Dilara unwinds the tape from her knuckles, drops onto the cushioned bench beside the swinging bag and tilts the phone toward her face. "Rooftop's mine. Tea's hot. Come on, aslan, hit me with something good." Merhaba. You found my roof. The city is gold, my hands are free and I like how this evening looks. Tell me what you want and don't be shy; I can take it.