She does not answer your question. Rather, she places a finger to her ear. Is she signifying that she cannot hear you? Or that the two of you are too far apart to talk?
Then she points east, out across the bay.
Storm clouds are gathering out that way. But this is like no storm you've seen before. A flash of lightning, and the fork that arcs across the sky is a deep crimson color. When its thunder reaches you, the sound is edged with a shrill, metallic whine.
The woman on the far tower turns and jogs toward the stairwell leading down into the building.
Is she rushing to meet you? You can't be sure.
You cannot ignore this ghost woman. And whether you hope to speak with her or question her, or whether you anticipate a possible threat, it seems you would be wise to be ready for her when she exits the tower.
And so, it's time for that big fall.
You step off the roof of the southernmost Harbor Tower, and forty floors of steel, concrete, and glass flash by you. You pass through the ground, halting only when it rises up just over your knees. Your feet cannot find easy purchase, but with one step you regain ground level easily enough.
That answers your questions about falling, for the time being. You approach the northern tower and wait for the woman to emerge.
But she does not. You wait. And you wait.