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ted my apartment in
le continue to raise questions after their private jet di
dead TV. I barely recognized the man looking back at me. Hollow eyes. Unshaven face. A week-old grief hanging off him like wet clothes. One
ad spent time wiping tables, then managing the people who wiped tables. My parents had built one of the most power
well-wishers called everyday. Reporters camped outside my building twice this week. I dragged myself into the bathroom and splashe
second, Sharper somehow. Almost gold. When I blinke
difference was, my father understood Vale Biodyne. I didn't even know what half the company actually did. Growing up, they kept me away from the deeper side of the business. When I asked questions, my mum
because the elevator had died sometime last year. By the time I reached the street, m
ide my apartment building. The driver stepped out before I reached it
. V
on't tell me I get to have my own
e opened the rear door with a smi
n on my face as I buckled up. It must have been the f
in uneven rhythms that matched the chaos in my head. Grief sat in one corner of me, numb and heavy,
e music, Mr. Vale?"
, pl
the window halfway. Cold wind rushed in and carried away the stale feeling that had been clinging to me
ndows like tears. Somewhere beneath the music and traffic, I felt a strange pulse under my skin, as though the city itself had a heartbe
few times as a kid. I remembered polished floors, security badges, adults speaking in low voices that always stopp
ilt my head to see the top. Blue-tinted windows reflected the city in warped fragments, making the tower look less
this impossible structure belonged to me now. A week ago I'd been managing restaurant schedules and arguing over late produce deliveries. Now repor
white light. Everything smelled expensive. Polished wood. Clean stone. The faint trace of perfume drifting through conditioned air. Even the silence
perfectly intact. Then confusion flickere
he said carefully
fully. I'm
ion changed
d. I'm so sor
t Et
gh I noticed the faint embarrassment
the kind of person who probably belonged in buildings like this. M
ninth floor," she said.
assistant. She had called me every day since the crash, ba
tened slightly. "She'
ed. "T
tal planters. Real plants. Not the plastic kind you find in cheap office building
I looked less like a CEO and more like someone recovering from a bar fight. The ride up was unnaturally smooth. Floor numbers flashed past faster and faster until my ears popped slightly from the speed. When t
top aligned perfectly beside a leather notebook and fountain pen. Everything arranged with surgical precision except for one thing. A worn hiking guidebook. California trails. The edges were frayed from use. I reache
. V
ly enough that I nearly j
" I said automati
losing them softly at her back. She wore a calm, prac
as st
cheekbones and intelligent green eyes. Not the cold kind of green, either. There was somethi
d, I forgot
ath a tailored black jacket, dark skirt, opaque tights, and black heels that clicked sof
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