Like Desmond, she had lost many of the people she had come to love: her father, brother, and now him. He hoped she wouldn’t suffer his fate. He wanted to see her fall in love, get married, have children. He knew that was what she wanted, deep down, no matter what she said.

To him, the most terrifying possibility was that her time with him had made her unable to love; that by being with her, he had infected her with the fear of commitment that lay deep inside him.

On a cool November morning, a man pushed open the glass door to Desmond’s office and strode inside. He was in his sixties or seventies, if Desmond had to guess, with short white hair and a pale face. His eyes were blank, unmoving, as if he were holding still for a medical procedure.

Desmond hadn’t bothered to hire an assistant—there wasn’t enough work for one.

He didn’t have anything scheduled for that day.

“NextGen Capital is across the hall.”

“I’ve come to see you, Mr. Hughes.”

“What’s this regarding?”

“Citium Holdings.”

The words hung in the air, neither man moving for a moment.

Desmond held out an arm. “Let’s speak in the conference room, Mister…”

“Pachenko. Yuri Pachenko.”

He walked past Desmond, seated himself, and declined an offer for water. He took his raincoat off, a light film of water on it. Scars covered his forearms—burn scars, similar to the ones on Desmond’s legs. Desmond immediately averted his eyes when he realized what they were.

In a slow, level voice, Yuri asked, “What are you trying to create here, Mr. Hughes?” His English was excellent, his accent slightly British.

“Please, call me Desmond. Ah, if you’re asking about Icarus Capital, we invest in companies with the potential to shape the future. We—”

Yuri held a hand up, waited for Desmond to stop.

“You misunderstand me. I’d like to hear what you don’t tell everyone who walks through your door. Tell me your true vision, the one you think might scare people, the one you fear is too grand.”

Desmond leaned back in the chair. There was something about this man. His serenity, his directness. Desmond instantly felt a level of trust with Yuri. He let the words spill out. He was almost shocked to hear himself saying them.

“I want to create a world where no child has to watch their family burn. Where no child is raised by someone who doesn’t love them. A world where madmen don’t fly planes into buildings and the economy’s more than a worldwide casino.”

“And what else?”

Desmond hesitated, glanced away.

“That’s the world you want to create. What do you want, Desmond?”

“I want to create a world where any person can be repaired, no matter how broken their body or mind or heart.”