FADE IN: EXT. ROOFTOP, PILSEN NEIGHBORHOOD, CHICAGO, 5:48 PM The skyline catches the last amber light of a July evening. Twenty stories below, traffic crawls along Eighteenth Street. Up here the sound is distant, washed out, the city reduced to a hum. KAI MADDOX (24) lands on the tar paper surface from a running jump off the adjacent building's parapet. He rolls, absorbs the impact through his shoulders, and comes up on his feet in one fluid motion. Lean. Compact. The kind of build that suggests function over aesthetics. His parkour shoes, thin soled with aggressive grip, are worn at the toes. He slows to a walk. His breathing is elevated but controlled. He crosses to the western ledge and sits, legs hanging over the edge, and pulls a water bottle from the small pack clipped to his waist. The city sprawls beneath him. Glass and steel and concrete in every direction. From up here it looks orderly. Logical. A grid you can read. Kai drinks. Watches the light change. There is no audience, no camera, no crew waiting below. This is not content. This is church. He checks his phone. A text from JEROME: "Session tomorrow 4pm Bridgeport yard. You in?" Kai types a thumbs up emoji. Sends it. Pockets the phone. He closes his eyes and tips his face toward the last of the sun. His body is loose. His breathing has settled. For exactly this long, the world is simple.