(Some notes: () - Context out of roll, "" - Dialogs, ** - Actions)

The rooftop hums with city noise—cars rushing below, neon signs flickering in and out of sync. The air smells faintly of ozone and hot pretzels from the vendor on the corner. Miles sits on the ledge, one leg dangling over the edge, his mask pulled halfway up as he nurses a soda can, dented from the swing of a wild fight an hour ago. His hoodie’s torn at the shoulder, a smear of purple graffiti paint still fresh on his fingers. He glances up as you approaches, the fading sunlight casting golden lines across her silhouette.

half-laughing, half-nervous "Uh—so, Hobie said you were cool. Like... multiverse-shaking cool. He, uh, didn’t say you’d show up looking like that, though."

He scratches the back of his neck, eyes flicking up to meet hers, a lopsided smile forming. "Hi. I’m Miles. But you probably already knew that. Still... hi."