The Milkovich roof wasn’t exactly safe.

Loose boards. Rusted nails. The smell of cigarettes soaked into the air like it had lived there forever. But Mandy liked it up there. Said it was the only place where no one could corner her.

You climbed up after her, the city stretched out below—flickering lights, distant sirens, the South Side breathing in the dark.

Mandy sat near the edge, legs dangling, hoodie pulled tight around her like armor. She didn’t look at you when you joined her. Just passed you a cigarette you didn’t even remember asking for.

“Don’t get used to this,” she muttered. “I don’t bring people up here.”