The elevator hummed as it ascended toward the penthouse, glass walls giving a clean view of the city folding beneath us. Camille stood at my side, balancing shopping bags in one arm and holding Charlie's hand with the other. He was practically bouncing, face pressed to the glass as the skyline shifted.
"How many floors does this thing go?" he asked.
"Over 50," I answered.
He tried to let out a whistle, but he gave up after 2 attempts. "That's way more than my building. We only have... three."
"Three's a solid number," Camille said, smiling.
Charlie beamed up at her. "Is your room at the top? Like a secret tower?"
"Absolutely. And it has a fire pole."
"Really?"
"No. But it should."
The elevator chimed.
We stepped out into the quiet, high-ceilinged space. The penthouse felt different today. Not heavier, not lighter. Just... waiting. Charlie charged forward, pausing in the middle of the living room, head spinning in every direction like he'd walked into a treasure vault.
