Chapter 3 – Noah’s POV

I packed everything I owned into one bag.

That should have taken longer than forty minutes.

It didn’t.

Caleb sat on the edge of the bare mattress and watched me fold my pale blue shirt.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked.

“I’ll visit every Sunday,” I said. “That’s my day off.”

“Every Sunday.”

He said it like he was trying to make sure he had heard me correctly.

“Every Sunday,” I repeated. “And I’ll call every night. My first paycheck is going straight to Eli’s medication, okay? Things are going to get better. I need you to trust me on that.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he asked, “What about when I get home from school?”

“Mrs. Margaret lives next door. She’s going to check on you every afternoon until Eli gets back from his appointments. She has a key.” I crouched down in front of him. “She said you can watch TV at hers until six and play with her kids.”

Caleb thought about it.

“Okay,” he said, nodding.

Then he looked at me.

“Is he nice?”

“Who?”

“The man you’re working for.”

I thought about the interview.

The coffee stain.

Deal with it before tomorrow.

“He’s professional,” I said.

Caleb gave me a look that made it very clear he knew exactly what that meant.

I laughed quietly.

Then I hugged him at the door for longer than I needed to.

He let me.

Which meant he was more scared than he was letting on.

I did not cry on the subway to Manhattan.

I came close.

But I didn’t.

⸻

Mrs. Hale met me in the lobby at nine sharp and walked me through everything.

My room was small but clean, with a window and an actual bed. I had access to the kitchen during certain hours. No guests. No music unless I used earphones.

“He’ll hear it,” Mrs. Hale said simply.

Right.

He heard everything.

She showed me Damien’s schedule.

He woke at six. Coffee before six-thirty. Black. No sugar. In the white cup, not the grey one, because apparently the grey one was three millimetres shorter and he could tell.

Calls from seven to nine.

Lunch at one.

Afternoons varied.

“What does he do in the afternoons?” I asked.

“He works.”

That was it.

“Does he ever—”

I stopped when she looked at me.

“No,” she said before I could finish. “He doesn’t go out much. He doesn’t want to.”

She said it in a way that made it clear the conversation was over.

I didn’t see Damien himself until noon.

He came out of his office and walked through the penthouse like someone who had memorised every inch of it.

No cane.

No hesitation.

He stopped when he reached the kitchen doorway.

“You’re still here,” he said.

I stared at him.

“It’s my first day.”

“I know.”

He walked to the counter and found the coffee maker by touch. He checked the pot.

Empty.

His jaw tightened slightly.

“My coffee.”

“I was told lunch prep started at—”

“My coffee,” he repeated.

Quiet.

Flat.

I made his coffee.

He took it without another word and went back to his office.

The door closed behind him.

I stood in the kitchen for a moment, breathing through my nose.

Then I thought about Eli’s medication.

Caleb’s cereal.

The eviction notice that was no longer hanging over our heads.

I could do this.

I could absolutely do this.

My phone rang at four.

I answered immediately and stepped into my room, closing the door quietly behind me.

“Mr. Carter.”

It was Dr. Reeves, Eli’s lung doctor.

“I wanted to talk to you about Elijah’s latest results. I think it’s time we have a more serious conversation about the next steps.”

My chest tightened.

“What does that mean?”

“The inflammation isn’t responding to the current medication. We’d like to move him to a stronger treatment plan, but I want to be honest with you about the costs before we go ahead.”

He told me the number.

I sat down on the edge of my bed.

For a few seconds, I just stared at the wall.

“Okay,” I said finally. “How long do we have before we need to decide?”

“Two weeks, ideally. The sooner we start, the better his chances.”

“Okay.”

I swallowed.

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll call you back by Friday.”

I hung up.

Then I sat there.

Still.

The number was four times my monthly salary.

Even without rent or food costs, it would take me months to save that much.

Eli had two weeks.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

I didn’t cry.

I was getting very good at not crying.

I stayed there for seven minutes.

At minute eight, I stood up, washed my face and walked back into the hallway.

Damien was standing at the other end.

“Your duties resume at four,” he said.

“It’s four fifteen.”

My voice was steady.

Mostly.

“I know what time it is.”

I walked toward him.

He didn’t move.

For one second, I thought about telling him everything.

I need more money.

My brother is sick.

I’m barely holding this together.

I could have told him.

Instead, I stopped in front of him.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”

He said nothing.

I walked past him and went to make his afternoon coffee.

I told myself I was fine.

That everything was fine.

I was getting very good at lying too.