Ethan woke to light.Not the harsh, fluorescent kind that crept through their old blinds, but soft gold — sunlight diffused through floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling across white walls and warm wood floors.
For a few seconds, he lay still, letting the silence settle. The hum of traffic was distant, filtered by thick glass. Somewhere below, a gull cried faintly over the lake.
He turned his head. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed 7:16 AM, its numbers crisp and blue. For the first time in years, he didn't have an alarm screaming at him to deliver something. He felt almost weightless.
Then, from the next room, came the unmistakable sound of clattering pans and a man muttering about "batter consistency."
He smiled. Dad's cooking again. Lord have mercy.
Tom Miller was already in full domestic chaos mode when Ethan padded into the kitchen. The counter was covered in pancake mix, eggshells, and optimism.
"Morning, champ!" Tom said, wearing one of his new shirts from Macy's — tags still attached. "Guess who's perfecting breakfast?"
Ethan glanced at the smoke wafting from the pan. "The fire department?"
"Ha-ha. These are gourmet pancakes, thank you very much."
He held up the spatula proudly. The pancake was more oval than round, but it smelled… edible.
Ethan leaned on the counter. "Dad, this place has a built-in coffee machine."
Tom squinted at the gleaming chrome appliance like it was alien technology. "You sure that's not a fax machine? I don't trust anything that shiny."
Ethan pressed a button experimentally. The machine hissed to life, grinding beans, filling the room with the smell of actual coffee — not instant powder or vending-machine sludge.
Tom blinked. "Okay… maybe I trust it a little."
They ate at the kitchen island, sunlight bouncing off the lake. Tom kept grinning between bites, as if afraid the view would vanish if he blinked too long.
"You realize," he said through a mouthful of pancake, "that this might be the first breakfast I've had that didn't come out of a microwave tray."
Ethan smiled. "I think that's called progress."
Tom raised his coffee mug in mock toast. "To progress — and to not burning the apartment down."
They clinked mugs.
When the plates were cleared, Ethan wandered through the apartment barefoot, exploring properly for the first time. The air was cool and faintly citrus-scented, and every surface seemed to hum with quiet potential.
He discovered that the living room wall doubled as a smart screen. When he touched it, the view shifted to a live feed of the lakefront below — tiny boats bobbing like specks of light.
Hal's voice chimed softly in his head.
[Good morning, Ethan.][Day 4 Sign-In available in 10 hours, 12 minutes.]
"Morning, Hal," Ethan muttered. "You sleep?"
[I perform background diagnostics while you snore.]
"Great. My AI's a comedian now."
Tom walked up behind him, peering at the screen. "You talking to the wall or your invisible friend?"
"Bit of both."
Tom nodded sagely. "At least you're consistent."
Later that morning, they decided to explore the building itself.The lobby looked even more impressive in daylight: marble floors gleaming, soft music playing, staff greeting them like old friends.
The receptionist from yesterday waved. "Good morning, Mr. Miller! Settling in well?"
Tom, always quick on his feet, flashed a grin. "Like a turtle in silk pajamas."
Ethan cringed. "He means yes."
She chuckled politely and handed them a welcome folder. Inside was a map of the amenities — gym, rooftop garden, lounge, community kitchen, even a mini theater.
Tom's eyes widened. "They got a rooftop garden? Son, we've hit the botanical jackpot."
They rode the elevator up to the roof, stepping out into sunlight and open sky. Rows of planters lined the edges, filled with herbs and flowers. Benches faced the water, and the wind carried that fresh, unmistakable lake scent.
Tom stood there a long moment, hands in his jacket pockets. "You know, I used to fish down there when you were a kid. Back when the air smelled more like steel than salt."
Ethan followed his gaze. "Funny how close we were all along."
"Yeah." Tom smiled faintly. "Just needed a better view."
Back inside, Ethan found a small note on the kitchen counter — elegant handwriting, neat paper.
Welcome to The Orion Residences.If you need assistance with furnishings, groceries, or concierge setup, please contact Resident Services.P.S. We left a starter pantry in the fridge.
He opened it and blinked. The fridge was stocked like a dream: milk, fruit, cheese, vegetables, even labeled containers of ready-to-cook meals.
Tom peeked over his shoulder. "They gave us food too? What's next, a butler named Jeeves?"
A chime answered from the intercom.
"Hello, Mr. Miller. This is the concierge, Maria. Would you like me to schedule housekeeping this week?"
Ethan almost dropped the phone. "Uh, no! We're good! We can clean! We like cleaning!"
There was a polite pause. "Very well, sir."
Tom chuckled. "Nice save. We don't need strangers discovering our pancake crimes yet."
The rest of the morning passed like a dream filtered through routine.Ethan cleaned the countertops — not because they needed it, but because old habits die hard. Tom flipped through every channel on the massive smart TV, marveling that the remote had more than five buttons.
When lunchtime rolled around, they cooked together — simple grilled cheese and tomato soup — but the kind of meal that felt five-star just because the stove didn't hiss like a snake.
Tom took a spoonful and sighed happily. "This place makes everything taste better."
Ethan smirked. "That's probably just because it isn't burnt."
"Details."
In the afternoon, they took a walk along the lakefront. The snow had thinned, leaving patches of grass visible. The cold air stung pleasantly, waking them up.
Ethan found himself staring at people walking dogs, laughing, sipping coffee — ordinary life, continuing without knowing that somewhere among them, a delivery boy had accidentally stumbled into a fairy tale.
Tom nudged him gently. "What's on your mind?"
Ethan shrugged. "Just… waiting for the catch."
"What catch?"
"This. All of it. The money, the apartment, the voice in my head that sounds like an NPR host. It's too much, too fast."
Tom nodded slowly. "You know, when your mom left, I kept asking myself the same thing about bad luck. Like maybe it was too much for one life. Then one day, I stopped asking and started living around it."
Ethan looked at him. "You think that works both ways?"
Tom smiled. "Maybe the trick isn't wondering why the good stuff shows up. Maybe it's just learning not to waste it."
When they got back, the sky had dimmed again, the lake a mirror of soft gray light. The apartment felt even cozier now — warm lamps, faint jazz from the speaker Hal had "helpfully" activated.
Ethan sprawled on the couch, letting his eyes drift over the view. "Hey Hal," he murmured, "what's the point of all this? The money, the upgrades, the… everything?"
[Define 'point.']
"You know what I mean."
There was a pause, as though the system were thinking — or pretending to.
[Stability leads to clarity. Clarity leads to growth.]
"Sounds like something you'd find on a coffee mug."
[Would you like me to order one?]
Ethan laughed quietly. "You're impossible."
[That's debatable.]
Tom poked his head out from the kitchen. "Who you arguing with?"
"Life coach."
"Fire him. They always overcharge."
Night came gently again.They sat on the balcony wrapped in blankets, watching the city lights flicker across the water. A thin fog rolled in from the lake, softening everything.
Tom nursed a cup of tea, steam curling up into the cold. "You realize this is the first time in decades we're not worried about rent or bills?"
Ethan nodded. "Yeah."
Tom exhaled, eyes glinting with quiet wonder. "Then maybe tonight, we just breathe."
Ethan looked out over the city, lights shimmering like stars that had fallen too low.
For the first time in a long time, he did exactly that.