In the quiet of the northern slums, where the alleys are too narrow for drones and the rooftops make night fall earlier than it should, Meera was running, clutching her loaf of bread like it was treasure.
She pushed aside a rusted sheet of metal and slipped into a shack built from damp wood and hand-painted tin walls.
Inside, in a rickety old armchair, an old man was waiting for her.
His one eye widened as he saw her dirt-streaked face and tattered clothes.
— "By my mother's ashes, Meera…!"
He staggered to his feet and pulled her into a trembling embrace.
He smelled of fear, love, and exhaustion.
— "Meera… I already told you not to go into the upper town without permission, especially if it's to steal. Don't you ever do that again, you hear me?!"
— "But I was hungry…"
— "And you think I'm not hungry too?! I would've shared my rations, kid. You have no idea what they do to kids like you out there…" His voice cracked.
