The wind whipped away every sound except the snap of his jacket as the fabric was tossed. It was cold, his face and chest suffering the most from it, but John wasn’t really surprised by that. The warmest summer winds would probably be cool from his particular vantage point. Below him, traffic crawled past, distance diminishing the various SUVs and transport trucks into die-cast toys. Above him, the sky rolled, unseen entities dragging puffy white shapes across a dull grey background. “It always looks like you’re in heaven when you’re this close to the sun,” a voice quoted from beside him. A line, from Daniel’s Curse, and John turned towards the voice, already knowing who it was. Blue. Baby blue. Little boy blue.
“Logan…”
A squeal of tires signalled the sudden halt of the vehicles below,
