The alley smelled like rotting garbage and stale piss.
A child walked through shadows, his thin frame barely visible in the dim light filtering between buildings.
Alessio.
Nine years old, holding a book he'd found in a dumpster three days ago.
He couldn't read the words on the cover, didn't know what the symbols meant, had only kept it because something about the worn pages felt important.
His days were spent hunting for food, stealing when opportunity presented itself, running when caught.
But today had been different.
Today he'd stumbled onto a stock of bread left unguarded for just long enough.
Five whole pieces, more food than he'd seen in weeks.
His stomach was full for the first time in recent memory, and boredom crept in alongside the unfamiliar sensation of satisfaction.
A child's curiosity stirred despite years of survival hardening his instincts.
