more careful than graceful, landing on the far platform with her knees bent exactly the way Peter had shown her.
"That was better than I expected," Gwen said, sounding faintly surprised at herself.
MJ went next, her form looser, her landing less precise, but she was laughing by the time her feet hit the mat.
"Okay," MJ said. "That might be the best thing I've ever done."
They ran the drill several more times each, the fluid holding, the confidence building with every rep. Peter watched them work, correcting angles, adjusting timing, letting them find their own rhythm inside the structure he'd built for them.
By the time they stopped, both girls were sitting against the crash mat again, shoulders loose, the exhaustion of the session settling into something satisfied rather than strained.
MJ cleared her throat after a moment. "So. Speaking of things we should probably talk about." She glanced at Gwen, who nodded slightly. "Felicia."
Peter's attention sharpened. "What about her?"
"She's missed three days this week," Gwen said. "Actual absences, not just skipping a class. I checked the attendance system."
"You checked the attendance system?"
"I have access," Gwen said, like that answered everything.
MJ shifted her weight. "It's not just the absences. When she is at school, she seems distracted. Distant. She hasn't made a single sharp comment in like a week, and that's not like her at all."
"You're worried about her," Peter said.
"I'm observing a pattern," Gwen said. Then, more honestly: "Yes. We're worried."
MJ looked at him directly. "You're closer to her than either of us. You should check on her."
Peter thought about the last time he'd actually spoken to Felicia. Longer ago than he'd realized. His spider-sense hadn't flagged anything specific about her, but that didn't mean nothing was wrong. His spider-sense only caught immediate physical danger. It had never been built to catch the slow kind.
"I'll talk to her," Peter said.
Gwen nodded once, satisfied. MJ picked up her bag from the corner of the warehouse, and the training session ended there, the question of Felicia Hardy hanging in the air behind them as they walked out into the evening.
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