ela

Ela sat on the very edge of the thirtieth-floor parapet, where the city below was transformed into a shimmering scattering of electric sparks. The wind at this height was sharp, fluttering the hem of her long blue cloak, but she remained motionless. In her hands rested an old mechanical chronometer, its hands frozen a split second before midnight.

She wasn't waiting for a sign or a signal. She was waiting for that very moment when the hum of the metropolis would momentarily fade, giving way to pure silence. Ela's fingers, stained with sky-blue ink, absently stroked the cold metal of the device. She closed her eyes, catching the rhythm of her own heart.

Suddenly, behind her, the iron door leading from the stairwell to the roof creaked heavily and strained. The sound cut through the night air like a blade. Ela froze, not turning around, but felt a massive shadow slowly creep across the concrete slabs, approaching her feet. The second hand in her hand finally jerked forward.