The train moves before he's ready.
Not dramatically.
Just a quiet pull forward.
A shift.
A decision already made.
Zane watches Aetheridge slide past the window in fragments—platform signs, familiar brick, a flash of green from the park near the station.
Then it's gone.
He leans back in his seat.
Ten hours.
Long enough for scenery to forget him.
The fields come first.
Wide.
Uncomplicated.
Soft edges.
Small towns blur past.
Stations where only three people step off.
He used to love this part.
The in-between.
The sense of becoming.
He pulls out his phone.
One message from Sunny.
Safe trip.
He types:
I'm-..
Deletes it.
Types:
I love you.
Sends.
He stares at the screen a moment longer than necessary.
The train picks up speed.
By hour three, the landscape shifts.
Fields give way to highways.
Highways to industrial blocks.
Industrial blocks to clusters of glass and steel.
The sky narrows.
Buildings begin competing for space.
He feels it in his chest before he admits it.
This city doesn't breathe the same way.
It pulses.
When the skyline finally appears fully—
It's massive.
The kind of place that swallows small-town names whole.
Zane Calder fits here.
Zane Miller doesn't.
He adjusts his sunglasses instinctively, even though no one is looking at him.
The station is chaos.
Announcements layered over each other.
Footsteps in every direction.
People moving before doors fully open.
No one hesitates.
No one waits.
He steps off with one suitcase and the sense that he should walk faster.
Blend in.
Or stand out.
He hasn't decided which.
The driver is waiting with a sign.
Calder.
Not his real name.
The stage one.
He nods.
Follows.
Doesn't correct it.
The penthouse is higher than the one in Aetheridge.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
White marble.
Minimal furniture.
Too much space.
Everything echoes slightly.
He sets his suitcase down near the couch.
Walks to the window.
The city stretches endlessly below.
Cars like veins.
Lights already flickering on though it's barely evening.
It should feel like victory.
It does.
Mostly.
Meetings blur.
Handshakes.
Sharp suits.
Polished smiles.
"Welcome to the next level."
"Global potential."
"Untapped market expansion."
He nods at the right moments.
Laughs when expected.
He knows how to perform this version of himself.
He built it.
Night comes quickly.
The city doesn't quiet down.
It just changes pitch.
He stands alone in the kitchen for a long moment, staring at a fridge stocked by someone else.
He doesn't know what any of it tastes like.
He grabs a bottle of water instead.
Carries it to the bedroom.
The bed is enormous.
Sheets crisp.
Untouched.
Hotel-perfect.
He lies down on his back.
Stares at the ceiling.
The silence is wrong.
Not absent—
Wrong.
There's no balcony door slightly open.
No soft city hum from Aetheridge.
No warm weight leaning against him.
No quiet laugh from the kitchen.
No takeout cartons on the counter.
He shifts onto his side.
Closes his eyes.
Opens them again.
He pulls out his phone.
Sunny sent a photo.
The park.
Golden light.
Caption:
It's warm today.
He stares at it longer than he should.
His thumb hovers.
He types:
Miss you.
Deletes it.
Types:
Looks nice.
Sends.
The three dots appear.
Disappear.
Then:
It is.
That's it.
Simple.
Steady.
Safe.
He sets the phone face-down on the nightstand.
Turns onto his back again.
The ceiling is still blank.
Still too high.
He presses his palms against his eyes until stars flicker behind them.
He's been alone before.
He built himself alone.
He knows how to do this.
So why does the quiet feel heavier now?
Why does the space feel colder?
Why does the bed feel too wide?
He exhales slowly.
And for the first time in years—
He realizes he misses something he never used to need.
Not applause.
Not noise.
Not attention.
Belonging.
The city doesn't wait.
But tonight—
He does.