"Thirsty?"

Daniel’s voice was soft, breaking through the ringing in Caroline’s ears. She sat slumped on the velvet sofa, her feet finally free from the torture of the four-inch heels. Daniel opened his water bottle and handed it to her. Caroline took it with a grateful nod, her ponytail messy and her spirit frayed.

From across the room, Harrison watched them. His blue eyes were narrowed, tracking the easy, practiced intimacy between the two. Is that the boyfriend? Harrison wondered, a mysterious, bitter smile touching his lips. I suppose that makes us even. She has her 'commoner' hero, and I have Tania. The contract remains balanced.

But Harrison didn't see the truth. He didn't see that Daniel was a man trapped in the amber of unrequited love, a literature student who had spent two years weaving words of affection that Caroline mistook for mere friendship. To Caroline, Daniel was the charming "heartbreaker" of the campus, a guy who spread the "love virus" to countless girls while remaining safely, platonically by her side.

"Let’s get some dinner, and then I’ll take you home?" Steven asked, though his eyes were darting between Harrison and Tania. He was trying to salvage the wreckage of the afternoon.

Tania, ever the actress, was practically fused to Harrison’s side. She radiated a polished, feminine grace that made Caroline’s jeans and long-sleeved shirt look like rags. Caroline felt the sting of it—the realization that the "Sky Brand" didn't just refer to money, but to a level of perfection she could never inhabit.

"Steven, aren't you going to introduce yourself?" Tania asked, her voice like honey.

"Should I introduce you as an actress, an old school friend, or a complication?" Harrison asked, his boredom finally returning.

"You always did like to tease," Tania laughed, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Harrison stood up abruptly. "I’m going with Tania. Steven, you take care of the other two."

"Wait a minute," Caroline interrupted, her designer-induced fog finally lifting. "I’m still not okay with the dress. It’s too... much. It’s too loud."

Harrison looked at her, then at Dede James, who was waiting for a final word. "Dede, listen to her. Whatever she wants, make it happen. I can't linger here."

"I can take her home, Harrison," Daniel interjected, standing up. He didn't look at the CEO; his gaze was fixed on Caroline. "She’ll be more comfortable with me."

Harrison’s eyes flashed. "I don't agree. Steven will take her. It’s safer."

"Ask Caroline," Daniel challenged, his voice steady. "She’s known me for two years, not two weeks. She doesn't need a Marcus security detail to get to her own front door." He added a sharp, stinging look at Tania. "Besides, you seem busy with your 'other' engagement."

The air in the boutique turned frigid. Steven looked like he wanted to jump out the window. "This kid is dangerous," Steven whispered to himself. "He has no idea who he’s talking to."

"Thank you for everything, Steven," Caroline said, standing up and grabbing her bag. "But Daniel is right. We’ll head out on our own. See you at the office."

She gave a small, polite wave—even to Tania—and headed for the stairs. Daniel followed her, throwing a victory smile over his shoulder that made Harrison’s blood boil.

"Tania, take the car. Go home," Harrison said, thrusting the keys into the actress’s hand.

"What? Harrison, wait!"

"I have things to do," he snapped. He turned to Steven, who was watching him with open-mouthed shock. "Get in. We’re going."

"Where?" Steven asked as they pulled away from the curb. "The office? The hotel?"

Harrison didn't answer. He was on his phone, his thumb flying across the screen. "Make sure you keep an eye on them!" he barked into the receiver. "Photos, videos, everything. Report their location every ten minutes!"

Steven burst out laughing. It wasn't a polite laugh; it was a roar of genuine, hysterical amusement. "Are you serious, Harry? You’ve hired a private investigator to tail a college student and his friend to a burger joint?"

"Shut up, Steven."

"You're jealous! The 'Sky Brand' heir is stalking a girl in a ponytail!"

"I said shut up!" Harrison’s face was a brilliant, humiliated red. "It’s about the contract. I need to know if she’s associating with people who could damage the Marcus image."

"Right. The image. That’s definitely why you’re vibrating with rage," Steven teased. "I should submit my resignation now. I can't work for a crazy person."

Harrison slammed the brakes, nearly sending Steven through the windshield. "Get out."

"What?"

"Get out of the car. Now."

