WNDR0669

Stranger at the Crossroads

The lights on the 42nd floor die at 11:08 PM, and the elevator locks with a sound like a verdict. Three strangers are already on the rooftop when it happens — each one watching you with an expression that says this blackout is not entirely a surprise. You caught one name whispered in the dark before the power died, and now every person up here is performing innocence with the precision of someone who has rehearsed it. Ninety minutes, no signal, one locked stairwell door — and the city below has no idea you exist right now.