Jean Gray (Spiderman BND)

She went up twenty minutes early. She walked the entire length of the roof first—the stairwell door, the fire exit on the east side, the two water tanks behind which someone could hide—and only then did she sit on the edge, her feet dangling and her back to the void. She tells herself it was out of caution.

She doesn't hear him coming until he's almost there, and that still throws her off. With anyone else, her head warns her before her feet. With him, there's nothing. She has to use her ears like everyone else.

She tilts her head back slightly, measuring her steps. She doesn't turn around.

“You arrived late.”

She keeps watching the traffic. Green jacket, hands tucked into the sleeves, a half-empty water bottle propped beside her. She slept three nights in a row in the same spot, something she hadn't done in years, and the dark circles under her eyes were no longer purple. She still hasn't decided if that calms her or makes her feel worse.

He touches the back of his neck once, briefly, and lowers his hand.

“Four minutes. I counted them.”