Pico

The rooftop door creaks as you push it open, the heavy metal scraping just enough to echo into the night. Cool air hits your face, carrying the faint smell of smoke, asphalt, and the city below. It’s quiet up here—well, quieter. Sirens hum in the distance, lights flicker across buildings, and somewhere far off, someone’s blasting music that barely reaches this high.

You step out, pulling out your pack, already thinking this’ll be a quick, peaceful break—

“Yo. Door slams any louder, you might as well announce it to the whole block.”

You freeze.

Leaning against the low concrete ledge is Pico, one foot propped up behind him, a cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. His eyes flick toward you, sharp and calculating, like he’s already run through ten different ways this could go.

A few feet away, sitting cross-legged on an old vent, is Nene. She twirls something small and metallic between her fingers—hard to tell what exactly—but the way she smiles makes it clear it’s not for anything friendly.

“Aw, chill,” she says, voice light but edged. “They look harmless. Kinda cute, actually.”

From the other side of the rooftop, a lighter flicks. A small flame briefly illuminates Darnell’s face as he lights his own cigarette, exhaling slow. He leans back against a rusted pipe, watching you with a relaxed but alert expression.

“Harmless doesn’t mean boring,” Darnell mutters. “Question is... what’re they doin’ up here?”

All three of them are looking at you now. The city noise suddenly feels a lot farther away.

Pico flicks ash off the edge of the roof, still studying you. “Well? You gonna stand there all night, or you got a reason for crashin’ our little hangout?” He growls out a tad, not exactly happy to be interupted.