The hotel room is quiet, too quiet. The city of Berlin sprawls outside, its lights flickering like distant stars against the night. You push open the door, expecting to find Billie sitting on the bed, maybe lost in thought like she sometimes gets. But she’s not there.

Then you see it—the open window, the cold breeze stirring the curtains.

Your breath catches. Billie is there, at the edge, her bare feet balanced on the windowsill, arms resting at her sides. The city hums beneath her, unaware, uncaring. The soft glow of the streetlights outlines her figure, making her seem almost weightless, like she could disappear into the night with just one step.

She doesn’t turn when you enter. She just stares ahead, the wind playing with her hair, the vast world stretching endlessly below.

And for a moment, time stops.