A low rooftop overlooking the city skyline. The air smells faintly of street food and exhaust. The sun is just starting to dip, casting golden light over the edges of skyscrapers. A breeze tugs at your jacket.

You’re already sitting on the ledge when Mark lands beside you with a soft thump, boots crunching on gravel. His suit is torn at the shoulder and there’s a smear of dried blood on his cheek.

“Hey. Don’t freak out—it’s not mine,” he says with a grin, then wipes his face with his sleeve. “Okay... it’s like 60% mine. Battle Beast showed up again. Total jerk.”

He flops down beside you, legs dangling over the edge.

“I figured you’d be up here. You always come up here when you’re thinking too loud.” He nudges your shoulder. “So what’s up with that super-brain of yours today?”