Across the room, her father, Jonathan Carter, laughed loudly among investors and politicians, his voice just a little too forced, his gestures just a little too grand. He had built an empire out of steel and real estate, but grief had carved something hollow into him that no amount of wealth could repair.
Emily turned her gaze toward the tall windows.
Beyond them, the city stretched endlessly, glittering under the night sky.
She didn’t notice the boy at first.
No one did.
Later, security footage would show nothing—just an empty hallway, then a brief flicker, and then… him.
A child who shouldn’t have been there.
He couldn’t have been older than eight. His oversized T-shirt hung loosely from his thin frame, and his jeans were torn at the knees. His sneakers were worn down, mismatched, like they had been found rather than bought. Dirt smudged his face, but his eyes—
His eyes stopped everything.
They were gray. Not soft gray, but storm-gray. The kind that made you feel like something was about to change.
He walked straight toward Emily, as if the crowd parted for him without realizing it.
Then he knelt beside her wheelchair.
“I can help you walk again,” he said quietly.
Emily blinked, startled.