Chapter 35 - The Last Platform
That evening, after the corporate offices had emptied and the city had settled into its evening rhythm, I decided to take a walk. I told Marcus I wouldn't need the armored transport or the security detail. Sometimes, a man needs to walk the streets he fought so hard to reclaim.
I walked down the broad, bustling sidewalks of downtown Chicago, past theaters, restaurants, and glowing storefronts. The air smelled of roasted chestnuts, autumn leaves, and the faint, damp concrete of the city after a passing shower. Without conscious thought, my feet carried me toward the old Monroe subway station—the same subterranean terminal where Claire had vanished into the morning rush hour two years ago.
I pushed through the heavy glass doors of the station entrance, walked down the concrete steps, and paused at the turnstiles. The platform below hummed with the routine murmur of commuters waiting for the evening express.
I didn't go through the turnstiles. Instead, I stood at the top of the stairs, leaning against the polished metal railing, looking down into the dim recesses of the lower concourse.
Locker 412 was down there, though its brass key now rested safely in my private vault at home. I wondered, not for the first time, where Claire was. Did she have a home somewhere quiet? Did she sit by a window in Zurich, Tokyo, or some nameless coastal town, watching the sun rise without a weapon within arm's reach? Or was she already walking another dark corridor in another distant city, serving as an invisible shield for someone else who didn't even know they needed saving?
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Whatever her path, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: she had left the world better than she found it.
As the southbound express train screeched to a halt below, its doors hissing open to discharge a wave of weary commuters, a sudden movement near the edge of the platform caught my eye.
