He needed a job.
Not this kind, but hunger left no room for choices. Smuggling paid. If you survived. Starving quietly wasn't any better.
He crossed into the worst part of the slums, hand instinctively over the spot where his wallet used to be, but old habits die hard. There wasn't anything left to steal now, but that didn't mean someone wouldn't try.
The streets thinned out the deeper he walked into the district. The buildings here were older, patched with scrap metal and tarps, some leaning inward as if they were too tired to stand.
Even the slums had the bad part of town, he thought bitterly.
A group of kids stood around a barrel fire. One of them watched him with wary eyes until he passed, then turned back to warming his hands.
Adrian stared back, showing weakness was asking to get robbed.
If Adrian didn't look like he hadn't eaten in weeks, some group would probably have approached him by now, looking to rob whatever little he had left. Hunger made people desperate, and desperate people did desperate things like Adrian was doing now.
Adrian turned the corner and spotted the building, a three-story building with peeling paint and faded graffiti. Most windows were boarded up or covered with whatever materials people had. A handful still had glass windows, catching the light like a quiet luxury in a place that had long forgotten such things. The door was hanging slightly off its hinges.
Cassian's warning echoed in his mind: More people get lost in the Crypts than ever come back. He shivered, but he stepped inside anyway. He had no choice.
He paused at the steps, resting one hand on the rusted railing. His legs quivered under him, weak and unsteady, and a dull ache radiated through his ribs. Each breath came slightly ragged, his chest tightening as though the air itself had grown heavy.
He sat on the bottom step for a minute, catching his breath.
The stairwell tilted gradually, forcing him to blink against the blur at the edges of his vision. He forced himself to take another step, then another, each one a little victory against the weakness that threatened to pull him down.
"Come on," he whispered to himself, forcing his legs to move again.
He climbed the last flight slowly, each step feeling steeper than the last. At the top, he stopped in front of a black door with chipped paint and a dent in the middle.
Alex's place. Or at least, it had been.
He raised his hand and knocked.
No answer.
He waited a few seconds and knocked again, a little louder this time. Nothing.
"Fuck."
With a quiet sigh, he lowered himself to the floor and leaned back against the wall beside the door. His knees pulled up to his chest, arms resting loosely over them.
He would wait. He didn't have anywhere else to be.
Maybe Alex had just stepped out. He told himself. Either way, Adrian wasn't leaving. This was the only lead he had left, and even if it wasn't much, it was more than nothing.
He let his head rest back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the building breathe around him, distant footsteps, the buzz of a fly, a baby crying faintly somewhere below.
More than two hours had passed.
Adrian had lost count of how many times he checked the hallway, how many times he leaned forward, hoping to hear footsteps, voices, anything.
He pulled his coat tighter around himself, but it didn't help. The cold had crept in slowly at first, then sunk deep into his bones. Now he was shivering, fingers numb and jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering.
He froze at the sound of footsteps below. The third set since he'd arrived. This time, he let himself hope.
The footsteps were faint at first, but they kept getting louder. He straightened. The cold seemed to dull for a moment, overpowered by a sudden jolt of alertness. Someone was coming up the stairs.
Adrian pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly before catching his balance. He didn't want to look too desperate.
But who was he kidding? He was desperate. Even desperate was an understatement.
A shadow stretched across the wall at the top of the staircase, followed by the shape of a figure rounding the final steps. It was him.
Alex.
His jacket was worn and stained, and a scar Adrian didn't recognize cut across his cheek. But the moment their eyes met, recognition flickered.
He looked older than Adrian remembered, not in his face, but in his eyes. That tired glint in his deep red gaze did not come from age, but from everything he had seen and survived. Adrian had learned to pick up on those signs since he started living in the slums, where every flicker in someone's eyes revealed more than words ever could.
"Adrian?" Alex blinked, his voice rough with surprise.
Adrian nodded, trying not to let the relief show too much. "Took you long enough."
Alex's eyes narrowed at Adrian's frail frame. "You look like shit."
