The afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows like liquid gold, casting a warm glow across the plush carpet, inviting and serene.
Amelia stood by the window, cradling a glass of water as she watched the endless stream of traffic below. A month had slipped by since she had arrived in this city that never slept.
She often caught herself remembering that first breath of New York air, foreign yet intoxicatingly free, as her plane had touched down.
Tristan Mercer, the boy she had secretly sponsored since middle school, had been waiting for her at the airport.
Even now, the memory of his charity pamphlet photo remained vivid: a gaunt teenager in a crumbling classroom, his clothes threadbare but his eyes blazing with a determination that seared straight through her.
Back then
