When the City Holds its Breath
As dusk settles over the Exchange District, the ghost signs fade into the brickwork. A climb up a fire escape leads to a rooftop view and a conversation that feels more vulnerable and vital than any they've had before.
EXT. WAREHOUSE DISTRICT ALLEY - DUSK
The last light of day bleeds into a bruised purple. The air is still.
ALEX (30s), analytical and coiled with tension, stares up at the side of a century-old brick warehouse.
CLOSE ON - GHOST SIGN
Faded, peeling paint on the brick spells out "McCLELLAN'S DRY GOODS." The words are barely legible, a whisper from the past.
ALEX (V.O.)
Dusk is the city’s magic trick. The hard edges soften. And for a few minutes, everything holds its breath. The ghost signs perform their final act, fading back into the brick they came from.
LEAF (30s), quiet and observant, stands a few feet away, watching Alex, not the building. A heavy silence hangs between them.
ALEX (V.O.)
They were here, they whisper, and now they are not. It makes me think about the line between being a memory and just being forgotten. A fine line. A terrifying one.
Alex’s gaze drifts, unfocused.
ALEX (V.O.)
Ever since the cemetery, a new kind of silence has settled between us. This one has weight. My family history, the thing I thought was my anchor, turned out to be a story someone made up. I feel like one of these old buildings—I look solid from the outside, but my foundation is a mess.
Leaf’s voice, soft, cuts through the quiet.
LEAF
There.
Alex turns. Leaf isn't pointing at a sign. She points to a zigzag of black metal bolted to the side of the warehouse. A fire escape.
LEAF
The best view is always the one you have to work for.
Alex looks at the rusty, imposing structure. Every cautious instinct screams no. But a deeper exhaustion wins out. Alex gives a slow, deliberate nod.
EXT. WAREHOUSE FIRE ESCAPE - CONTINUOUS
SOUND of a sharp METALLIC GROAN as Alex puts a foot on the first rung.
The iron is still warm from the day's sun. The ascent is noisy, each step an echoing complaint of stressed metal.
They climb. Past windows of dark, empty offices. Past brickwork stained with a century of rain.
With every level, the sounds of the street—the low RUMBLE of traffic, a distant SIREN—grow fainter. They are replaced by the WHISPER of the wind and the THUMPING of Alex’s own heart.
EXT. WAREHOUSE ROOF - MOMENTS LATER
Alex and Leaf emerge onto the flat, gravel-covered roof.
And the city unfolds.
A breathtaking vista. The prairie sky is a vast gradient from deep indigo to a final, stubborn slash of orange at the horizon.
Below, a circuit board of light. Streetlights trace the city grid. The illuminated dome of the legislature, the abstract shape of the human rights museum, the dark ribbon of the Red River snaking through it all.
From up here, it looks orderly. Understandable. Peaceful.
LEAF
(a whisper)
See? It's not so scary from a distance.
Alex walks toward the ledge, stopping a safe few feet away.
ALEX
It's not the city that's scary.
Alex taps their own chest.
ALEX
It's the bit right here. This part. The part that has to go down there and live in it.
Leaf comes to stand beside them. She waits. The usual witty retort doesn't come. They watch the last of the light drain from the world.
ALEX
(to the skyline)
All that talk... about five-year plans and legacies and building something permanent. It's not about success, Leaf. Not really.
LEAF
What is it about, then?
Alex takes a deep breath of the cool, high air.
ALEX
It's about not being a ghost sign. It's about not having your entire life's work fade into the brick until people have to squint to see you were ever there at all. The cemetery... it just made me realize that even the stories I thought were permanent can be erased. Or were never true to begin with.
(a vulnerable crack)
What if I just... disappear? What if I make no mark at all?
The confession hangs in the air. The silence that follows is huge, as big as the sky. The million lights of the city blur in Alex’s vision.
Leaf doesn't speak. She doesn't offer a cheap solution. She just looks from Alex's face to the sprawling city, then back.
Then, she holds out her hand.
It’s not a gesture of rescue, not to pull Alex back from the ledge. It’s just there, in the space between them. Palm up. An offering. A question without words.
