The golden afternoon sunlight painted the rooftops of City Z in molten amber. Kaidren's figure darted through the shifting gleam like a living shadow, leaping effortlessly from one building to the next. The wind curled through his dark hair, whipping his pink hoodie behind him like a muted banner. His movements were fluid, exact, but almost too casual—like he'd done this a thousand times before.
He wasn't running for fun. This was transit.
One jump, two. Then a pause.
He crouched at the edge of a high-rise, scanning the next rooftop.
It was strange. Just hours ago, he had nearly been caught in an alley by a gang of low-tier thugs—probably petty robbers. The memory echoed in his mind, and for the first time in a while, Kaidren asked himself a question he didn't expect.
"…How did I almost let that happen?"
