Wind hummed over the rooftop, tugging at coats, hair, sleeves. The odd trio perched above London's sprawl like birds on a power line - calm, at least on the outside. Inside? Entirely different storms.
Sven stretched his arms behind his head, leaning back far enough that a pebble rolled off the roof's edge.
'This is either genius or insanity,' he thought, eyes half-closed. 'Probably both.'
He grinned anyway.
"I wonder what the others are up to," he said, breaking the silence like a brick through glass.
Isaac didn't even turn at first. He was staring at Wembley's silhouette in the pale morning haze, memorising it out of habit. When he finally did glance over, his expression read, 'Really? now?'
"You can literally call them and see," Isaac replied, voice flat with disbelief. Phones in hand, none of them had bothered. The screens sat dark. Unused. Untouched.
They trusted the rest of their ragtag mutant family to be fine, and that was that.
