PHOENIX:
I stood in front of the building with the name carved into the new steel above the double doors: The Phoenix. My name. My story. Our future.
The sun was barely climbing the sky behind me, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Ryder had stayed late last night finishing some last-minute things with the electrician. The building had heat, working outlets, new windows, sealed walls. It was ready.
And so was I.
I slipped the key into the lock with a smile.
The door opened smoothly now—no creak, no stutter. Just a quiet, clean click as I stepped inside and took it all in.
Fresh drywall, exposed brick, clean wiring snaked behind new panels. Gleaming conduit ran neatly along the exposed ceiling beams. The windows Ryder had fought for—floor-to-ceiling glass framed in black steel—let in the