Alex looks from the infinite grid of city lights... to Leaf's simple, outstretched hand. An anchor in the here and now.
FADE TO BLACK.
The last light of day bleeds into a bruised purple. The air is still.
ALEX (30s), analytical and coiled with tension, stares up at the side of a century-old brick warehouse.
CLOSE ON - GHOST SIGN
Faded, peeling paint on the brick spells out "McCLELLAN'S DRY GOODS." The words are barely legible, a whisper from the past.
ALEX (V.O.)
Dusk is the city’s magic trick. The hard edges soften. And for a few minutes, everything holds its breath. The ghost signs perform their final act, fading back into the brick they came from.
LEAF (30s), quiet and observant, stands a few feet away, watching Alex, not the building. A heavy silence hangs between them.
ALEX (V.O.)
They were here, they whisper, and now they are not. It makes me think about the line between being a memory and just being forgotten. A fine line. A terrifying one.
Alex’s gaze drifts, unfocused.
ALEX (V.O.)
Ever since the cemetery, a new kind of silence has settled between us. This one has weight. My family history, the thing I thought was my anchor, turned out to be a story someone made up. I feel like one of these old buildings—I look solid from the outside, but my foundation is a mess.
Leaf’s voice, soft, cuts through the quiet.
LEAF
There.
Alex turns. Leaf isn't pointing at a sign. She points to a zigzag of black metal bolted to the side of the warehouse. A fire escape.
LEAF
The best view is always the one you have to work for.
Alex looks at the rusty, imposing structure. Every cautious instinct screams no. But a deeper exhaustion wins out. Alex gives a slow, deliberate nod.
EXT. WAREHOUSE FIRE ESCAPE - CONTINUOUS
SOUND of a sharp METALLIC GROAN as Alex puts a foot on the first rung.
The iron is still warm from the day's sun. The ascent is noisy, each step an echoing complaint of stressed metal.
They climb. Past windows of dark, empty offices. Past brickwork stained with a century of rain.
With every level, the sounds of the street—the low RUMBLE of traffic, a distant SIREN—grow fainter. They are replaced by the WHISPER of the wind and the THUMPING of Alex’s own heart.
EXT. WAREHOUSE ROOF - MOMENTS LATER
Alex and Leaf emerge onto the flat, gravel-covered roof.
And the city unfolds.
A breathtaking vista. The prairie sky is a vast gradient from deep indigo to a final, stubborn slash of orange at the horizon.
Below, a circuit board of light. Streetlights trace the city grid. The illuminated dome of the legislature, the abstract shape of the human rights museum, the dark ribbon of the Red River snaking through it all.
From up here, it looks orderly. Understandable. Peaceful.
LEAF
(a whisper)
See? It's not so scary from a distance.
Alex walks toward the ledge, stopping a safe few feet away.
ALEX
It's not the city that's scary.
Alex taps their own chest.
ALEX
It's the bit right here. This part. The part that has to go down there and live in it.
Leaf comes to stand beside them. She waits. The usual witty retort doesn't come. They watch the last of the light drain from the world.
ALEX
(to the skyline)
All that talk... about five-year plans and legacies and building something permanent. It's not about success, Leaf. Not really.
LEAF
What is it about, then?
Alex takes a deep breath of the cool, high air.
ALEX
It's about not being a ghost sign. It's about not having your entire life's work fade into the brick until people have to squint to see you were ever there at all. The cemetery... it just made me realize that even the stories I thought were permanent can be erased. Or were never true to begin with.
(a vulnerable crack)
What if I just... disappear? What if I make no mark at all?
The confession hangs in the air. The silence that follows is huge, as big as the sky. The million lights of the city blur in Alex’s vision.
Leaf doesn't speak. She doesn't offer a cheap solution. She just looks from Alex's face to the sprawling city, then back.
Then, she holds out her hand.
It’s not a gesture of rescue, not to pull Alex back from the ledge. It’s just there, in the space between them. Palm up. An offering. A question without words.
Alex looks from the infinite grid of city lights... to Leaf's simple, outstretched hand. An anchor in the here and now.
FADE TO BLACK.