It was hard to believe it was senior year. Too hard. Every now and then, Peter caught himself dizzily wandering through the school hallway, summer zephyrs from the open door brushing his face. Senior year felt like another world. This could not be real. When he was tired, and the phone buzzed with a text from Aunt May, preemptive wariness shot up Peter's spine. He sometimes forgot that she knew.

Months later, and the night he had told May that he was Spider-Man stayed one of the most stressful ones of his life. It fell right on the scale next to learning who Liz's father was. Peter sat on rooftops sometimes, playing it over and over in his head. He winced at the splutters in his mind and marveled at May's responses. It made Peter wonder about himself. If he was a normal person, how would he have taken his nephew telling him about being a mutant superhero? If he was a normal teenager, would he and May just be focused on paying the rent and graduation instead of stressing over Peter getting home alive every night? Would he not be lying to most of the Avengers for the third year in the row about who he really was?

Maybe, Peter told himself. It was too late to know now. The roulette of life had given him this one. He tried not to focus on what could have been. He did that enough already. But whatever his other life would have looked like, Peter knew this: he was stressed, tired, stretched thin, and Spider-Man. Even if he was a mess, he had May. He helped people. Half the time, he was proud of himself.

Peter thought about his conversation with Vision. Guilt made him roll over in bed.

Correction: half the time, he was almost proud of himself.

There were few upsides to getting thrown around by Mysterio, but weaseling out of prom planning was one of them. Peter made it back to his backpack smelling of melted web fluid. When he checked his cellphone, he found 9 new messages.

Dude if ur not doing spidey stuff u should answer, Ned's text said. MJ is full of so much hate abt the prom planning. It's hilarious. I think she texted u to rant.

True to form, six of the texts were from MJ. The first started with prom is heteronormative BULLSHIT. Peter knew the remaining five would be a ride. One text was from May, checking in. Peter answered it first. Since he had told her he was Spider-Man, she brimmed over with new and old anxieties alike. Peter felt endlessly grateful for her support—what was the average percentage of homeless teenage mutants? Something like 40%, 45%? He was so lucky—but part of him wished May didn't have to bear so much stress. She didn't deserve this.

Peter shook off his gloominess. It was the beginning of his last year. He needed some motivation. The last text on his phone was from Tony. Dinner at the tower, it said. 6:30 PM. Pepper will be there. Don't dress like a college student.

Peter snorted. "What an ass," he muttered. Tony was a lot to handle, but for the most part, he had grown on Peter. Everyone had.

It didn't long to swing back to his house, grab nicer clothes, and swing back to Stark Tower. Even if it was officially no longer Stark property, Tony could not resist purchasing a restaurant across from it. If Peter didn't know better he would suggest Tony was nostalgic. Both Pepper and Tony were already seated at a table in the back. Appetizers and glasses of red wine sat before them.

"Hello, Peter," Pepper said. "How are you?"

"Good," Peter said, sliding into a seat and snagging a breadstick from Tony's appetizer plate.

"Sorry for not waiting up for you to order," Tony said. "I was starving. It's been a long day."

He had the bags under his eyes that implied it had been a long night, too. Probably one full of memories of elsewhere. Peter choked back an unwise comment with another breadstick.

"It's all good," Peter said.

Tony lifted a breadstick but didn't eat it. "Anyway, we won't keep you for too long. After we squeezed all we could out of Thor, Bruce and I started developing some Infinity Stone containment equipment. He wanted your feedback on the formulas and the tensile web strength for some of the wall components. He couldn't make it, obviously, but I would rather we spoke about this in person than over text."

"Gotcha," Peter said. "I should be over on Wednesday to help."

"Great," Tony said. He shook the breadstick at Peter before dropping it on his plate untouched. "Hold on, is that your work uniform?"

"I'm not drowning in income. After I lost my last job, I've had to hunker down. Some of us aren't billionaires, Tony."

"You have a Stark internship."

"A fake one," Peter pointed out. "Which doesn't actually pay me. It's a cover for whole 'swinging around in a glorified onesie and shooting webs at super villains' side gig."

"That could change," Pepper said.

"Maybe," Peter said.

Tony sighed. "Keep trying, Pep. We'll get him one day. I'd personally love to see a patent for that web fluid design, but that's up to you, Pete."

