Caiden.
The evening has cooled into that crisp, indifferent air that makes the city feel sharper around the edges. I ease my new Bentley to the curb in front of Rain’s building. The streetlights paint everything in sickly orange.
I kill the engine and step out, the door closing with a soft thud behind me. The building looms ahead—five stories of faded brick and flickering entry lights, the kind of place that looks respectable enough during the day but turns tired and suspicious after dark.
I wrinkle my nose as I breathe in the faint smell of exhaust, yesterday’s garbage outside and years of other people’s lives clinging to the air. It’s not exactly terrible—not by city standards—but it offends me on principle. Rain shouldn’t have to breathe this. She deserves light, clean air, high flo
