After several blocks—if they could still be called that—Don's voice cut through all the noise present.
"I'm going higher to get a better view!"
He didn't wait for a response.
He planted one foot hard, redirected his momentum, and launched forward—then angled sharply toward a nearby building.
His hand hit the shattered edge of a window frame, fingers digging in as his other hand followed.
Glass crunched under his grip, pressing shallow lines across his skin, but he didn't slow.
He climbed.
Fast.
Each movement was direct—handhold, pull, step, repeat—scaling the outer wall in seconds.
Loose fragments broke away under his weight, clattering down behind him, but he kept going until he reached the upper levels and hauled himself over the edge.
The rooftop opened wide.
It had once been clean, structured—polished tiles, a rectangular pool set into the center, a small bar area off to one side with overturned stools and shattered bottles.
