Chapter 9 - The Clear Horizon
Three weeks later, the office on Amsterdam Avenue smelled of fresh paint, lemon oil, and new carpeting.
It wasn't much—two small rooms above a dry cleaner's near 110th Street, with a frosted glass door that read N. KANE, CONSULTING — MEDICAL & FINANCIAL RECOVERY in simple black lettering. The desk was second-hand, bought from a liquidation sale in Queens, but the chair was ergonomic and the kettle in the corner worked on the first try.
Nora sat behind the desk, her sleeves rolled up, a stack of unopened medical bills and collection notices spread out before her like a deck of cards she was about to shuffle for the last time.
The bell above the street door chimed—a light, cheerful little brass ding that sounded entirely out of place in Morningside Heights.
A young woman in her early twenties stepped into the office, her coat soaked with sleet, her face pale, her hands clutched tightly around the strap of a canvas tote bag that looked like it had been packed in a hurry. She stopped just inside the threshold, looking around the small, warm room with eyes that were too wide, too desperate, and too familiar.
"Are you... are you Dr. Kane?" the girl asked, her voice shaking so hard the words barely made it across the room.
May you like
Nora laid down her fountain pen, straightened her cuffs, and leaned back in her chair, looking at the girl the way Dante had looked at her under the bridge—not with pity, not with judgment, but with the cool, steady assessment of someone who knew exactly what the river looked like when you were standing on the wrong side of the guardrail.
"I am," Nora said, her voice clear, level, and entirely without fear. "Shut the door. It’s freezing out there. Tell me what you're running from."