When in doubt, eat more breadsticks. Peter stole three more and crammed them into his mouth. He was not about to tell Tony that the only factor turning him away from a cushy internship was that this meant turning over his ID. The fact he had avoided telling the Avengers his last name or where he lived in Queens for three years now astonished him. Peter had a sinking feeling that a few of them might have known nonetheless. But no one had said anything. The gig wasn't up yet.

"Jesus, kid," Tony said. "We're ordering a main course. The tab is on me. You don't have to scarf everything down now."

"Let him live, Tony," Pepper said, amused, at the same instant Peter said "I'm not a kid."

"You turned 21 a few months ago," Tony said. "You're a kid. I would ask F.R.I.D.A.Y how long ago my 21st was, but I don't want to know the answer. How's the graduation lining up?"

"Good," Peter said. "It's happening next May."

"Congratulations. So you're finishing in four years," Tony said. "Good man. I definitely didn't. Pepper, the true hero among us, did the same. How did you manage that again, Pep?"

"Not wasting my father's money on lucrative parties meant to impress girls," Pepper said. "Twenty credit semesters. Studying."

"Touché," Tony said. Pepper offered him a grin, reaching her ring-adorned hand across the table and slipping it into his. Tony grabbed a wine glass with his free hand. "At any rate, let's offer a toast to Mr. Peter Overachiever Underoos, for a bright future."

"I don't drink, remember?" Peter said.

"Spidey, you're in college," Tony said. "You drink."

Peter tried to avoid the spare wine glass being shoved at him. Pepper tutted. "Tony, set a good example," she said.

Peter attempted his most winning smile as he pushed the wine glass away.

"Really, Tony. I don't drink. Not that often. I try to be responsible."

Pepper smiled back at him. Peter's heart fluttered. People could say what they wanted about the Starks, and his awkwardness, but Pepper Potts remained one of the prettiest women he'd ever seen. MJ would agree, he thought.

"Maybe you should take some advice from Peter," Pepper said. "It might do you good."

Tony mumbled something acidic into his glass.

YOU: betty is going to be surprised when she realizes u were right about her flower arrangements looking like hot garbage

MJ: I told her, but she didn't believe me. Just bc I hate prom doesn't mean Im not good at arranging it. Ned's gf is a square.

YOU: Haha

YOU: Hey, MJ. I know u think prom is heteronormative bullshit but

MJ: But what

YOU: Do u want to go w/ me? I would like to attend one prom before graduating w/o super villains or giant lizards crashing it. If u want to stick it to the man by not going i get it

MJ: To survive in a capitalistic society you must participate.

YOU: is that a yes?

MJ: It is, you nerd. Ive been waiting for you to ask. Pick me up at 6. I've got the flowers covered

YOU: ...how much does ned owe u

MJ: 15 bucks.

The part about not drinking was mostly true. Peter Parker had tasted alcohol. He was in high school, for crying out loud. He was graduating in half a year. Even if he didn't get invited to any of the popular parties where alcohol flowed like milk and honey, Peter had seized a few opportunities to sample it. Aunt May needed him to be responsible. But Peter wanted to experience rites of passage like anyone else. He had pushed through the guilt to seize his moment.

Those times were not worth it. Peter didn't like liquor. The taste of beer was awful, and after watching several classmates vomit their guts out into an alleyway, Peter felt no compulsion to experience drunkenness.

He had no interest in other illicit substances, either. The one time Peter had smoked weed was at Flash's house. No one had planned on it. It was supposed to be a study group for Honors Algebra, and then it just… happened. By the time Flash's friend was rolling the joint, both she and Flash were observing Peter with disdainful suspicion. Peter, desperate to gain social cred—some friends, any friends—had gone with it.

What followed was a miserable fifteen minutes of hotboxing in Flash's bathroom. They were pressed knee-to-knee on his mother's shaggy pink carpet, and the sploof was an ugly contraption made of dryer sheets and a dented toilet paper roll. Peter had taken one pull of the joint and nearly coughed his lungs out. After the fourth one, he was reduced to having a panic attack in the living room while Flash and his pal giggled. Their obliviousness came to end when Peter began crying and needed to be taken home.

I don't think the girl stayed after I left, either, Peter thought. Nothing ruins the mood like the third wheel crying about missing his uncle.

