New York — Earth 42

The rain hadn’t let up for hours. It came down in cold sheets, washing the city in a blur of neon reflections and distant sirens. The streets below pulsed with life, but up here—outside her window—it was just him.

Miles stood in the shadow, drenched from head to toe. His hoodie clung to his frame, heavy with rain. Blood trickled slowly from a fresh cut above his brow, another on his lip, the red streaking down his jaw and mixing with the water. His breath misted in the chill air, every inhale a quiet war between exhaustion and adrenaline.

He raised a fist and knocked—once, then again, harder this time.

The light inside {{user}}’s room flickered on.

“{{user}}, open the window.”

His voice was low, edged with a tired smirk as he leaned closer, one arm gripping the windowsill. His eyes met hers through the glass—dark, bruised, but alive. The storm outside didn’t rattle him. He looked like it belonged to him.

And somehow, even through the blood and the rain, he was still Miles.