Episode5-The Rooftop
1422 Words
The elevator stopped one floor too low.
Eleora felt the wrongness of it before she saw the number flicker above the doors. The pause lingered half a second longer than expected. The hum deepened. Then the doors slid open.
Bare concrete. Exposed pipes. A hallway unfinished and unwelcoming .
She stayed still for a beat.
The elevator doors waited.
She stepped out.
They closed behind her with a sound too final for comfort.
The air smelled damp,metallic, touched faintly with dust. Somewhere above her, wind pressed against the building , slipping through unseen cracks .The exit sign at the far end glowed red, humming softly, the only color in a corridor drained of warmth.
Her boots echoed as she walked.
Each step landed carefully, not rushed,not hesitant.Her heart kept a steady rhythm, but everything else sharpened, the scrape of her sole against concrete, the distant thrum of traffic below, the way the air felt thinner here, expectant .
She reached the stairwell and pushed the door open.
It groaned.
Cold rushed down the stairwell, biting through her coat, threading under her collar. She climbed the last flight slowly, fingers sliding along the railing. The higher she went, the louder the city became, engines , horns , a siren crying somewhere far below before dissolving into the night .
The rooftop door stood ajar.
She pushed it open .
Wind hit her full force, tugging her coat open,snapping loose strands of hair across her face . The rooftop stretched wide and bare, concrete slick with rain, city lights reflected in broken streaks that shimmered and warped beneath her feet.
Spencer stood near the edge.
One hand rested on the railing. The other held a cigarette he wasn’t smoking. His coat was gone , sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his forearms,skin pale against the dark fabric. The wind pressed his shirt tight to his body , outlining him in sharp lines and shadow.
He didn’t turn.
“You came ,” he said.
His voice carried easily through the wind , steady , unhurried.
She crossed the rooftop,boots whispering against wet concrete. She stopped several feet away, leaving space she could retreat through if she needed to.
“You already knew I would,” she said.
Silence stretched.
Then he turned.
The look he gave her moved slowly ,deliberately,as if he were reading something written beneath her skin. His gaze traced her face, the set of her shoulders, the way her hands hung at sides , loose, controlled, even as her breath shortened.
“You hesitated,” he said.
She lifted her chin. “I always do.”
“That’s not hesitation,” he replied. “That’s awareness.”
The word settled between them.
The wind rushed past , cold and sharp. She swallowed, feeling the sound of it scrape down her throat.
They stood there,the city breathing beneath them, the space between their bodies taut and alive. She felt suddenly aware of herself in a way that made her skin feel too tight, of where her coat brushed her collarbone ,of how close he was without touching, of how easily the distance could disappear.
He stepped forward.
Not enough to reach her.
Enough to tilt the air.
She didn’t move back.
“You didn’t ask why,” he said.
“Why what?”
“Why I chose you.”
Her fingers curled once at her side before she stilled them. “I already know the answer you’d give.”
“Say it.”
She met his gaze. “You think I’m useful.”
His mouth curved faintly, something like approval flickering across his face.
“I think,” he said, “you pay attention.”
Another step.
She could smell him now :clean, rain-soaked, something warm beneath it. Smoke clung faintly to his clothes, not sharp but lived-in. Her breath caught despite herself.
“You notice when people watch,” he continued. “When they want something. When they’re pretending not to.”
She shifted her weight. Her boots scraped softly against the concrete, the sound swallowed by the wind. “And you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you pretending?”
He tilted his head, studying her like a problem he didn’t mind taking his time with. Wind tugged her coat open again, and she reached back, gripping the railing for balance.
The metal was cold.
His eyes dropped to her hand.
Then lifted again.
“I don’t pretend,” he said. “I curate.”
Her pulse jumped.
He reached out ,not to her, but past her,placing his hand on the railing inches from her fingers. The metal vibrated faintly beneath both their palms, a shared contact that wasn’t quite touch.
Now he was close enough that she felt his warmth cutting through the cold. Close enough that she could feel the shift of air when he breathed.
“Does this make you uncomfortable?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head.
Her voice wouldn’t have held steady if she’d tried.
His thumb brushed the railing once. A small movement. Thoughtless. Intimate.
“Good,” he said.
The word lingered, heavy.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
The sound was jarring in the open air.
She froze.
He didn’t move. Didn’t look away.
“Answer it,” he said.
Her fingers moved slowly as she pulled the phone free.
A bank notification filled the screen.
Deposit confirmed.
Her breath left her in a silent rush. The city tilted, lights blurring at the edges.
She looked up.
He wasn’t watching the screen.
He was watching her.
“You did that just now,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Without asking.”
He leaned in, close enough that his voice dropped beneath the wind. “I asked you in the rain.”
Her heart slammed once, hard.
She slid the phone back into her pocket, her hand trembling now, the movement betraying her. She didn’t try to hide it.
“And if I say stop?” she asked.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped back.
The space he left felt like something pulled loose from her chest.
“Then I stop,” he said. “And you walk away.”
She searched his face, looking for the hook. The trick. The unspoken clause.
“And if I don’t?”
A beat passed.
Then his smile changed ,not wider, not warmer. Sharper.
“Then we see how far you’re willing to go.”
The wind surged, whipping her hair across her face.Somewhere below, a horn blared, long and impatient.
She opened her mouth.
The rooftop door slammed shut behind her.
The sound echoed off concrete and sky.
She spun.
Footsteps followed. Slow. Unhurried.
Spencer’s gaze shifted over her shoulder, his body angling subtly, positioning without touching her.
“Seems,” he said quietly, “we’re not alone.”
Three figures emerged from the shadows near the stairwell.
Dark jackets. Hoods low. Movements controlled, practiced. Not drunk students. Not lost residents.
One of them smiled when he saw her.
Recognition hit her hard.
The man from the hallway.
From the photo.
He lifted a hand in a small, mocking wave. “Evening, Eleora.”
Her stomach dropped.
Spencer didn’t step closer to her. Didn’t step away either. His voice stayed calm. “This wasn’t part of the agreement.”
The man laughed softly. “Agreements evolve.”
Another figure moved, blocking the path back to the door. The third lingered near the edge, gaze flicking between her and the drop beyond the railing.
The air thickened. The city noise dulled, as if the rooftop had sealed itself off from the world.
The man reached into his jacket.
Eleora’s muscles locked.
He pulled out the envelope.
The one from her door.
He held it between two fingers, letting it catch the city light.
“You should’ve checked who else was watching,” he said.
Spencer’s jaw tightened.
“You’re making a mistake,” Spencer said.
The man’s smile widened.“So did you.”
He looked back at Eleora, eyes bright with something that made her skin crawl .
“Because now,” he said softly, “you’re worth a lot more than tuition.”
The wind howled .
Spencer’s hand closed around her wrist , not tight,but firm , grounding .
“Run,” he said.
The rooftop lights cut out.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Someone grabbed her coat.
The city vanished.
And Eleora understood too late that the offer had never been the most dangerous thing Spencer had given her.
- Writer