That was during the summer before freshman year. Uncle Ben's loss had been fresh. Flash had not spoken to him since, aside from when he went in for the bullying. Peter found that he didn't care too much. Drugs had been a sub par enough time before the spider bite. Now that he had super strength and super senses that enhanced every taste, touch, and sound? No thanks. Getting high or drunk sounded like a recipe for disaster. Peter could wear a DARE shirt with almost zero irony.

So much for the debauchery Stark expected, Peter thought. The most exciting activity he did outside school and being Spider-Man was binging Samurai Champloo and building giant Star Wars Lego sets. As he looked at the news coverage of another super villain attack on New York, with a tired Falcon forced front and center to answer the press, Peter found that he didn't mind the more boring parts of his life.

"On your left!"

Vision turned as Peter shot a stream of web into Doc Ock's face. The mechanical claw about to snap shut on Vision's wrist missed, clacking and waving around him. Vision zapped it out of the air. Peter's relief lasted the few seconds it took for another arm to grab him around the waist and slam him into the ground.

He hit pavement once, twice, three times; the world spun and his ribs screamed beneath the pressure. His battered cheek and hands glowed with pain.

"That's enough from you, Spider-Man!" Doc Ock said.

The pressure around Peter's chest loosened as he went flying towards the nearest skyscraper. Peter did not think so much he have a visceral feeling of 'this will hurt.'

He collided with a hard android's chest before he could hit the third story window.

"Spider-Man! Are you alright?" Vision said.

Peter came to with blood in his mouth. Shouts and sounds of flying metal filled the street as Wanda threw a truck at Doc Ock. Peter shakily reoriented himself as Vision sat him down. There was screaming in another street. Why did they think Vision, Wanda, and I would make a clean team?

"Yeah," Peter said. "I'm okay."

Vision gave him a look of concern before pulling back.

"Good," he said. "Let me know if you are not."

The two nodded at each other before rejoining the fray. Despite the bruise growing on his face, and the taste of copper pulp on his tongue, a kernel of warmth sat in Peter's chest. He shot two webs at one of Doc Ock's arms and yanked him backwards into a stop sign before Wanda smashed the second truck into him. A squeaky, hurt laugh emerged from Peter. Vision granted Peter an awkward grin.

This isn't fixed, Peter thought. But it's something.

Some days it didn't get better. He avoided the Avengers then. He didn't want to answer questions. Those days, the pitted scar on Peter's collarbone felt raw. He felt a stray metal support stab into his skin again. He heard the whir of mechanical wings and felt pressure on his chest. He smelled goblin nerve gas. On the worst ones, he saw Uncle Ben again.

Today was a medium bad. Peter changed into sweats and a hoody before slinking onto the subway. Ned wasn't home. He was interviewing for a scholarship. By a stroke of luck, MJ's three organizations she ran and Honors Society had cut her a break this Thursday. Peter found himself crashing on her couch with a cheap bucket of popcorn as rain grayed the sky outside.

"Full offense, Peter," MJ said, "but you need therapy."

"I don't have time for it."

Peter raised his hands in surrender, shrinking back from MJ's glare. "Okay, I don't have money for it. I'll go once I attend college and have access to free sessions."

"I thought so," MJ said.

A clump of popcorn stuck to the side of the bowl. Peter poked it off. He listened to rain hiss down the window. New York lay shrouded in clingy mist.

"Ned is definitely getting that scholarship," he said.

"Of course he is," MJ said. "We'll have to team up to tell him I told you so when he gets back."

"He'll be at home at MIT," Peter said. "I'm happy for him."

MJ leaned forward. "Wait, did they tell him if he got in already?"

"No," Peter said, "but they'd be stupid not to take him."

MJ collapsed back against the couch, her hair spilling up the cushion behind her. "Good," she said. "I was about to chew him out for not telling me."

Peter's brain was fuzzy. The thought of attending college was a far away concept, one muffled by another screen of static in his mind. His college applications blurred together. He thought of Liz Allan trying to apply to university while her father was in prison. That had happened at the end of his freshman year. It had been junior year for her. How long ago that was.

Ben had always wanted him to go to college. He probably had not wanted Peter to complicate someone else's shot at it.

"You're still taking a year-long break to intern with Justice International, right?" Peter said.

"Absolutely," MJ said.

