Patter Patter Patter
A boy, pale as death himself, stumbled through the shadowed alleyways of Grimhaven's slums, his steps faltering on the rain-slicked cobblestones. His skin was ghostly white, as though the very life had been drained from it, and his untamed hair—yellowish-white as the storm clouds above—clung to his face in wet, tangled strands. Every breath he drew came out in ragged, desperate gasps, his lungs burning with each strained inhale. The rain battered him like a thousand tiny daggers, relentless in its assault, but it was the cold that truly held him in its grip—a cold that went deeper than his flesh, sinking into his bones, refusing to let go.
He ran as fast as his frail body would allow, his pulse pounding in his ears, each beat a frantic reminder that there was no safety here. Not in Grimhaven.
Ruined houses, their windows boarded up and their roofs caving in, leaned precariously against one another. The streets were narrow, choked with debris, broken pieces of wood, rusted metal, and discarded refuse that seemed to have festered there for years, possibly decades. The rainwater pooled in the uneven streets, dark and oily, reflecting the faint light from the distant lanterns that flickered weakly.
Patter Patter Patter
The distant glow of his adopted mother's house finally appeared, The small, humble home she had made for them was tucked away in a forgotten corner of the slums. Though the house was nothing more than peeling paint and crumbling wood, it was the only place Wynn had ever felt safe.
It was his home.
The door creaked open with a groan, and Wynn stumbled inside, his chest heaving as if he had run a marathon-which he sort of did. The warmth of the small, dimly lit room wrapped around him in a comforting embrace.
"Late again," a voice called out from the corner of the room, a soft but firm tone that carried a weight of care Wynn had come to recognize as his own brand of discipline. His adopted mom, Maris, sat hunched over a small stove, her hands moving with practised ease as she stirred a pot of something thick and savoury. Her long, light brown hair was tied back in a messy bun, strands of it escaping to frame her face, but there was no mistaking the sternness in her eyes when they met his.
"Sorry, Mom," Wynn rasped, wiping the rain from his face with the back of his hand. "I lost track of time."
She sighed, standing from the stove with a flick of her wrist. Maris was never one for excess, but there was always food in the house. She moved to the small table in the corner and placed a bowl of steaming stew in front of him. It was a simple dish—broth rich with vegetables and a few scraps of meat, the kind of meal that filled the stomach but didn't ask too many questions. The scent alone was enough to make his stomach growl with hunger.
"Sit," she instructed, her voice softening as she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Eat. I don't care how late you are, but next time... don't let me find you running through those alleys in the dark. It's too dangerous."
Wynn didn't argue. He sat at the small wooden table, the rough surface scarred by years of use. He dipped a spoon into the stew, the broth thick and hearty, the steam rising in small swirls around him. As he took his first bite, the warmth spread through his body, momentarily easing the chill that had settled deep into his bones from the cold rain.
"You're lucky I don't beat sense into you," Maris muttered, though there was no real heat in her words.
Wynn looked up from his bowl, meeting her gaze. "I know. I'm sorry, Mom. I just... "
"Be more careful next time."
Maris didn't say anything more, her eyes softening as she watched him eat. After a few moments, she moved back to the stove, tending to the pot for herself, though she didn't seem hungry.
"You need to get some rest after you're done. No more running around in the dark," she added, her voice lighter now.
"Thanks for the food," he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the soft hum of the rain outside.
She gave him a small nod, her back still turned. "Don't thank me. Just be more careful. You know what this world is like."
Wynn nodded again, finishing the last of the stew, his thoughts already drifting back to the world outside.
His mind wandered to Liora and Kai, and the way they'd made him feel earlier—how, even in the midst of the cold, even with the rain pouring down, being with them made the world seem a little less bleak.
He wasn't as pretty as Liora, nor as charming as Kai. And sometimes, when he was quiet, when his thoughts drifted, he wondered if they even knew how much he cared. But for now, it was enough to just be there with them, to sit in the streets or play around in the park and talk until the night grew too dark, till they had to go their separate ways.
*******
Maris moved quietly around the room, pulling a faded cloak around her shoulders. The fabric was worn, frayed at the edges, but it was warm enough for the cold nights of Grimhaven. She glanced over her shoulder at Wynn, who had finished his meal, his eyes distant, his thoughts no doubt wandering back to the streets outside.
"Mom?" Wynn's voice was small, uncertain, as he glanced up from his empty bowl.
She paused for a moment, wrapping the cloak tighter around herself. "I have to go to work, Wynn," she said softly, her tone careful, but there was something in her words—something that didn't quite match the gentle way she always spoke. "Stay here. Stay inside. I'll be back later."
Wynn watched her for a long moment, his mind churning with questions he didn't ask. He had been told to stay in, to wait for her to come back, and he always did. There were always these late-night disappearances, always the quiet hours when Maris would leave the house, her footsteps echoing softly in the night. He didn't know where she went, but he couldn't ignore the strange men who sometimes came to visit during the day, the way her purse seemed a little heavier when she came home.
He wasn't sure what it all meant, but something in his gut told him it wasn't something good. Maybe he didn't want to know.
"Okay, Mom," he said quietly, trying not to let his worry show.
Maris gave him a quick smile, ruffling his hair. "I'll be back soon. Just stay inside. Don't go out."
Wynn nodded, but the unease in his chest didn't go away as she left.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed felt heavy, too heavy for someone his age to understand completely. He sat down at the table again, his thoughts spinning. He wanted to ask her more. He wanted to know why things had to be the way they were. But all he could do was sit there and wait for her to come back each day.
And maybe, just maybe, that was all he could do.
For now.