The snow crackled under their shoes as they resumed walking.
"Tomorrow," Elliot said, "there's something else I want to show you."
"What is it?"
"You'll see. Consider it the beginning of your next chapter."
Jayden smiled faintly. "Feels like I'm still trying to understand the last one."
"That's the beauty of it," Elliot said. "These chapters overlap."
The next day dawned cold, but bright. Jayden and his mother waited outside their apartment complex when a black SUV rolled up. Elliot stepped out: not with the entourage Jayden expected, not with assistants or reporters, but alone. He greeted Jayden's mother with respectful warmth, then nodded toward the vehicle. "Ready?"
Jayden climbed in, violin case resting across his lap. The city rolled past them: graffiti walls, shuttered storefronts, rows of brick houses—the same worn sidewalks he'd walked thousands of times. But this time, he wasn't on foot; this time, he moved through the city at the pace of someone finally being carried forward instead of held back.
They drove south. Jayden's mother grew quiet, her hands clasped tight. "Elliot," she said softly, "where exactly are we going?"
"To a place that belonged to you once," Elliot replied. "And should belong to you again."
Jayden frowned, confused. But when the SUV slowed, when it turned into a small courtyard beneath an aging apartment building with faded yellow bricks and rusted fire escapes, Jayden felt his breath stop.
He knew this place. Even years later, he knew it: the building where he took his first steps; where he played catch in the hallway with his father; where the eviction notice arrived the week after the funeral; where they lost everything.
His childhood home.
"Why are we here?" Jayden whispered, voice barely audible.
Elliot stepped onto the curb and gestured toward the second-floor unit with the chipped green door. "Because it's yours," he said simply.
Jayden blinked. "What?"