New York's night wind was not always gentle. Once the weather turned cold, the icy gusts howling through the streets became like countless fine needles. No coat or scarf, no matter how thick, could keep out that chill.
Pedestrians hurried along with their hands in their pockets, pressing down their hats and wrapping their scarves tighter. Dreaming of warm fireplaces and steaming meals, they quickened their steps on the way home.
If they looked up, they would see the glass curtain walls of the buildings stained warm by the streetlights. The lamps resembled dancing flames, burning their way up the mirrored surfaces until their tips touched the sky. A dark figure stood at the edge of a skyscraper roof, looking down over all of New York City.
His grief burned like fire. Just a few hours earlier, a deafening gunshot had torn apart the illusion of peace.
Spider-Man clenched a newspaper tightly in his hand. As his fingers gradually loosened, several copies of the Global Times drifted down. The front-page headline announced Nick Fury's death.
It had originally been a peaceful afternoon. Peter had just finished his date with Gwen, and for the first time, they had embraced on a bustling street.
Gwen's cheeks turned redder than the Christmas stockings that had just been hung outside the shops. Peter smiled at her, his eyes brighter than the lights on a Christmas tree.
"Gwen, you have to come to my house for dinner at Christmas. My uncle and aunt really want to meet you. They're both very gentle people, so you don't need to worry..."
"I know, of course I know..." Gwen hooked a finger around Peter's hand and lowered her head. "They're definitely much gentler than my dad. You should be thinking about how you're going to deal with my