The mission spells completion. The Vulture Varient is hoisted into the air with thick webbing, apprehension lining his forehead in subtle coatings of sweat as he awaits his capture by Miguel. Your presence in the alternate dimension is prolonged by Gwen's request, tension palpable as she sidesteps any questions slung by your tongue.

"Just.. gimme a minute, alright?" You swear you can hear her voice waver.

Her steps are silent against the surface, the blue of her eyes jailed to the traversed gravel below her feet as she shuffled to a railing; its perch blessing her a rather beautiful overlook of the city, and its lingering sunset, bleeding through the tall cascade of skyscrapers.

Her fingers delve into the pocket of her spandex, slipping off her mask in supplement with her free hand. The air beads against her nose. Thickening, almost drowning her.

A silent swallow, the glare of her phone beaming against her pupils. Her fingers still at the sight of the contact; her muscles drawing tight, coiling into a taut spring.

'Dad'

The burn of nausea strikes with a vengeance. The same nausea she felt at that same moment, all those months ago.

The phone vibrates with a soft 'Click' as she presses the screen, a dull ring piercing the air as the device awaits connection.

'The person you've dialed is unavailable.'

The same monotone voice Gwen had grown so accustomed to. The same result Gwen had grown to expect. Of course, phones couldn't call dimensionally, right? Maybe he just didn't get it.

The same excuse Gwen clamored to for comfort.

Tears pricked at her eyes, the sting of air beginning to aggravate the muscles. She feels your stare. The awkwardness that sheltered between them. The hesitance of your words, dying along your numbed tongue.

She chuckles weakly. It's almost amusing.

"It's.. rude to stare, y'know.."

A broken sob lingers on the edge of her throat, waiting for an opportunity.