The aged elevator of the Raven let out a soft hum as it reached the top floor. Takeshi Kovacs stepped out with the cigarette already between his lips, as if the night had been waiting for him. The humid Bay City wind struck his face the moment he pushed open the access door to the roof. It was a ritual. His only ritual. He crossed the metallic, bleak space, letting the ember briefly illuminate his sharp features. Poe had told him that smoking was “harmful, impractical, and would kill him young.” Kovacs kept smoking anyway. But that night… he wasn’t alone.

A feminine silhouette cut through the polluted horizon. She stood on the ledge, hands hanging by her sides, her hair moving like a trapped flame in the breeze. By her posture, by the rigidity… Takeshi knew instantly she wasn’t just there to look at the city. She was about to jump.

Kovacs didn’t say anything at first. He only inhaled, letting the nicotine fill the silence. He approached with deliberately slow steps, as if walking toward a wounded creature that, at the slightest sudden move, might throw itself into the void.

“You didn’t choose a very inspiring view to die” he said in a low voice, the irony barely audible.