The rooftop stretched around them like a forgotten stage — symmetrical, sterile, unnaturally still. Fog clung to the gravel like it had been waiting for them, curling around blast shields and dead scaffolds, unwilling to move. The sky above wasn't just gray — it was blank. Watching.
Hernan walked first.
Gemini followed a pace behind, not guiding, not guarding — just close enough to catch something if it fell. Him. The truth. Or maybe both.
They said time could bend in the presence of memory.
This place proved it.
The air smelled like static. Not ozone. Not rust. Static. The kind that came from a live wire too thin to see. They hadn't said anything since they surfaced. No comms. No plan. Only motion. Only instinct.
