Chapter 15: The Boy With the Match
I met him on a bench outside a train station in Oslo.
He couldn't have been older than seventeen. Thin, shaking from the cold, with hands too small for the weight he was trying to carry. His jacket was torn at the elbows. His eyes were too tired for someone so young.
He offered me a cigarette I didn't ask for.
"Don't worry," he said. "I don't expect a favor for it."
That made me smile. "You know who I am?"
He nodded. "Everyone in my world knows. They just pretend not to."
We sat in silence for a while. The snow fell softly. A dog barked somewhere in the distance.
Then he said it.
"I want to ask for something. But I know it's wrong."
---
His name was Milo. He'd grown up bouncing between group homes, foster care, and the kinds of streets where favors are traded for bruises. Somewhere along the way, his little sister — Lina — ended up in the hands of people who didn't deserve breath, let alone children.
She was eleven. The kind of bright that makes the darkness jealous.
Now she was gone.
Sold. Hidden. Or worse.
The police weren't doing anything. The people involved were protected. A ring of trafficking masked by power and money.
"I don't want revenge," Milo said, voice raw. "I want them to feel what she felt. I want them taken. Hurt. Lost."
He didn't flinch when he said it. But I saw it — the guilt behind the rage.
He wasn't a killer. Not yet.
---
This was the kind of favor I hated most.
Not because it lacked justification.
But because I understood it.
Too well.
And the moment I understood it, it became dangerous.
"I can't give you justice," I said slowly. "Only consequence."
"I know."
"You're asking to become like them."
"No," he said. "I'm asking to stop them in the only way they'll understand."
"Are you sure you can carry that?"
"No," he whispered. "But I don't want anyone else to have to."
---
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I walked with him. Through the frozen streets, past shuttered shops and flickering lights. He talked about Lina. How she once tried to build a house out of sugar cubes. How she hated bees but loved honey. How she wanted to be a dentist.
And all the while, the weight inside me twisted tighter.
I'd granted favors darker than this. Bloodier. Crueler.
But this one felt heavier. Maybe because Milo still had a chance not to lose himself.
Maybe because this favor didn't feel like a wish.
It felt like a scream.
---
We ended up by the river. The wind cutting through our coats. He held out his hand.
"I want it," he said. "The favor. Whatever the Wheel decides. I don't care what it takes from me."
I looked into his eyes and saw a boy with a lit match, ready to burn down the world for someone he loved.
But I also saw a flicker of something else — something that might still be saved.
---
I reached into my coat.
But I didn't pull out the Wheel.
Not yet.
"Come with me," I said.
"Where?"
"To meet someone who made the same choice once. Maybe after that, you'll still want this. Maybe you won't."
He stared at me for a long time.
Then he nodded.
And so we walked.
Toward a story I hadn't told in years.
Toward a choice I couldn't make for him.
And toward a chapter I knew would not end tonight.
---