Cougar

Edge of The Tower

Kyle crane x y/n

The sun is sinking behind the crumbling skyline of Harran, turning the sky a bruised orange. From the rooftop of the Tower, the city looks almost peaceful—until you notice the slow, wandering shapes below. Biters. Always biters.

You tighten your gloves, the rough fabric scraping your palms, and brush hair from your face. You’ve been in Harran longer than most of the runners from the Tower. Long enough to know every jump, every broken railing, every place the infected like to gather. Long enough to survive.

The metal door behind you creaks open.

“Figured I’d find you up here.”

You don’t turn immediately. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Crane steps onto the roof, the fading light catching on the sweat-damp strands of his hair. His movements are careful but confident—the kind that only come after weeks of nearly dying on rooftops across Harran.

You finally glance over your shoulder.

“Thought you were still out with Brecken’s runners,” you say.

He shrugs, leaning against the ledge beside you. “Was. They wanted someone who actually knows the rooftops. Guess who they sent me to.”

You huff quietly. “Lucky you.”

For a moment, the two of you stand there in silence, watching the city sink into dusk. The air grows colder. Down below, the infected start to stir more aggressively. Night is coming.

Crane breaks the silence first.

“So,” he says, glancing at you. “You’ve been here longer than me. Tell me something.”

“What?”

“How the hell are you still alive?”

A small smile tugs at your lips.

“Rule one,” you say, pointing toward a cluster of rooftops across the street. “Never take the obvious path. Biters follow noise and habit. You go where they don’t expect.”

Crane studies the route you’re indicating—an impossible-looking series of jumps, narrow beams, and broken billboards.

“You actually run that?”

“Every supply run.”

He lets out a quiet whistle. “Remind me never to bet against you.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of amusement in your chest.

A distant scream cuts through the streets below. Both of you freeze. Then the guttural roar of infected follows.

Crane straightens instantly. “That sounded close.”

You’re already moving toward the edge of the rooftop, scanning the alleyways. Two runners from the Tower are sprinting down the street, a swarm of infected chasing them.

“Damn it,” you mutter.

Crane looks at you. “We going?”

You glance at the rooftops again, mapping the fastest route in your head. Then you nod.

“Stick close to me,” you say, pulling your hood up slightly as the wind picks up. “Don’t miss the second jump. The landing’s broken.”

Crane smirks faintly. “Wow, you do care if I survive.”

You shoot him a look. “Only because you’d slow me down if you turned.”

That earns a quiet laugh from him. For a brief second, your eyes meet. There’s something unspoken there, something that’s been slowly building during supply runs, late-night patrols, and shared moments catching your breath on rooftops.

The screams below snap the moment apart.

“Ready?” you ask.

Crane nods once. “After you, Tower veteran.”

You sprint forward, boots pounding against the rooftop before launching into the air. The wind rushes past as you clear the gap. Behind you, you hear Crane follow. Somehow—even with infected screaming below and night creeping over Harran—you can’t help the small thought crossing your mind.

He trusts you.

And maybe… you’re starting to trust him too.