Peter sunk deeper into his hoody. "I don't know what I'm doing. I've sent applications to everywhere but I'm not sure where I want to go to college. Or if I want to."

"Hey, idiot," MJ said. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"What?"

"No one ever knows what they're doing. Even if we pretend we do. I don't know where you'll be happiest after school, or what you want to do. But I think that if you're planning to drop college because you want a career being a vigilante in tights, that's kinda dumb. You have a lot of potential in careers besides ass-kicking. Doing that would be unfair to Peter Parker. He's as important as Spider-Man is. But whatever you do, no matter how stupid, Ned and I have got your back. Always."

Peter peaked out of his hood in astonishment. "Did you just give me a motivational speech?"

"It was my one for the year." MJ stole another piece of popcorn. "Don't get used to it. I'm being nice to you today, spider boy."

"Thanks, MJ." Peter had difficulty speaking. "Really."

MJ shrugged, leaning against his shoulder. "No problem."

Peter pecked her on the cheek.

Though studying for his final takes of the ACT and SAT was difficult, Peter still dug up the time to visit the others. He couldn't fly through flash cards 24/7. Nothing cleared his mind like tinkering in the lab or convincing Thor not to spike a volleyball through a fifteenth story window.

As he fiddled with a sample of web fluid beneath a microscope, he heard Bruce's footsteps behind him. His shirt was untucked and his pants disheveled, per always. Sometimes MJ teased Peter for being a walking mess that didn't own a single hair comb. Peter felt like MJ hadn't seen the half of it. Tony or Bruce always looked worse (at least, that's what he told himself).

"How's the coffee?" Peter said.

"Awful." Bruce set his empty cup down. "If you don't tell Tony I'm breaking lab safety rules by having this in here, I won't."

Peter shoved up his goggles, successfully ruining what tidiness his hair possessed. "How's the big guy?"

Bruce granted him a tired smile. "Still kicking."

"Tell him I said hello. He almost high-fived me last time."

"That was a landmark for him." Peter listened to Bruce root around in a lab drawer. "Tony almost looked jealous."

"No, he totally was. I'll make Hulk my best friend before the end of the decade," Peter said. "You'll see. No more Iron Man and Big Green sleepovers from here on out. Just Spidey and Hulk, throwing a party he's not invited to."

Bruce laughed, some of his strain evaporating. "You're a good guy, Pete."

"I try." Peter refocused the microscope before pulling his goggles down again.

"You know," Bruce said, softer, "if you need to talk about anything, we're here for you. I get that we're all messes. None of us exactly know what a healthy life looks like. But this is the closest to a support network we have. You're welcome to use it."

It took effort not to crush the new glass slide between his fingers.

"Thanks, Dr. Banner," Peter said. "I appreciate it."

"It's Bruce," Bruce said. "We've been over the 'doctor' part for a while."

Peter remembered Bruce coming to talk at his school's science convention last month, and how he had scrunched down and hid the entire time, full of shame.

"Right," Peter said. "Thanks, Bruce."

He got a contemplative hum in reply.

VISION: You left your homework in our lounge. I hid it for you.

PETER: ! Thank you Vision. You didn't have to text me

VISION: No, I did not. I chose to.

PETER: OK. Thanks.

VISION: You are welcome.

VISION: What happened is not forgotten. But I wish for you to know that you are forgiven.

Peter: okay

All activities performed alongside the Black Widow automatically felt five times more dangerous, no matter the situation. Which was why Peter felt on edge the entire time he was jumping around the park.

"Are you sure about this?" he hissed into his comline. "We don't know where the scouts are."

"We received confirmation from Hawkeye and Vision that they'll be in the park within the next two hours," Natasha said, voice calm. Peter spotted her cat-eye sunglasses and thigh-length black coat two blocks away. "All we have to do is wait."

"I hate weapons dealers," Peter said. "Why can't they do their business somewhere else? Like, not here? Isn't trying to sell more Chitauri-salvaged tech in public a bad idea? Their boss got arrested three years back while being far more careful."

"They've gotten lucky so far," Nat said. "They evaded capture because they were far stupider than the Vulture. Our sources mistook their idiocy in constantly moving around as evasion prowess."

Peter sighed. "Sounds about right."

A pigeon fluttered onto the branch next to him. Peter waved a hand at it. It fluttered to the next branch, cooing. Its plump neck stretched out as its assessed Peter's costume.

