Chapter 2 - The Glass Tower in the Sky
Mount Sinai’s private pediatric wing did not look like the county hospital Lily remembered from her past. The floors were polished marble, the lights were soft and warm, and the air smelled of clean linen rather than floor bleach and lemon disinfectant.
While a team of top orthopedic specialists evaluated Ethan’s legs in Trauma Bay 1, Marcus led Lily down a private hallway into an executive waiting suite. On the oak coffee table sat three large covered silver trays delivered by the hospital’s gourmet kitchen: steam rose from bowls of thick creamy tomato soup, grilled ham and cheese sandwiches on artisan sourdough, and fresh fruit tarts.
Lily stood near the doorway, staring at the spread as if it were a trap set in a fairy tale.
"It's not poisoned," Marcus said gently, pulling out a plush leather armchair for her. "Eat as much as you like, Lily. Nobody is going to take it away from you."
Lily didn't use the silver spoon. She grabbed a sandwich with both hands and took a bite so big her cheeks puffed out. The taste of melted cheddar and warm butter burst across her tongue, and for a moment, tears prickled the corners of her eyes. She hadn't eaten warm food since her grandmother’s apartment was cleared out by the landlord three months ago.
Marcus sat across from her, quietly sipping a paper cup of black coffee, watching her with a quiet intensity. He didn't ask her questions while she ate. He waited until she had finished half a bowl of soup and two sandwiches before he spoke.
"How long have you been sleeping in the park, Lily?" he asked, his voice low and careful.
Lily wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, her eyes instantly darting toward the heavy mahogany door. "Long enough to know how to hide."
"Where are your parents?"
"Dead," she said flatly, the word coming out hardened by overuse. "My mom died when I was little. My gran took care of me in Brooklyn until... until she didn't wake up in November. The man who owned the building said the rent wasn't paid, so he put her stuff on the curb and locked the door. I ran before the city people in the blue vans came."
Marcus’s hands tightened around his coffee cup until the cardboard buckled. "You've been on the streets alone for three months? In the dead of winter?"
"I’m smart," Lily said defensively, chin lifted. "I know which subway lines stay warm until 4:00 AM. I know how to find clean water. I don't need anyone."
Before Marcus could reply, the door opened and Dr. Aris Thorne—a tall woman with graying hair and a white lab coat—stepped into the room.
"Marcus," Dr. Thorne said, her expression serious. "Ethan is stable. The core hypothermia has been successfully reversed, and there is no permanent nerve damage to his lower spine from the fall."
Marcus let out a long, shuddering breath of relief, burying his face in his hands for a brief second. "Thank God."
"However," Dr. Thorne continued, her eyes shifting toward Lily, "we ran a toxicology panel and a full spinal X-ray as standard trauma protocol. The fracture in his lumbar spine wasn't caused by a simple slip on the icy rocks near the monument."
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Marcus snapped his head up, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. "What do you mean?"
"The impact marks on his lower back indicate a high-velocity blunt force," Dr. Thorne said quietly. "Ethan was pushed, Marcus. Hard. And the security fob for your penthouse was missing from his coat pocket."
