Snow clung to the edges of the high-rise windows in downtown Chicago, gleaming beneath the streetlights in a strangely gentle hush. Inside the towering structure of Elmcrest Development’s headquarters, Grayson Miller closed his laptop after yet another exhausting meeting that had dragged far past the hour he had planned. He was forty years old, impeccably dressed in a wool coat tailored to fit the precise lines of his shoulders, and his phone buzzed constantly like an overeager insect demanding attention. His life was stuffed to the brim with contracts, negotiations, acquisitions, and everything that came with being the CEO of a corporation that practically built half the skyline.
He stepped outside, bracing against the chill, intending to call for his driver. The snow on the sidewalk sparkled like broken glass scattered beneath the glow of traffic signals. For a brief second, the cold made him feel awake in a way he had not for months, maybe years. He inhaled, thinking about nothing in particular, when a small voice tugged at his attention.
Excuse me, sir. Can you help me, please?” The sound was soft and quivering, almost swallowed by the wind.
Grayson lowered his gaze. A little girl stood in front of him, bundled in a faded purple coat that looked like it had once belonged to someone larger, sleeves rolled nearly to her elbows. She had freckles dusted across her cheeks like snowflakes that never melted, tangled auburn hair spilling from beneath a knit hat, and large brown eyes that shimmered with panic.
He crouched despite the wet concrete threatening to ruin his expensive trousers. “What is it? Are you alright?”
She sniffled, hugging a lopsided backpack shaped like a star. “My mom is at home, and she fell. I tried to wake her up, but she wouldn’t move. I called her name a lot. I got scared, so I came out to find somebody who could help. People just walked by me. I kept hoping someone would stop.”
The words struck him as sharply as a blow. His heartbeat lurched.
“Tell me your name,” he said gently.
“I’m Talia Summers,” she murmured. “My mom is Renee.”
“My name is Grayson,” he replied. “Can you show me where you live? We will make sure your mom gets help right away.”
Talia nodded. She shivered as she took his hand, her mittens thin, barely warming her fingers. Grayson held her hand firmly, walked her toward the crosswalk, and let her guide him through the snow-speckled streets.
The journey took them beyond the polished storefronts and glowing corporate buildings. The roads narrowed. The lights dimmed. Older apartments huddled close together as if trying to shelter from the cold. They reached a brick building with chipped steps and a mailbox stuffed so tightly that envelopes stuck out like tongues. Talia’s hands trembled as she pulled out a key on a string.
“I can do it,” she insisted, but the lock stuck and her hands shook too much from cold and fear.
“Let me try,” Grayson offered softly. He unlocked the door and followed her up the creaking stairs.
