The night air was cool and carried the distant, muffled sounds of the city—a world continuing on, oblivious. Y/N had tucked her grandparents in, listening to the soft, regular sounds of their sleep, a rhythm that had become the most precious sound in her world. But the quiet of the house had begun to feel heavy, pressing in on her.

She slipped out onto the small, open terrace. Without hesitation, she hoisted herself up onto the rough, cold brick of the railing, turning her back to the safety of the terrace floor. She settled her weight, her legs dangling freely over the edge, over the three-story drop to the darkened alley below. The wind, stronger up here, tugged at her clothes and hair.