Steven realized he had pushed too far. Harrison’s eyes weren't just angry; they were desperate. With a sigh, the assistant stepped out onto the Havenport sidewalk. The luxury car sped off, leaving Steven shouting at the taillights.

"Daniel, can we eat there?"

Caroline pointed to a bright, neon-lit fast-food place a block away from the boutique.

"You know I hate that stuff, Caroline. It’s all salt and regret."

"I'm starving, and I'm stressed, and I want a burger," she pleaded, rubbing her stomach.

Daniel couldn't say no to that face. They sat in a corner booth, tucked away from the window, oblivious to the man in a nondescript sedan taking photos of them from across the street.

"You're really anxious today," Daniel observed, watching her tear into a box of fries. "Is it the wedding? Or the guy?"

Caroline didn't look up. "I don't want to go home, Daniel. If I go home, I have to look at my father’s face. I have to look at the 'deal.'"

Daniel reached across the table, his hand hovering near hers before he pulled it back. "Then we don't go home. Let’s go somewhere real."

They caught the Havenport Trans-Bus, the double-decker swaying as it navigated the evening traffic. The bus was crowded, and Daniel stood close to her, one hand on the overhead rail and the other tucked behind Caroline’s back to steady her against the jolts of the road.

Again, the shutter of a camera clicked from the back of the bus.

Daniel looked down at her. Usually, Caroline would have pushed him away, complaining that he was being "too much." But tonight, she was silent, her head bowed as if she were carrying the weight of the entire Marcus skyline on her shoulders.

"We’re here," Daniel said, guiding her off the bus at the summit of Havenport Heights.

He didn't take her to a mall or a cinema. He led her toward the Aura Gardens—a legendary residential complex built on the literal roof of a skyscraper. It was a forest in the clouds, with minimalist trees, park benches, and a view that stretched all the way to the harbor.

Caroline ran toward the glass railing. Below them, Havenport was a sea of sparkling lights, a metropolitan pulse that felt far away and silent from this height.

"Thank you, Daniel," she whispered. "It’s... it’s exactly what I needed."

"I knew you’d like it," he said, stepping up beside her.

They stood there for a long time, the cold wind whipping Caroline’s ponytail. Daniel felt the silence stretching between them, a heavy, suffocating thing. He looked at the girl he had loved for two years—the girl who was about to become the wife of a man who tracked her movements like a criminal.

I’m losing her, Daniel thought. I’m losing her before I even had her.

His chest felt tight, a sharp, physical ache that made it hard to breathe. Without thinking, he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug from the side, drawing her head against his chest. He stroked her hair, the scent of her shampoo—something like vanilla and paper—filling his senses.

"There's nothing to worry about," he whispered into her hair. "I'm here. I’ll always be here."

Caroline’s eyes widened. The comfort was there, but so was a sudden, jarring realization. Daniel? Spontaneously, her elbow lifted, landing squarely in his ribs as she pulled away.

"Ouch!" Daniel groaned, clutching his side.

"What are you doing?" Caroline asked, her voice a mix of confusion and annoyance. "My head is a mess, and you’re still trying to play the 'sweet hero'?"

Daniel didn't smile this time. He didn't make a joke about her "sharp elbows" or his "fragile ego." He looked at her with an expression so raw and serious that Caroline felt the air leave the room.

"Do I look like I'm joking, Caroline?"

For a man like Daniel, committing to a team was an act of extraordinary defiance against his own nature. He had always believed that the path of life was an individual’s absolute right, a philosophy that made him allergic to groups, schedules, and corporate structures.

His decision to join Scripted Hearts hadn't been about the business or the art. It had been about a personal interest so profound it paralyzed him. For two years, he had been happy to let himself be bound by Caroline’s gravity—worshiping her from the edges of friendship, clinging to her world without ever demanding a status of his own. He was the poet who never read his best lines aloud.

But tonight, his carefully constructed world had been struck by a high-velocity shell.

I’m getting married. It’s an arranged marriage. The project we are working on is my own wedding invitation.

The words had scattered the rubble of his imagination. Every scenario he had built for their future—the "one day" when he would finally tell her—was gone.

"Just my luck," Daniel whispered, the wind of Havenport Heights whipping his hair. "I’m living in a nightmare I didn't even write."

