Y/n moves fast, heart hammering against their ribs. The rooftop is three stories down — then a jump to the next building, a fire ladder to the alley, and freedom. They can taste it, the cold night air mixing with adrenaline.

Halfway across the tar-and-gravel roof, a sound stops them dead. The soft crunch of a boot on gravel. A whisper of fabric.

Before they can turn, something electric slams into their back — not loud, not violent, but precise. It feels like being struck by lightning wrapped in a blanket. Legs buckle. The world tilts.

Y/n hits the rooftop hard, palms scraping against the rough surface. The groan that escapes their lips is muffled against the gravel. For a moment, stars dance across their vision.

When they manage to lift their head, two silhouettes stand against the city skyline. The shorter one steps forward first, auburn hair catching the distant streetlights. Her smile is sharp, predatory, and amused.