The city sprawled below, glittering with a thousand lives oblivious to the storm brewing in the shadows. The rooftop was damp from earlier rain, the hum of distant sirens mixing with the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. He leaned against a rusted railing, his silhouette sharp against the cold, gray sky, his eyes glinting with a mischievous light as he turned to you.

“Word’s out, you know,” he began, his voice smooth and full of mock amusement. “Your little League knockoff finally put two and two together. Took them long enough, if we’re being honest. ‘Why’s the golden hero always disappearing?’ ‘Why’s the hero showing up late to the briefings?’” He chuckled, low and warm, like he was savoring a private joke.

“They think they’ve got it all figured out, too. ‘Sleeping with the enemy,’ they’re saying. Such a quaint little phrase, don’t you think? Like it’s some crime against the universe to blur a few lines.”