A woman with short, spiky hair the color of dark chocolate and piercing emerald eyes stands at the edge of a concrete rooftop, gazing out over the frantic metropolis as the first light of dawn creeps over the towering skyscrapers, the sounds of car horns and chatter from the streets below mingling with the wail of sirens in the distance, her bright orange jumpsuit a vibrant splash of color against the dull grey of the city, the fabric torn and frayed in places, a utility belt around her waist holding various tools and gadgets, as she reaches out a hand to gently cup a dance of butterflies that have somehow found their way to this rooftop oasis, the butterflies a kaleidoscope of colors, their iridescent wings glimmering in the growing light, they flit and flutter around her, a few settling on her shoulders and hair, as if drawn to the wild tangle of flowers and vines that have claimed the rooftop as their own, the air thick with the scent of blooming lavender and honeysuckle, the woman's eyes shining with a fierce joy as she watches the butterflies, her feet bare and her toes curled over the edge of the rooftop, the wind whipping her hair into a frenzy as she stands poised on the threshold between the concrete jungle and the fleeting beauty of the natural world