NICK
The heavy steel fire door groaned as I shoved it open, and the wind hit us before we even cleared the threshold.
It wasn't a gentle breeze; it was that raw, high-altitude rush that lives at the top of a concrete building, smelling faintly of damp pavement and the open sky.
I stepped out onto the gray gravel of the rooftop, the low hum of the hospital's ventilation units vibrating through the soles of my boots.
Behind me, the click of the door shutting cut off the sterile, muffled noise of the third-floor corridor.
Suddenly, there were no more paging systems, no squeaking sneakers, and no nurses watching me with worried eyes.
There was only the massive, empty stretch of the sky and the city sprawling out below us.
The clouds had been thickening since noon, but up here, they looked entirely different.
They were a heavy, bruised charcoal color, hanging so low and dense that the middle of the afternoon felt like the dead of evening.
