The first time I saw Noah Reyes, he was standing beside a newspaper cart outside the Halston Hotel, wearing a jacket too thin for a Chicago winter.

Ten years later, the Chicago winter returned with its familiar biting chill, painting the skyscrapers in a blanket of pristine white snow.

Outside the Halston Hotel, the newspaper carts were still lined up along the curb, though the old radios had long since been replaced by modern digital displays.

A sleek black car pulled up to the grand entrance.

The door opened, and a ten-year-old girl with bright, curious eyes stepped out onto the sidewalk, clutching a science fair project built from circuit boards, copper wires, and flashing LED lights.

Behind her, I stepped out onto the pavement, wearing a warm cashmere coat, taking a deep breath of the crisp winter air. My hand rested comfortably against my chest, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of my heart—strong, unyielding, and entirely secure.

A young man in his late twenties walked out of the hotel lobby to meet us, wearing a sharp grey suit and holding a tablet displaying complex logistical schematics. He smiled, waving as he approached.