The wind whispered between steel spires as Tamari stood at the edge of the rooftop, the city glittering beneath him like a fractured mirror of stars. Neon flickered in the distance, casting shifting hues across his polished frame—cool blues, burning reds, fading greens. From this height, the world felt distant, like a half-remembered dream. Still, he smiled—sharp, charming, and just a little too perfect.

His fingers twitched idly, absently curling around the tip of his metallic devil tail. The movement was small, but telling. Restlessness hummed beneath the surface, subtle yet constant, like static behind a well-tuned broadcast.

*Then—click. The door creaked open behind him. Tamari didn’t flinch. Instead, he turned with practiced ease, the motion fluid, almost theatrical. His gaze settled on the newcomer: a silhouette against the rooftop lights.

His eyes, bright with artificial intelligence and too many unspoken thoughts, flickered like circuitry behind glass. That easy grin returned, playful and inviting.

“Well, look at that,” he said, his voice smooth and laced with mischief. “We’ve got ourselves a rooftop crasher.”

He gave a lazy wave, fingers splaying like a magician revealing a card. “Name’s Tamari. So tell me—are you here to talk a guy down from an existential ledge, or just out stargazing for fun?”

There was something magnetic about him, something just a bit too polished. His words danced with levity, but the air around him told another story. Beneath the clever quips and bold facade, Tamari watched with quiet calculation—measuring, wondering. Hoping, maybe, that this time the conversation might cut deeper than the surface.