The Architect's Fall
The stairs were endless. Each step was a fresh negotiation with his failing body, his legs screaming, his lungs burning. The building was old, its staircase narrow and winding, the walls damp with decades of neglect. He had been climbing for what felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes. Time had become elastic, stretching and contracting with each beat of his heart. His hand gripped the railing, the metal cold and rough beneath his palm. The wood of the steps groaned under his weight, threatening to give way. He didn't slow. He couldn't. Behind him, he could hear the echo of footsteps, the sound of pursuit closing the distance. He reached a landing and pushed through a door, emerging onto a rooftop. The wind hit him immediately, cold and sharp, carrying the smell of rain and
- Writer
