I tapped the screen to accept the contract before I even reached the front door.

By the time I boarded the train to Chicago, the Boston rain had turned to sleet.

I watched the Massachusetts landscape blur into gray fields of dead grass.

My phone rang three hours into the journey.

The caller ID showed Adrian’s office number.

“Claire,” his voice came through the speaker, tight and breathless. “What did you do to the database?”

“I am on a train, Adrian,” I said quietly.

“The smart-concrete formulations for the municipal bid,” he stammered. “The system locked our engineering team out.”

I looked out at the passing telephone poles.

“Those formulas are registered under my personal patent holding company,” I said.

“You can’t do this,” he hissed. “We need those credentials to bid on the Boston harbor expansion.”

“Without my signature as the lead inventor, the city will disqualify Bennett Urban Systems,” I said.

“Serena said you wouldn’t be this petty,” he said, his voice rising.

“Serena does not understand structural engineering,” I replied, and hung up the phone.

The train pulled into Union Station the next morning under a bright, freezing Chicago sky.

The air smelled of lake water, cold stone, and diesel.

I took a cab straight to the foundation’s offices on Michigan Avenue.

Margaret Hale met me in the lobby.

She was a tall woman with silver hair and a sharp, assessing gaze that missed nothing.

“Welcome to Chicago, Claire,” Margaret said, shaking my hand firmly.

“Thank you, Margaret,” I said. “I am ready to begin.”

“Good,” she said, leading me toward a glass-walled conference room overlooking the lake. “Our primary developer is already waiting.”

Through the glass, I saw a tall man in a dark charcoal suit standing by the window.

He turned around as the door opened.

His dark eyes met mine with a look of quiet intensity.