We hang there, suspended three stories above the ground, clinging to a rusted ladder that sways with every breath. My fingers ache. My shoulders burn. Below us, the alley is dark and empty, scattered with takeout containers and cigarette butts.
"This is a bad plan," Grath says from somewhere above me, his voice carrying that particular blend of resignation and disapproval I'm becoming intimately familiar with.
"We're committed now," I wheeze out, trying to redistribute my weight on the rung without losing my precarious handhold. My palms are slick with sweat, or maybe rust, or possibly both.
"I could jump down," he suggests, and I can hear him shifting his grip, the ladder trembling with the motion.
The mental image of him plummeting three stories to the pavement makes my stomach lurch. "You'd break your ankles. Possibly your legs. Maybe your spine, depending on how you landed."
"I'd heal." He says it matter-of-factly, like we're discussing the weather rather than compound fractures.
"Not before people asked questions." I tilt my head back, trying to catch a glimpse of his expression. All I can see is the underside of his jaw, shadowed and stubborn. "Questions like 'why was the orc from the café jumping off buildings in the middle of the night?' Questions we really, really don't need right now."
He grunts, then continues climbing. Slow and careful, each movement deliberate. The metal groans under his weight but holds.
When we finally reach the roof, I collapse onto the tar paper surface, gasping for air. My arms feel like overcooked noodles.
Grath steps over me and surveys the space with a critical eye. "This is where we hide?"
"This is where we observe."
"There's no cover."
He's right. The roof is flat and barren, dotted with vents and an ancient air conditioning unit that probably hasn't worked in a decade. Across the gap, maybe fifteen feet away, Janelle's office window glows with warm light.
I push myself to my feet, brushing tar flecks off my jeans. "We make our own cover."
From my backpack, I pull out a small tarp, some rope, and the bin of fish I'd grabbed from the café's cooler. The smell hits immediately, briny and sharp.
Grath's nose wrinkles, his expression twisting into something between confusion and offense. "Why fish?"
"In case we need a distraction." I put the bin down carefully, trying not to slosh the melted ice water over the edge.
"From who?" His brow furrows, deep creases forming across his forehead.
"I don't know. Security guards. Janelle. Whoever might show up and complicate things."
"You think fish will distract them?" The disbelief in his voice is palpable, each word drawn out like he's testing the validity of my plan by saying it slowly.
"Cats like fish. Maybe people do too." Even as I say it, I know how ridiculous it sounds. My cheeks flush despite the cold wind whipping across the rooftop.
He stares at me for a long moment, unblinking, his dark eyes fixed on mine with that particular blend of bewilderment and concern that I'm starting to recognize as his signature look when I've said something especially absurd. "That is the worst logic I've ever heard."
I cross my arms defensively, the fabric of my jacket crinkling. "You have a better idea?"
Silence stretches between us, filled only by the distant hum of traffic and the wind rattling the loose vent covers.
"That's what I thought." I turn away, busying myself with arranging our makeshift surveillance equipment, determined not to look at his eyes again.
We string up the tarp between the vents, creating a small shelter that blocks the worst of the wind. I settle in behind it, pulling out a pair of binoculars I'd borrowed from the supply closet. Grath lowers himself beside me, his bulk taking up most of the available space.
Our knees touch. Our shoulders press together. He radiates warmth like a furnace, and I'm suddenly very aware of how cold the night has gotten.
I lift the binoculars to my eyes and focus on the window across the gap.
Janelle sits at her desk, phone pressed to her ear. Her expression is animated, her free hand gesturing as she speaks. I can't hear the words, but the body language reads as agitated.
"See anything?" Grath's breath ghosts across my ear, making me shiver.
