Alistair gestured to the sprawling, glittering city below them. "Look at it. It’s all just glass and lights, isn't it? Everyone down there thinks it's a dream up here. But it’s just a higher place to fall from."
Julian looked at the man he had envied for months. He realized that while he was looking up, wishing for the shoes, the man wearing them was looking down, wishing for the escape of being nobody.
By day, Julian was a "gray"—one of the thousands of office workers dressed in charcoal suits, filing papers for a ministry that existed only to justify its own existence. But by night, he retreated to a cramped attic flat in Camden, where he’d sit by the window and watch the "Luminaries."
Julian backed out of the room, leaving the door ajar. He walked down the twelve flights of stairs, his heart hammering against his ribs. When he reached the street, the rain felt different—not like a burden, but like a cold splash of reality.