Humid air gathered the collective stink of Hong Kong and exhaled it back, hot and wet, onto the humanity below. Summer nights were often miserable.

Qiao wrinkled her nose as she ran swiftly across the roof, her bare feet barely touching the tiles. She kept moving, not daring to look behind her. Fear quickened her steps but panic didn’t grip her, not yet. She operated on the razor’s edge of adrenaline-fueled reaction.

The roof ended.

Without thinking she continued moving into mid air. The iron fire escape was too far away and Qiao knew she wasn’t going to make it. As it began to fall away from her outstretched hands, she called to the metal. With a jarring jolt, her body switched directions and her hands closed upon the bottom most rung of the ladder.

As she scrambled up the ladder, she thanked the metal for helping her and asked for another small favor.

Her skin began to change, growing heavier. Her rapid ascent slowed, taking on a disctinct clanging sound, and in the hot Hong Kong night, Qiao smiled.