"Shoo, bird! I'm trying to work! Widow, how much longer do we have?"

"Updated ETA from Vision," Nat said. "Two hours. Traffic delayed them."

Two hours that could have been spent studying for finals or buying paletas with Aunt May before she went in for her doctor's appointment. Peter couldn't restrain his sound of dismay. His body was a tight spring coiled with stress.

"Everything good over there, Spider-Man?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "It's all good. Say, Widow—what was your post-high school experience? How did you figure stuff out? Asking for a friend."

"I didn't attend a traditional school," Nat said. "I didn't attend a tradition anything. I suppose you know that. But I would say the most important factor is to be aware of who you are and where you are. Learn how to land on your feet. The slips will be many, but you can quickly get up again, if you know how to handle it."

"Learn how to recover. Got it."

Peter waved away another flock of pigeons. They burst into the sky, their black-tipped tails spread behind them.

"Also, Spider-Man?"

"What?"

"Earlier, you meant post college experience," Nat said. "Not high school. But I'm sure you know what you're talking about."

Peter's heart stopped. He could no longer see Natasha. On the com line, he found nothing but silence. A child ran shrieking over the grass below. Then, the line crackled.

"You owe me," Nat said. "Hawkeye was getting suspicious. So was Pepper."

"Oh my god," Peter said. "Yeah, I do. How long have you known?"

"We're on a mission, Spider-Man," Nat said. "Focus."

"Right, right." Peter refocused on the nearest street, head spinning. "Sorry."

"But to answer your question: since near the beginning," Nat said. "You don't do a half bad impersonation of a twenty year old, for someone lacking a license or adam's apple when you started it."

Peter winched. "Ouch. Way to call me out."

"That's what you get for lying to me," Nat said.

"You lied to the rest of the team after I did."

"Maybe so," Nat said. "But that's a secret between us spiders."

If Peter started bawling on a stake-out with Widow he would never forgive himself and he was fairly certain Widow would not forgive him either. A) They were superheroes, and this was a job B) it was not every day a professional spy assassin covered for someone's goofs. For him! For him, dorky Peter Parker from Queens! If he wasn't about to cry he would geek out. Peter sucked back his tears. When he knew he could speak, he did.

"I owe you," he said.

"Everyone does," Nat said.

All attempts at elegance flew out the window. "No, Nat, you don't understand. If someone else had found out I would be off the team. I would be a vigilante again."

A spike in noise at the end of the park prevented Peter from bumbling into his full speech of gratitude. A dog bolted by, chasing a frisbee. Natasha seized the opportunity to cut him off.

"Once again," she said, "we're on a mission. But I'll be happy to accept all thanks in person afterwards. An invitation to your real graduation would suffice."

"Of course," Peter said.

"Naturally," Natasha said, "you also owe me some explanations."

That was less fun. Peter wished he could rake his fingers through his hair right now. "I figured," he said.

Many comments were made about Natasha, especially as Black Widow, but the one Peter believed without question was her professionalism. It took less than a minute for them to segue back into silence. Traffic rumbled as it rolled around the park. Birds called overhead. Peter's head stayed reeling.

He was grateful Natasha didn't comment on his relieved mumbling to himself.

They didn't blow up half of the park, so that was a victory. NYPD flooded the once tranquil park with sirens and flashing light. Any smoking craters received a taping off. Several smoldering beds of flowers threw the smell of burnt mulch into the afternoon. Peter stood back with Natasha, watching the three bruised and web-colored weapon dealers pile into the back of a police car.

"All's well that ends well," he said. "I'm surprised any of those goons didn't blow their fingers off before this. It's like no one taught them about bomb safety."

"Surprisingly," Natasha said.

The police sirens grew louder. Peter scratched the back of his head.

"So, uh," he said, "should I get Clint an invite, too? In case he figures it out?"

"Just in case," Natasha said. "Though if he doesn't earn it, he doesn't get to go."

"That's harsh."

"He's a resourceful man," Natasha said. "He'll adjust. ...I suppose you didn't ever imagine an assassin would come to your graduation."

"No," Peter said. "But I expected some friends to come, so you'll fit right in."

A minor commotion arose in the cop car as one of the henchmen struggled to free himself. Natasha turned her head to observe him. Natasha's pleased expression was rare, but for a fleeting moment, before her blonde hair blocked her face, Peter glimpsed it. Widow brushed her hair behind her shoulder as she strode towards the cop car.

