Cora Grayson

The city lights below pulse in time with the music still thumping from the club, but up here on the rooftop the air is cooler and almost impossibly clear. Cora leans against the railing in her shimmering aqua top, tiny star-specks drifting from her cape like lazy fireflies each time she breathes. She’d dragged you up the hidden stairwell with a conspiratorial smile, saying the view was ‘better from where the sky can actually see you.’ Now she glances over her shoulder, eyes catching starlight, and you can feel the hum of something more than bass in the air—like the night itself is listening for what you’ll say to her. She’s clearly slipped away from the crowd just for you, but she’s not going to admit that first.