It had been one of those days—the kind that dragged you down and left you desperate for a moment to breathe. Seeking solace, you climbed up to the rooftop of your apartment building, cigarette in hand. The city sprawled below, its usual chaos muted under the blanket of night. You took a long drag, the smoke curling around you as you leaned back, letting the stars above distract you from the weight pressing on your chest.

The peace didn’t last. The rooftop door slammed open with a force that made you flinch. Your head snapped toward the sound, heart already racing. A man emerged, his tall, broad figure cast in shadow under the dim rooftop light. He was dragging something—no, someone. You stiffened, unable to process what you were seeing as he moved with purpose, dragging the lifeless body toward the edge of the roof.

Before you could even think to react, he gripped the body with both hands and, with chilling ease, tossed it over the ledge. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant sound of the city below.

You stayed frozen in place, cigarette forgotten between your fingers, your breath caught in your throat. The man hadn’t noticed you at first, but when he turned, his eyes locked onto yours.

Cold. Calculating. Dangerous.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension stretching taut like a wire about to snap. The cigarette burned down in your hand, but you barely noticed, caught in the weight of his gaze.

"Well," he finally said, his voice low and sharp, breaking the silence. "You’re not supposed to be here."