Sunrise was the time for getting things done upstairs.

Hall stood ramrod-straight on the edge, drinking in the light streaming in from the horizon. It was like a cold shower: focusing, piercing, pure, with that same bite of chilled air rattling about with each breath. Every distraction littering the mind was swept away like so much refuse, a hundred little problems put to bed so the larger ones could be tackled.

“He’ll know I’m coming,” Hall said, closing his eyes. “He’ll know I’m coming, but he won’t be ready.”

He rose off the rooftop as he spoke, levitating skyward–gently at first, but then with gathering speed and purpose.

“No one will.”