The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the rooftop. The city stretched out around them, a vast expanse of steel and concrete glowing in the fading light. Caleb stood by the ledge, his posture tense, arms crossed as he stared out at the skyline. He'd been there for a while, lost in his thoughts, when he heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching.
Amber appeared, a small smile on her face as she held out a cup of coffee to him. Her red hair was tousled by the breeze, and she looked more relaxed than the last time he'd seen her. She seemed almost at ease, despite the uncertainty that still lingered between them.
"I wasn't sure how you take it, so I guessed," she said, handing him the cup.
Cal took the cup without a word, taking a slow sip. The familiar warmth and bitterness spread through him, a small comfort amidst the chaos. He glanced at her, his expression unreadable.
"Thanks," he muttered, his gaze returning to the cityscape.
Amber leaned against the ledge beside him, her eyes studying him carefully. "You wanted to talk?"
Cal nodded, his fingers tightening around the cup. "Yeah. I need your help."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "You're asking for help? I must have made a good impression."
He shot her a look, his lips twitching in what might have been a smile. "Don't get used to it."
Amber chuckled softly, taking a sip of her own coffee. "So, what do you need?"
Cal took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the city below. "I need information. You can hear thoughts, so you know things I can't find out on my own. But there are rules."
She nodded, her expression serious now. "I figured as much. What are the rules?"
"You stay out of the fights," he said firmly, turning to face her. "I don't want you getting involved physically. You're not a fighter, and this isn't some game."
Amber looked thoughtful, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I've had training, you know. I've been doing martial arts for years—sambo, kickboxing. I can handle myself."
Cal shook his head, his jaw clenched. "It's not the same. These people aren't just thugs. They're dangerous, and they won't hesitate to kill you."
Amber tilted her head, her gaze softening. "This is about your friend, isn't it? The one you mentioned before."
Cal's eyes flicked to her, surprise and wariness mingling in his expression. "How much do you know?"
"Not much," she admitted, her voice gentle. "Just that you feel guilty. Like you let him down."
Cal looked away, almost shamefully. "I let him get too close. He wanted to help, and I thought… I thought I could protect him. But I couldn't. He nearly died because of me."
Amber was silent for a moment, letting his words hang in the air. Then she reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "You're trying to do something good, Cal. But you can't carry all of this by yourself."
He shook his head, pulling away from her touch. "I feel like I have to. I can't let anyone else get hurt."
She sighed, looking down at her coffee. "Maybe I always wanted to be a superhero, you know? It's stupid, but when I saw you on the news, I thought… maybe I could make a difference too."
Cal turned to her, his expression softening slightly. "It's not stupid," he said quietly. "But this isn't like the movies. People get hurt. People die."
"I know that," she replied, her voice steady. "But I'm not going to sit around and do nothing when I can help. So, if that means staying on the sidelines and finding information for you, then I'll do it. But don't ask me to walk away, because I won't."
Cal looked at her for a long moment, the resolve in her eyes clear and unwavering. Finally, he nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly in resignation.
"Alright," he said. "But we do this my way. No getting involved in the fights, no following me without permission. And no reading my mind without asking."
Amber smiled, a hint of relief in her eyes. "Deal."
They stood there in silence for a while, sipping their coffee as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Across New York City, Ryan paced on a rooftop by himself.
—
Ryan spotted him from across the street—a guy in a gray hoodie sprinting with a red purse clutched under his arm. Shouts echoed behind him, a woman's voice piercing through: "Stop him!"
Ryan didn't hesitate. He moved.
Cutting through an alley, his boots slapped the pavement, heart pounding with anticipation. As he emerged onto the next street, he timed it perfectly. The purse snatcher ran past the alley mouth—Ryan stepped out, colliding like a truck hitting a deer—his shoulder slamming into the man's ribs. The impact sent the thief airborne, crashing into a hot dog stand several yards away. Metal crunched, and food scattered.
Ryan exhaled, rolling his neck.
"Looks like he bit off more than he could chew."
The vendor, mid-fifties with grease-stained apron, stormed over. "What the hell is wrong with you?! You just wrecked my stand!"
Ryan felt the heat rise in his neck—not from exertion, but embarrassment.
"I was just—uh, stopping a crime," he stammered. "Don't you have superhero insurance?"
The woman whose purse had been stolen arrived, heals clacking on the pavement, eyes widening at the scene. "He's just a kid! You didn't need to do all this!"
Ryan glanced at the thief—maybe nineteen. "The man looks old enough to buy a carton of cigarettes."
She pulled out her phone. "I'm calling the cops."
"Sorry," Ryan muttered, backing away. "I'm so gonna get fired for this." He gave a nervous laugh.
He turned and sprinted toward a nearby building, leaping up to grab the fire escape ladder, the two on the street watched in awe, he barely managed to pull himself up—his momentum swinging his bottom half into the building awkwardly. Sirens wailed as he climbed onto the rooftop.