“Sir, my mom didn’t wake up…” the little girl said. The CEO paled and whispered, “Show her to me now.”

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.