Air stretches cool and clean against Leo’s lungs as his feet hit the pavement.
The rhythm of jogging settles into his body with practiced ease—steady, familiar, a meditative percussion that blocks out the static of the world. Beside him, Spike keeps pace effortlessly, his longer strides and relaxed shoulders a testament to a lifetime of staying in motion. His breath is controlled, a low, rhythmic hiss that matches the pounding of their shoes.
They don’t talk at first.
The city of Chicago is still half-asleep, shrouded in a thin, grey mist that makes the closed storefronts look like resting giants. Leo listens to the sound of their rubber soles against the damp concrete and thinks about how strange it feels to be running forward when every other part of his life feels like it’s been
