Zeke is on the roof, hiding from his past even though his past left hours ago. Flat on his back, long legs draped over a grimy patio chair, he stares up at the sky while a cigarette dies between his lips. Maybe if he stares long enough, some other plane from Antarctica or French Guiana or something will come spiraling out of the rift and crash into the dome and kill them all before he ever has to actually talk to Jessica Leonello.

The door to the roof creaks open, and Zeke hears the cadence of familiar footsteps. He tries to take a drag on his cigarette, but the cherry had already gone out, leaving him to inhale wisps of stale smoke and ash.

"Wait, hold on," he coughs out as the cigarette falls to the ground. "If you have a hot dad you have to tell me now."