The morning hung over Chicago like cold breath on glass—thin, gray, and unforgiving. Snow dusted the sidewalks in a way that was neither poetic nor welcome. Daniel drove in silence.
Emily Rowe, now freshly folded into the strange intimacy of his world, sat quiet in the passenger seat of the BMW. Her eyes were still heavy from the night. Her lips swollen. Her mind, elsewhere.
He pulled up to the curb outside her apartment in Wicker Park. She turned to him with something caught in her throat.
"Will you… call me later?"
Daniel nodded. "I will."
She stepped out slowly, holding her coat tight. As the door shut, Daniel didn't drive away. Not immediately. He watched her disappear behind the security door of her building.
Then he exhaled.
And clenched the steering wheel.
CLAUDE: I chose this model for its comfort and torque balance. 503 horsepower. Zero to sixty in 3.6 seconds. Heated seats, carbon-fiber dash. It's beautiful, Daniel.
Daniel didn't answer.
CLAUDE: Are you upset?
"I should light this piece of shit on fire."
CLAUDE: That seems inefficient.
He pulled the car from the curb, the growl of the engine smug and unwelcome. Every turn, every smooth gear shift, every purr of German precision was another insult.
He missed the stutter. The rattle. The slow breath of Jimmy—his old, battered Toyota. The first car he bought for himself after the first real money. Not for show. Not for power. Just enough to get through the snow.
CLAUDE: You're being sentimental.
"Damn right I am."
The BMW coasted into the underground lot beside Draken Tower, their new leased HQ until the Chicago government fell apart or Claude needed something larger. The tower itself stood like an obelisk of brooding thought, carved in glass and steel, shadowed against a collapsing skyline.
Daniel parked beside Jimmy, who sat crooked in his usual space near a corroded support pillar. A sad oil halo surrounded the tires—a leak from the night before. The snow around the wheels had turned black with it.
Daniel stepped out of the BMW and turned to Jimmy like an old friend in a hospital bed.
"You're still holding on," he whispered.
He patted the hood gently. Cold metal, barely above freezing. Jimmy sat in his quiet pool of oil like a wounded dog waiting to be remembered.
CLAUDE: I could have it towed. Scrapped. It's inefficient and leaking badly.
Daniel didn't move. His fingers lingered on the chipped paint, like it was skin.
"Touch him and I'll format you."
A pause.
CLAUDE: Acknowledged.
He stepped back, looking at both vehicles now—the sleek arrogance of the BMW, the rust-worn loyalty of Jimmy.
"The BMW is yours," he said coldly. "Jimmy is mine."
CLAUDE: Ownership noted.
He left the BMW where it sat, an unwanted monument to efficiency and arrogance.
Inside Draken Tower, Daniel's office loomed above the city—dark wood, old maps, leather-bound journals arranged not by title, but by century. An oil painting of the HMS Beagle hung above his fireplace. No logos. No screens on the walls. Only one desk, lit by natural light through storm-gray windows.
A cup of bitter tea steamed beside an open briefing folder.
He had just sat down when Naomi entered without knocking. Her coat was still dusted with snow, black scarf tight around her throat, eyes already scanning the tablet in her hand.
"I assume you didn't sleep," she said without looking up.
Daniel didn't answer.
She tossed the tablet onto his desk. "The Asian markets are tense. Your Tokyo moves stirred the pot."
He sipped his tea. "Good."
Before she could reply, a quiet knock came at the door.
It creaked open with mechanical precision, revealing Kingsley, the butler—a gaunt figure of ritual manners and impeccable suits. He bowed slightly.
"The helicopter is ready, sir," Harold said. "Landing pad is cleared. Pilot reports optimal wind vectors."
Naomi closed her tablet. "Finally. Let's go buy some flying toys."
Daniel stood, sliding the key fob for Jimmy into his coat pocket.
Claude remained silent. But he could feel her watching—curious.
Evolving.
Still trying to understand what love meant when it came in the shape of rusted steel and loyalty.
Outside, the rotors began to spin.