Adrian smirked weakly. "Could say the same."
Alex gave a short, tired laugh and ran a hand through his hair. "Didn't think I'd see you again."
Alex retrieved a key from the pocket of his jacket and opened the door.
"Come on in".
Adrian stepped inside and closed the door carefully behind him. The apartment was noticeably larger than his own cramped space, and for the first time in a while, the furniture didn't look completely worn down.
Alex dropped his jacket onto a battered chair and looked Adrian over again. "It's been a while," he said.
Adrian's eyes flicked around the room, noticing the small details. "Yeah. Looks like you're doing alright."
Alex's lips curled into a faint, proud smile. "More than I deserve, probably."
Alex's eyes lingered a moment longer on Adrian's frail frame, the shadows under his eyes, the way he shifted uncomfortably.
"You haven't eaten in days," Alex said, watching him.
"You always know how to make a guy feel welcome."
"Wait here." Alex disappeared into the kitchen, shaking his head.
Adrian sank onto the edge of the sofa, hands resting on his knees. The sofa was worn down, but still soft and comfortable. There were a few tears and stains, but for this part of the city, it might as well have been luxury.
He hated how quickly his eyes darted toward the kitchen. He hated how hopeful he felt over something as stupid as food. It made him feel smaller somehow. Like all the distance he'd put between himself and desperation had vanished in a breath.
A drawer opened in the other room, followed by the soft clinking of utensils shifting. Then a pause. The flick of a lighter cut through the stillness, followed by the faint hiss of a burner catching flame. The scent of something, maybe oil or spices, began to drift in. It was familiar, in a way that tugged at something deep inside him, though he couldn't place why.
Adrian stared at the floor, trying not to listen, but every sound pulled at him like a thread. The shuffle of a pan. The rattle of a lid. It had been so long since he had heard those sounds in a kitchen that they hardly felt real.
Then Alex came from the kitchen carrying two plates. He looked at Adrian with a smile. "It's your mom's special."
Adrian blinked. His lips curved into the smallest smile.
Alex slid the bowl over. "Eat."
It was a stir-fry Adrian's mother used to make all the time, carrots, pepper, cabbage, and some kind of meat, all tossed together in a warm, savory mix. The smell hit him like a memory. It brought back quiet evenings, a full table, and the sound of laughter. For a moment, his world felt a little less broken.
"Not poisoned, right?"
Alex snorted. "Too expensive."
He picked up the fork and took a slow bite.
It wasn't quite like his mother's. A little too savory, missing that faint hint of sweetness she always added. But that didn't matter. It was warm. It was real. And for the first time in days, it felt like something was right.
Alex chuckled at his expression. "Not exactly how she made it, but edible."
Adrian didn't say a word. He just kept eating, slowly, like he didn't trust it to last. The silence lingered between them, unspoken but not uncomfortable. Neither of them said anything until the plates were empty.
Alex leaned back, watching the empty bowl. "Guess you were hungry."
Adrian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Nah. Just being polite."
Alex chuckled, shaking his head. The room went quiet again, but this time it wasn't heavy.
Adrian leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment.
The warmth of the food lingered in his chest.
It wasn't much, but it reminded him that maybe hope hadn't died completely.
"I forgot what full feels like," he muttered.
"I can see that," Alex smirked.
"So. How long's it been?" Adrian asked as he managed to collect himself.
Alex leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger on the empty plate.
"Six, seven months," he finally said, voice low and uncertain.
Alex's eyes didn't meet Adrian's. Instead, he stared at some distant point in the room, as if trying to piece together memories long buried.
"Feels longer," he said after a moment, voice rougher now.
"Yeah. Shit got messy."
Adrian nodded slowly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. "Tell me about it."
Silence stretched between them again, heavier this time, but not uncomfortable.
After a few moments, Adrian decided to get to the point. "I heard you were running with Marcus's crew."
"Yeah," Alex replied a bit hesitantly.
After letting it linger for a few moments, "I need a job."