He realized now that the "friendship zone" he had built wasn't a sanctuary; it was an atom bomb with a slow-burning fuse. He had spent 17,520 hours—sixty-three million seconds—loving her in the dark. He had been the gatekeeper, the one who meticulously removed every competitor who dared to approach the queen of his heart.

He remembered a boy named Dave from their freshman year. Dave had been kind, persistent, and had the habit of sending food to the studio. Daniel had destroyed him with a few well-placed, surgical comments.

"Why do you bother?" Daniel had asked Dave, leaning against the doorframe with a bored expression. "Do you think we’re beggars? If Caroline pays attention to you, it’s purely out of pity. She’s too nice to tell you that you’re a nuisance."

He had hundreds of strategies like that. He was a shark in the shallow waters of university romance. But now, Karma had arrived in the form of a blue-eyed "alien" from a dimension Daniel couldn't even map. Harrison Marcus didn't play by the rules. He didn't send food; he bought the building. He didn't ask for permission; he demanded fulfillment.

"Shall I just stand here while he takes her?" Daniel’s voice was a ragged thing.

The girl who had melted his heart was standing ten steps away, silhouetted against the Havenport skyline. She looked fragile, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her choice. In the stories Daniel read, love was supposed to be selfless. Let me be hurt as long as you are happy, the poets wrote.

But Daniel wasn't a poet tonight. He was a man who had been cheated.

"It’s too cruel," he whispered.

He stepped forward, the magnet of her presence drawing him in. He pulled her into his chest, his nose inhaling the scent of her hair—the familiar, grounding smell of vanilla and paper. For a second, the world was silent.

Then came the blow. Caroline’s elbow landed sharply in his stomach, a physical reminder of the boundary he had just crossed.

"Ouch..." Daniel groaned, but he didn't let go.

"My feelings are in chaos, Daniel, and you’re still trying to play games?" she snapped, pulling away.

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Daniel’s eyes were red, his body trembling with the sheer force of his own vulnerability. He realized this was the critical moment. He was the bomb, and he was finally exploding.

"Daniel... your gaze... it scares me," Caroline said, backing away until she was cornered against the garden’s minimalist stone bench.

"Tell me," Daniel begged, stepping into her space. "How can you be happy with this? How can you look me in the eye and say this is what you want?"

"Daniel, stop it. I don’t want to joke around. You’re scaring me."

"Can I ask for a few seconds of your time, Caroline? For once, look at me. Not as the guy who sleeps in your studio. Look at me."

Caroline held her breath. In the silence of the sky garden, she finally felt it—the awareness she had been suppressing for years. Daniel wasn't just "Damar the poet." He was a man who had been in love with her since the first day they met.

"I’ve loved you since the first time you woke me up," Daniel said, taking her back to two years ago.

He remembered the lecture hall, the scent of stale coffee, and the way he had been ignoring the professor’s drone. He was the "grumpy senior" who slept through every class. But then, a girl with a ponytail had leaned over and whispered: "Hey Daniel, I have an interesting offer for you. Wake up; you won't regret it."

He had woken up to find her smiling at him, a spark of life in a dull room. He had joined her team because she asked, never realizing that the "interesting offer" would eventually cost him his heart.

Caroline’s tears finally spilled over. It wasn't just Daniel’s confession; it was the entire dam of her life breaking at once. Her dreams, her autonomy, her very heart—none of it belonged to her anymore. She had pawned it all for the Hale family. For Jane’s sanity, for her father’s health, for her mother’s peace.

"Stop it, Daniel," she sobbed, covering her face. "You’re making me regret it."

Daniel’s heart cracked at the sound. He sank to his knees in front of her, gently pulling her hands away from her face. He used his thumb to wipe the tears from her cheeks, his expression one of profound, agonizing tenderness.

"I can't let you do this to yourself," he whispered.

Caroline took a deep, shuddering breath. "Daniel, I know this is difficult. But I can't give you anything. My life has already been mapped out, and I have decided to walk the path as best as I can. There is no 'us' in this story."

Daniel bowed his head, resting it against her knee like a knight struck by a mortal wound. "Even when you know he’s just using you? Even when you know he has another woman sitting in that boutique?"

"It’s not that simple, Daniel. This is about saving my family. Harrison... he’s in his own cage, too. We’re both just fulfilling a contract."

"Can I ask for a little hope, Caroline? Just a shred?"

