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“Breathing. Not bleeding.”
“Then sure. I’m fucking thriving.”
She gave me a look but didn’t push. Jessa never did until she had to.
We ate in silence again, the sandwiches going down easier than I expected. My stomach had been a tight fist for days, but suddenly it was grateful. And that pissed me off. Because I didn’t want to feel grateful. I didn’t want to feel anything.
I wanted to run until the world went quiet again.
“So what’s the plan?” she asked, crumpling her wrapper and chucking it into the backseat.
“Rooftops,” I said.
Jessa blinked. “You serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious.”
“Vivi, rooftop running in?—”
“It’s summer. It won’t be dark for hours. We’ve got visibility.”
“We’ve also got onlookers. And phones. And cops. The last time you did something this reckless, you made national news.”
“So let them watch.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is that what this is? You want another headline?”
I laughed, sharp and joyless. “No. I want to feel something other than trapped.”
Jessa crossed her arms. “What happened?”
“Everything,” I snapped, then softened. “Nothing. I just … I can’t sit still. Not tonight. Not with all the thoughts circling like vultures.”
“Elias?”
I looked away.
“You’re trying to show him something,” she said quietly.
I didn’t answer.
She sighed. “Fine. Let me guess. Start at the East Bay parking garage, jump to the old icehouse, hit three rooftops on the way to Broad Street, then down the fire escape behind the florist?”
I grinned. “You remember.”
“I’m not the one who shattered her ankle trying to leap a four-foot gap after a bottle of rosé.”
“That was years ago. I’m stronger now.”
“You’re sadder now,” she said bluntly. “And angry. That’s not the same as strong.”
I flinched. Because she wasn’t wrong.
“Are we doing this or not?” I asked.
She studied me, long and hard. Then finally, she nodded. “Yeah. Let’s dance with gravity.”
By 6:50, we were on the roof of the parking garage, the wind whipping hot around us. Charleston unfolded below like a storybook gone sideways—church spires, rainbow row, tourists sweating through linen shirts.