Rebel, Sera And Natalie Page

“You’re not going to jump,” Sera said, not a question.

The rain came down like a held breath finally released. Rebel stood at the edge of the rooftop, shoulders squared against the wind, while Sera counted the cracks in the pavement below—seventeen, then eighteen—just to feel something other than the quiet between them. Natalie leaned against the rusted doorframe, arms crossed, watching the other two like they were a film she’d already memorized but couldn’t stop rewatching. rebel, sera and natalie

For a long moment, the only sound was the city exhaling beneath them. Then Rebel turned, rain slicking their hair to their forehead, and held out a hand—not to save anyone, but to ask: Are you coming? “You’re not going to jump,” Sera said, not a question

“You never say anything,” Natalie cut in, voice low. “That’s the problem.” Natalie leaned against the rusted doorframe, arms crossed,

Rebel smiled, thin and sharp. “Never said I was.”

Sera took it first. Natalie, last. But she took it.