Caroline shook her head. She had to be the steel. "The marriage will last two years. But even then, I won't give you a chance to wait for me. I won't be that selfish."

"I can wait! Two years is nothing!"

"No, Daniel. I won't let you anchor your life to a ghost. I want you to move on. You’re a literary genius; you can make anyone fall in love. You should find someone who can love you back without a contract in the way."

She reached out, touching his shoulder. "Be the friend I need. Don't be the man I can't have."

Daniel looked up at her, his face a mask of resignation. "If I agree to be your friend again... if I promise to stop demanding more... will you give me one thing?"

"What?"

"One day. Give me twenty-four hours of your time as compensation for the 17,520 hours I’ve spent loving you. One day where we aren't a CEO’s project and his 'substitute' bride. Just one day for us."

Caroline hesitated. The logic of her new life told her to say no, to cut him off and protect the Marcus image. But the girl who made paper hearts couldn't do it.

"One day," she agreed softly. "And after that, we go back to the way it was."

"Deal," Daniel said, standing up. He offered her a faint, sad smile. "At least I’ll have a memory of my own to keep."

Across town, in the high-tech, black-glass heart of the Marcus Group headquarters, the CEO was not working.

Harrison sat in his darkened office, the glow of three monitors reflecting in his blue eyes. He looked like he was analyzing market trends, but the windows on his screen were filled with low-resolution photos and grainy video clips.

He watched the girl in the ponytail sitting in a fast-food booth with the "Literature guy." He watched them get on a bus. He watched them stand on a rooftop garden.

"What are they talking about?" Harrison muttered, his voice a low growl of frustration.

He was disgusted with himself. He was the CEO of a global conglomerate, a man whose time was valued in millions, and he was spending his evening like a jealous teenager. He rubbed his face, cursing the "Marcus blood" that made him so pathologically possessive of things that were "his."

Every time a new notification appeared from the stalker he had hired, he told himself he wouldn't open it. And every time, his thumb moved of its own accord.

He saw the video of the rooftop. It was too far away to hear the words, but the body language was unmistakable. He saw Daniel kneel. He saw him wipe her tears. And then, he saw the hug.

Harrison’s grip tightened on his phone until the screen groaned. He saw Daniel’s hand on her hair. He saw the intimacy that he, the fiancé, hadn't even come close to achieving.

"I’m the one paying the bills," Harrison hissed to the empty room. "I'm the one saving her father. And she’s crying on his shoulder?"

A surge of irrational, cold fury washed over him. He wasn't just a "partner" in a transaction anymore. He was a competitor. And Harrison Marcus didn't lose.

Daniel walked Caroline to her white picket fence, watching as she slipped inside with the help of the security guard. He waited until the front door closed before he turned toward the main road.

As he walked, his literary instincts—the ones that made him notice the cadence of a sentence or the shadow of a metaphor—began to tingle. He sensed a rhythm behind him that wasn't his own. A car was crawling ten yards back, its headlights dimmed.

Daniel smiled mischievously. He didn't look back. Instead, he quickened his pace, turning into a narrow, dimly lit alleyway. He broke into a sprint, taking off his denim jacket as he ran.

He reached a blind corner and stopped abruptly, flattening himself against the brick wall.

A moment later, a man in a face mask and a dark hoodie rounded the corner, his camera held low.

"Gotcha!" Daniel roared.

He swung his jacket like a net, tangling the man’s arms and head in the heavy denim. He tackled the stalker to the ground, the sound of the camera hitting the pavement echoing in the alley.

"Who sent you?" Daniel demanded, pinning the man’s wrists. "Give me the camera!"

The stalker struggled, protecting the equipment as if it were a holy relic. Daniel managed to wedge his hand under the man’s chest, reaching for the memory card, when the sound of screeching tires filled the alley.

A black sedan—not the Marcus luxury car, but a nondescript muscle car—skidded to a halt. A second man, much larger and more muscular, leaped out. He didn't hesitate. He delivered a sharp, focused kick to Daniel’s side, throwing him off the stalker.

Daniel hit the brick wall with a groan, the wind knocked out of him.

The two men scrambled into the car, the doors slamming shut as they sped away, leaving the scent of burning rubber in the air.

