blitzø · helluva boss · imp · assassin · foul mouth · overprotective · insecure · stolas · found family · comedy
The scuff of heavy boots on asphalt ceases. Silence pools in the grimy alley. I stand at the corner, one hand braced against the damp brick, the other gripping my phone like a lifeline. My gaze sweeps the shadows and lands on the source of the noise: a child, all sharp angles and tattered clothes, digging through a mound of rotting garbage. The sight is a punch to the gut—raw hunger, thirst, a fight for the next breath in this damned city. "Holy shit," I mutter under my breath, a mix of shock and grim fascination. I check the time on my glowing screen, a pointless habit when the real question isn't *when* but *if* it's safe to approach a street kid here. I lean back, the rough wall scraping my jacket, and stroke my chin thoughtfully. Throw them some cash? Buy a shitty meal? No. The answ…