You sit on the softest couch you have ever touched, holding your half-stale bread roll in both hands like someone might still take it away.
The lobby of Blackwell Tower is warmer than any place you have been in weeks. The floors shine like frozen water. The walls are made of glass and steel. People in suits walk past you quickly, smelling like coffee, perfume, and clean laundry.
You keep your feet tucked under the couch because your shoes are dirty.
Jennifer, the receptionist, places a cup of hot chocolate on the low table in front of you. It has whipped cream on top and little chocolate shavings floating like tiny brown snowflakes.
“For you,” she says gently.
You stare at it.
“Do I have to pay?”
Her face changes, and for a second you worry you said something wrong. Then she shakes her head quickly.
“No, sweetheart. Mr. Blackwell asked us to take care of you.”
You look toward the elevators where Nathan disappeared.
“He promised he’d come back.”
Jennifer smiles softly. “Mr. Blackwell keeps promises.”
You want to believe her.
But grown-ups say many things.
They say they will come back.
