(ITB) ISSUE #3: MIRRORS AND MASKS

After he’d admitted he wasn’t from Earth Bet—but some other Earth entirely—and after she’d given him curt directions to the PRT building, Taylor hadn’t expected to see him again.

She especially didn’t expect to find him hanging upside down, webbed beneath a crumbling highway overpass like some kind of human bat. Or more accurately, some kind of human spider. 

"You're still following me," she said flatly, arms crossed.

Miles twisted his head. “Nah. Coincidence. Giant, awkward, city-spanning coincidence.”

He flipped down and landed in front of her with infuriating ease—no stumble, no thud. Like balance was an afterthought. Taylor hated how effortless it looked. Like this was fun for him.

“Besides,” Miles added, stretching his shoulders out casually, “you’re the one who walks around with a literal cloud of flies. Not exactly low profile.”

“Neither is swinging around with a bright red spider on your chest,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

He chuckled. “Fair. But I look cool doing it.”

Taylor stiffened.

It was cool. And that was the problem.

Every night out here was a struggle: against the gangs, against her own nerves, against her own incompetence. Every decision was second-guessed. Every footstep felt like it echoed too loudly. Every mistake felt like it might be her last. But him? He moved like he belonged in this—fluid, light, fearless. The way he landed, the way he talked, even the way he stood. Like a hero from a better story.

“You said you’ve been doing this for a while,” she said, more bitter than she meant to.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“How do you keep it from eating you alive?”

He didn’t laugh. Just went still, like the conversation had turned a corner he hadn’t expected.

“I don’t,” he said.

They walked together in silence for a while, Taylor leading, Miles just a step behind—close enough to keep pace, far enough not to crowd. The city groaned around them: a rusted-out sedan burned on the corner, its interior still smoldering. The sidewalks were empty. And the buildings watched them with dark, hollow windows, facades occasionally flitting by.

“This place,” Miles muttered, voice low, “feels like it gave up.”

Taylor didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. He wasn’t wrong.

“In my world,” he said, “people cheer when I swing by. yell my name. Even the cops pretend they’re not glad to see me. But here?” He paused, looking around . “No one looks up. Or if they do, they flinch.”

Taylor stared ahead. “That’s because around here, the heroes are outnumbered… and half the capes work for gangs.”

He winced. “That bad?”

She didn’t respond. Not directly. Instead, she stopped by a shuttered storefront, half its glass missing. A single moth fluttered in the corner, wings lit by the red glare of a nearby traffic light.

“My mom used to be a professor,” she suddenly said.

Miles‘ head whipped towards hers. “What?”

“She was an English professor. Local college. She did volunteer work, ran neighborhood literacy drives, that kind of thing. She was… the good kind of person.” Taylor’s voice caught. “The kind this city chews up and forgets.”

Miles stayed silent.

“She died. Car crash. Random. Stupid.” She stared at the street. “After that… things got worse. My best friend, Emma, turned on me. Started hanging out with a girl named Sophia. The kind of person who thinks hurting people makes you strong.”

Taylor’s jaw clenched. “They made school hell. And the teachers… they did nothing.”

“You told them?”

“I screamed it,” she said bitterly. “Didn’t matter. No one listens when you’re small. When you’re quiet. When you don’t… matter.”

The words hung between them. Raw. 

Miles didn’t try to comfort her. Didn’t offer platitudes. He just looked at her. Not with pity. With understanding.

“You feel invisible?” he said softly. “Yeah. I get that.”

Taylor turned to him slowly.

“Back home,” he continued, “I’m too much and not enough at the same time. Too Black. Not Black enough. Too quiet. Too loud. Too weird. Too smart. Not smart enough. Wrong shoes, wrong school, wrong everything.”

He looked down at his hands.

“But I put the mask on, and suddenly I can breathe,” he added. “Suddenly I’m me. No boxes. No rules. I can just… do my own thing.”

Taylor blinked. 

That… that was it. The thing she couldn’t name—couldn’t explain to herself. The truth she hadn’t said out loud yet. The truth that had kept her coming back out here even when it felt impossible.

“Doesn’t it ever scare you?” she asked, already knowing the answer and hating that she did.

“Every day.”

“Then why keep doing it?”

He looked up. The red of his suit caught the streetlight. “Because I don’t want to disappear.”

Taylor didn’t say anything. Not right away.

Then, quietly: “Yeah. Me neither.”

They stood there, two silhouettes beneath the moonlight, the city‘s noise a backdrop to the moment.

It wasn't trust. Not yet. 

But something fragile passed between them.

A beginning.