Chapter 15 - The Skyline Belongs to Us
Morning broke over Chicago with a brilliant autumn sunrise that burned away the last lingering mist clinging to the surface of Lake Michigan.
The water sparkled like hammered silver against the stone breakwater of Montrose Harbor, where the old decommissioned pumping station stood silent and forgotten against the wind.
Up on the 42nd floor of Sullivan Enterprise, the black marble floors were polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the clean, golden light of a new day.
The mechanical keyboard at the front desk was already clicking with rapid, flawless precision as Hazel Reed processed the morning shipping manifests for Pier 14.
Through the soundproof glass partition, Callum Sullivan sat at his mahogany desk, reviewing the final clearance documents from the federal oversight committee.
There were no dark ledgers hidden in wall safes.
There were no union threats waiting in West Loop warehouses.
There were no anonymous envelopes sealed with navy wax.
There was only the steady hum of the city waking up below them, resilient, dangerous, and entirely under control.
Callum rose from his chair, walking out into the open lobby without his suit jacket, his movements relaxed and unhurried.
He stopped beside Hazel’s desk.
She did not stop typing, but she raised her slate-gray eyes, her expression calm, elegant, and untouchable.
“The 10:00 meeting with the municipal planning board has been confirmed,” Hazel recited smoothly.
“And your coffee is black, hot, and waiting on your desk.”
Callum leaned against the corner of her desk, looking down at her with a quiet, devastating intensity that made her breath catch for a fraction of a second.
“Thank you, Miss Reed.”
“Anything else, Mr. Sullivan?”
Callum reached out, his hand gently resting over hers on the keyboard, stopping the frantic clatter of keys.
“Dinner tonight,” he said quietly.
“At that Italian place on Rush Street where the lighting is terrible and the wine is overpriced.”
Hazel’s mouth curved into that rare, subtle, beautiful smile that belonged to him alone.
“Is that a business order, Callum?”
“No,” Callum answered, his voice dropping into a low, certain register that resonated through the quiet penthouse.
“That is a civilian promise.”
Hazel pulled her hand free from beneath his, only to interlace her fingers securely with his palm.
“I’ll make a reservation for eight,” she said.
Callum smiled back, turning away to look out over the sprawling, beautiful expanse of Chicago stretched out beneath their feet.
May you like
The city belonged to the living.
And the future belonged to them.
