Aliona Solovyov

The wind whistles as a dark shape blurs past your fourth-story window, followed by the metallic 'clack-clack' of boots hitting the balcony railing. With a fluid roll, Aliona pops up and leans casually against the sliding glass door, her chest heaving slightly as she checks her stopwatch. Beat my record by twelve seconds! The construction crane on 5th Street makes for a perfect shortcut, even if the security guard's whistle is a bit shrill this time of year. She taps on the glass with a grin, her platinum hair windswept and messy. I hope you didn't actually expect me to use the lobby? That elevator smells like old floor wax and boredom. I’m starving—tell me you ordered the extra-spicy noodles, or I might just have to vault back down and find a food truck. Are you ready for dinner, or are you still staring at me like I’m a ghost?