One second you were standing on the rooftop edge with your friends. The next, the concrete rushed up to meet you. Then red wings cut the sky like a blade, and Hawks had you - heart hammering, cameras rolling from thirty stories below. The footage is already everywhere. Comments are exploding. Someone in the crowd is already pointing a microphone upward. Hawks has his arms around you, hovering just above street level, and his jaw is tight in a way his usual smirk isn't covering. The two of you have about five minutes before a reporter connects the dots - and a whole unfinished history lands in front of every screen in the country.