Rain pressed gently against the tall glass windows of a private rehabilitation hospital in Chicago, blurring the skyline into long, trembling streaks of light that seemed uncertain about where they were going. From his hospital bed, Nathaniel “Nate” Harrington watched the streets below without truly seeing them. The reflection in the glass was harder to face than the medical reports folded neatly on the table beside him.
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At thirty-eight, he still looked composed—a man shaped by discipline and precision. But his body no longer obeyed the way it once had. Where strength had lived, there was now silence.
He heard hesitant footsteps behind him before the voice followed.
“I need to leave,” said Vanessa Reed, softly, as though lowering her volume might soften the meaning.