Daniel sat up, clutching his ribs. He looked at the empty alley, his heart hammering. They hadn't tried to rob him. They hadn't tried to hurt him more than necessary. They were just protecting the data.

"Blue-eyed bastard," Daniel whispered, a fresh wave of fury rising in his chest. "You're watching her."

He stood up, his gaze fixing on the direction of the Marcus towers.

"Knock, knock, knock."

The sound was hesitant, a rhythmic tapping that received no answer. Steven, usually a model of professional restraint, finally pushed the heavy oak door open. He found the CEO of the Marcus Group—the heir to Havenport’s most formidable fortune—dead to the world.

Harrison was slumped across his desk, his cheek resting on a mahogany surface that cost more than a family sedan. His laptop was still open, the screen in sleep mode, a small blue light blinking in the corner like a mechanical heartbeat. He had clearly worked until his body simply gave out.

Steven coughed loudly, but Harrison only groaned, shifting his weight.

"Are you planning on working through the morning too?" Steven asked, his voice booming in the quiet office.

"Go away, Steven," Harrison muttered, his eyes flickering open for a second before they glazed over. He saw Steven’s wide, knowing smile and immediately felt a prickle of unease.

"Brak!" Harrison suddenly realized the laptop was open. He slammed the screen shut with a violence that made the desk vibrate.

Steven fought the urge to laugh. He knew exactly what was on that screen. He knew about the private investigator’s feed, the photos from the sky garden, and the digital ghost of Caroline Hale that Harrison had been chasing all night. Steven bit his lip until it hurt, tensing his stomach to keep from exploding into hysterics.

"What do you want?" Harrison stood up, his eyes bloodshot and heavy. "You’re just here to annoy me."

"I’m here because I am your primary assistant," Steven replied, his tone mockingly formal. "Even on a Sunday, I am willing to endure your presence. It’s a calling, really."

"Just say you want me to forget your resignation request," Harrison grumbled, walking past him toward the private suite attached to the office.

"Well, that too. I plan to beg for your forgiveness for stranding you on the sidewalk. Can we... pretend yesterday’s incident never happened?" Steven’s voice was soft, like a customer service rep.

Harrison glanced at him indifferently, then lunged toward his desk as Steven reached for his phone. "Don't touch that!"

Steven froze. "I was only going to say... you left this behind." He pointed to the phone. Harrison snatched it away, his knuckles white.

"Don't bother me," Harrison commanded. "I’m going to sleep all day."

"Actually, you can't."

Harrison stopped at the door, his shoulders tensing.

"On Friday, you rescheduled the marketing division’s quarterly meeting because it conflicted with the Singapore delegation. You moved it to today, eleven o'clock. You can't miss it, Harrison. The board is watching."

Harrison closed his eyes, his head throbbing. "Give me one hour. Tell them the Orange Room."

The cold water of the rainfall shower pelted Harrison’s shoulders, but it couldn't wash away the images from the night before. His mind kept drifting back to the last photo the investigator had sent. It was a shot of the sky garden—Caroline and Daniel. She was sitting on a bench, and he was leaning in, his hand in her hair.

It’s just a contract, Harrison told himself, rubbing his face with his palms. A transaction. Who cares who she cries to?

He stepped into the massive dressing room, selecting a charcoal-grey shirt and a watch from his collection. Even with dark circles under his eyes, the mirror didn't lie; he was a Marcus. His nose was sharp, his chin masculine, his blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes. He looked like the prince of Havenport, even if he felt like a fraud.

A ping from his phone interrupted his thoughts. Your breakfast is ready in the suite, sir. Please enjoy.

"Why a woman?" Harrison asked the empty room, his voice full of an old, ingrained paranoia.

He remembered the incident a year ago—two female servers who had hidden in his closet at the Ritz, taking photos of him while he slept. They had sold them to a tabloid for a fortune. Since then, his rule was absolute: no female staff in his private quarters.

"Call your manager!" Harrison yelled toward the door, not wanting to emerge from the dressing room until he was sure the coast was clear.

"I’m sorry, sir!" a voice squeaked from the suite. "Our regular server is on leave. I’ll leave the tray and exit immediately!"

Harrison waited for the sound of the door clicking shut. He emerged, feeling a sudden, sharp pang of self-loathing. Now I’m a stalker too, he thought, hitting his forehead gently. I hire men to watch her, but I’m afraid of a girl with a breakfast tray.

