The morning broke gray and indifferent, clouds stretched thin across the skyline, the river below sluggish as if even the tide had decided to take its time. I stood in front of the glass wall of my penthouse, coffee cooling in my hand, and let the city’s noise filter up—distant horns, the low grind of trucks, the occasional wail of a siren. Ordinary chaos.
I didn’t feel ordinary.
Cheyenne’s face hovered in my thoughts, as constant as the skyline. The way she’d looked down at me from her window last night, candlelight catching on her hair, her forehead pressed to the glass like she was leaning closer even across the distance—that image had followed me to bed and invaded my dreams. She made the city fade, if only for a moment.
I hadn’t gone up. I could have. The urge was there, fierce and