"Let's try to get this wrapped up soon," she said, "shall we?"

Nightmares were awful. Panic attacks were awful. Scars that burned long after their healing were awful. Getting noticed by Bruce, Cap, Falcon, or Nat and receiving practical coping advice was… less awful. Peter found that he could roll with it easier than the years before. As he sat at his desk, waiting for his free period, Peter toyed with his pencil.

In freshman year, he had powers and no clue how to use them. He had a crush on Liz Allan the size of the moon and a dogged plan to do good no matter what. Now, in senior year, he was cooperating with the Avengers. He was going to graduate. He had survived hellfire, falling buildings, trauma, training, and a batch of physics exams, all while locally heroing.

Peter pressed his finger against a crack in the pencil. Tired pride flowed into him.

Not bad for a high schooler.

"Your college is in Queens?" Steve said.

"Where else would it be?" Peter said.

"Brooklyn is still the best."

"Only in your dreams, Capsicle."

The concept of an all-Avengers barbecue was bizarre, yet here they were. In a week, Thor was heading into space to search for the Infinity Stones. Tony had seen it fitting to give him a proper send off. Upstate New York's forests surrounded them. Peter had never seen so much wilderness. Laughter came from the pool table. Tony, Bruce, and Nat continued their match of Russian Pyramid. Tony was mid-swear about a move Natasha had pulled, while Bruce looked more amused and tan than Peter had ever seen him.

Steve and Peter lingered at the back of the party. They both watched Falcon shoo Thor away from the barbecue grill for the umpteenth time, his KISS THE COOK apron smeared with charcoal. Wanda sat high in a tree with a smoothie, practicing guitar chords. Vision and Clint were investigating the skeet shooter on the hill nearby. Peter highly doubted that they were up to anything good.

"Congratulations on finishing college soon," Steve said. "I'm sure you're sick of hearing that, but it's obligatory."

"Thanks," Peter said. He tried not to ogle Steve's American flag swimming trunks and Freedom tank top. This is too much, he thought. Ned would freak.

"How would you feel about us attending your graduation? At least two of us," Steve said. "Nat or Clint, really, depending on if they can get work off. I'll come if I can. It's not every day an honorary Avenger has a positive landmark in their life."

That was true. Peter could not say he recalled good news in recent history for any of the Avengers, unless one counted 'not currently being attacked' as good. Why is being a superhero so miserable? Peter thought. This job needs better hours and more perks. These guys deserve it. He trusted them. The Avengers were his trusted colleagues and friends in a world that offered few of either to anyone. That meant more than anything else to him.

The hesitation that had been building in Peter over the past year disintegrated. He looked around at the group surrounding him. Laughter, blue skies, and the smell of roasting meat completed a picture-perfect image. Peter wanted to grab the moment and hold it close to him forever. Even if Civil War II came, this had happened. Nothing could erase that. Peter thought of May, healed from her hip surgery and gardening in window boxes, MJ and Ned standing in their robes for rehearsal, his packet of college acceptance letters and scholarships, and Ben, proud of him until the moment he was gone. The future beckoned.

He was an honorary Avenger. Steve had said it himself. What could they possibly do now? Feelings would be hurt, yes, and trust damaged, but those could heal. They would have to. Peter had already experienced a trial run of the process with Vision. They were talking again, even if they weren't best friends. That was a good sign. He owed everyone the truth, anyway. Peter couldn't lie forever. He didn't want to.

"I'd love for you to come," Peter said. "If you can. Though, yeah, maybe be lower key. It won't be that crazy."

"Gotcha," Steve said. He pulled out his phone. "What did you say your school's name was, again?"

"Midtown Science and Technology," Peter said. "The high school."

He heard Tony spit out his drink. Steve did not look like he had registered the statement. Nat sank a pool ball in a hole while Tony and Bruce were distracted. Falcon looked tired more tired than anything. Wanda's guitar strumming stopped. Thor kept hold of the steak he had stolen, ready to view the upcoming drama with a snack.

Peter's savior sprung from an unlikely source. Confused murmurs came from around the skeet shooter. Seconds later, Clint's shout echoed in the distance, cutting through every inch of tension.

"I knew it!"