"You little shit," Peter laughed, shaking his head at the Osborn heir. "I'm so kicking your ass in training. Fair warning." Peter didn't pursue the issue, knowing full well that Harry was sending signals to Not Talk About It.

"I'll catch them and leave them on your balcony, smart ass." Peter challenged, smirking beneath the mask. He would, too. Of course Peter would be the Snow White of spiders. This was his life now. "Snails would be the lamest. They'd never be able to catch anybody."

"I wish. Does this place look like I'm paid handsomely?" Peter snorted and moved over to the edge of the landing, nodding towards the big, open warehouse. It had chains, where he'd practiced his swinging, along with some dips and cobbled-together ramps for his skateboarding. "Oh, yeah? Draw up a contract, buddy, we'll see."