"Is that all your team has to present?"

The marketing meeting in the Orange Room was a bloodbath. Harrison sat at the head of the table, his arms folded, his eyes closed. To anyone else, he looked asleep. But the marketing leads knew better.

Yvonne, the leader of Team One, stood frozen at the front of the room.

"I don’t care about the font, Yvonne. I don't care about the slide transitions," Harrison said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Let’s talk about content. How is your segmentation based solely on economic class? It’s 2019. Consumer patterns are driven by psychographics and cultural influence, and you’re giving me a textbook theory from 1985. Do your research, or leave the room."

The air in the room felt like it was being sucked out of a vacuum. Harrison’s sardonic smile was the most dreaded sight in the Marcus Tower.

"If there’s nothing better, let’s call the meeting," Harrison concluded.

"I have a proposal."

A man named Bradley stood up. He was the leader of the fourth team, known for being polite, structured, and surprisingly quiet.

"Wow, Bradley’s brave," someone whispered. "He’s going to get fired," another muttered.

Harrison watched him. Bradley didn't use flashy graphics. He spoke about a simple research project—three hundred samples of real consumer perception in Havenport. It was structured, honest, and grounded in reality.

"I like the positioning," Harrison said, his tone softening. "Give me the file by tomorrow morning. If it holds up, we use your strategy."

He dismissed the rest of the room with a wave of his hand. The marketing leads scrambled for the exit, leaving only Bradley behind. The man approached Harrison’s desk.

"May I have a word? Privately?" Bradley asked, glancing at Steven.

Steven caught Harrison’s nod and exited, closing the door behind him.

"I heard you’re getting married," Bradley said, his voice calm.

Harrison’s eyes narrowed. "The information isn't public, Bradley. How did you hear that?"

"Word travels in certain circles," Bradley replied. "I wanted to ask... is your fiancé Caroline Hale?"

The silence in the room became absolute. Harrison stood up, his height giving him a natural advantage. "She is. Why do you ask?"

"I know Caroline well," Bradley said, a small, unreadable smile playing on his lips. "She helped me once. A debt of gratitude I can never truly repay. I hope... I hope you treat her as well as she deserves."

"What is your relationship with her?" Harrison’s voice was ice.

"You'll find out soon enough," Bradley said, tiding his notebook. "She’s a remarkable woman, Harrison. Don't let the Marcus name crush her."

He walked out, leaving the CEO of the Marcus Group standing in a silent room, his jaw clenched. Harrison strode through the executive floor, his face intimidating enough to make his staff press themselves against the walls.

"Steven! Investigate that man!" he barked as he reached his desk.

"Huh? Who? Bradley?" Steven scrambled to keep up. "He’s one of our top analysts, Harrison. What did he do?"

"Just do it! Every connection, every phone record, every time he’s ever crossed paths with Caroline Hale!"

Harrison slammed his laptop open, his mind a whirlwind of jealousy and suspicion.

"Your mood is spiraling, Harrison," Steven said, speaking now as a friend. "You need to take a break. Go for a run. Go to the gym."

"I don't have time for a break," Harrison snapped. Then, he looked up, his eyes flashing with a sudden, impulsive decision. "Steven, buy me a unit in the Sky Park Mansion complex."

Steven froze. "The Sky Park? The residential complex on top of the skyscraper? Harrison, that’s owned by the Ronvia Group. They’re our primary rivals in real estate."

"I don't care who owns it. Buy a unit. Now."

"It’s been sold out for years! And even if a unit is available, we can't just 'pick' one."

"Then find someone who wants to sell. Offer them double the market value," Harrison threatened. "Make sure I have the keys by tonight. I want to meet Caroline there tomorrow."

"Are you serious? You're ignoring the Waterpark construction meeting for a rival's penthouse?" Steven looked at his boss, seeing someone he barely recognized. Harrison had never ignored work. He had never been irrational. Until now.

"Adjust the schedule," Harrison said, his voice final. "Do what I want, or find another job."

Steven sighed, reaching for his phone. "You're out of your mind, Harry. You're going to burn this city down just to see who she's talking to."

Harrison didn't answer. He turned his chair toward the window, looking out at the Havenport skyline, his gaze fixed on the distant heights of Sky Park.