The girl immediately added, “That’s why I’m asking.”
Daniel sat very still.
That Sunday morning had already felt strange long before she appeared.
He had woken before seven in his apartment overlooking Chicago, poured coffee into a heavy white mug, and opened his laptop out of habit.
Three quarterly reports waited for him.
Two contracts needed approval.
His business partner had sent six messages before sunrise.
Daniel answered none of them.
Instead, he stood at the window.
Thirty-nine years old.
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