"What were you doing there?" Hanna asked.

  "Visiting a friend in the hospital," Robert replied.

  "Are they sick?"

  Robert nodded slowly. "He was the only friend I had at school. After he fell ill, his parents decided to move him there."

  "What kind of illness?" Hanna pressed, her curiosity piqued.

  This time, Robert didn't answer immediately. A shadow crossed his face, as if the question had unearthed a buried, painful memory. He looked at Hanna with a forced, fragile smile. She waited patiently, hoping for an answer that never came. Finally, sensing his hesitation, Hanna leaned back into her seat, letting the silence settle between them.

  "I'm sorry, Hanna. I can't tell you," Robert said softly.

  "I understand. Don't worry about it," she replied.

  "And you... where are you from?" Robert asked, eager to shift the focus.

  "Silverpine, West Virginia."

  "West Virginia..." Robert let out a faint smile. "I've never been. But I’ve heard stories—that there are some truly beautiful places out there."

  "Yes, there are," Hanna admitted, though her voice carried a heavy, melancholic edge.

  "Who did you live with in Silverpine?"

  "My mother." Hanna turned, locking her gaze with Robert’s. "But my grandfather took her away from me," she said, before letting out a sharp exhale and turning her face back toward the window.

  Robert fell silent. He didn't dare push any further after seeing the raw grief etched into her features. He watched her for a moment before reaching into his backpack, rummaging for something inside.

  "Hanna," he called gently.

  She turned back, her eyes widening slightly as he held out several small bags of snacks.

  "Take these," Robert said. "Small talk without something to chew on just makes the time drag."

  "What else is there to talk about?" Hanna asked as she took the snacks.

  Robert didn't answer right away. He tore open his own bag and began stuffing chips into his mouth with an almost frantic energy.

  "That friend of mine... he’s in the hospital because he was beaten by bullies," he said quietly, his voice muffled by the crunching. "He tried to help me, but he ended up being the target. They hit him much harder than they ever hit me."

  "Is it that bad?"

  Robert nodded listlessly. "He’s been bedridden for two months. He has asthma, so it made everything more complicated."

  "What about the people who did it? Were they caught?"

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Robert shook his head, his hand moving like a piston as he continued to eat. "Not a single one. Out there, justice doesn't exist if you aren't from a family with money."

  "I don't follow."

  "In that city, justice is bought with cash, Hanna. Even if you're the one being stepped on, it doesn't mean anyone is going to stand up for you."

  Hanna went quiet. Robert’s words felt alien; she truly couldn't grasp the world he was describing. Her eyes remained fixed on his hand—it moved stiffly, rapidly, shoving food into his mouth while his expression remained tight and strained.

  Acting on instinct, Hanna reached out and gently took hold of Robert’s wrist, stopping his hand mid-air.

  "Eat slowly," she whispered.

  Robert startled, then gave a small, sheepish nod and a faint smile. Hanna pulled her hand back, suddenly feeling awkward at her own boldness.

  "I... I’ve actually never talked to anyone my own age before," she confessed.

  "Why? Were you bullied too?" Robert whispered.

  Hanna shook her head. "I never went to school."

  Robert’s brow furrowed. "Why not?"

  "I don't know. Ever since I was little, I just studied at home with my mother."

  "I’m the same way—I’ve never really talked to a girl before. Especially not one as pretty as you. If you went to school, I bet you’d be incredibly popular," Robert said.

  "Really?"

  Robert nodded firmly. "And once you were popular, you probably wouldn't want to talk to a fat kid like me."

  "I would never do that," Hanna said firmly.

  "We’ll see."

  "You don't believe me?"

  Robert sighed, leaning his head back as if it had suddenly become too heavy to hold. "We just met, Hanna."

  "I know. But I know how to tell the difference between people with good hearts and those with bad intentions," she replied, her voice calm and filled with a strange, quiet certainty.

  "If you live in a city like Manhattan, being friends with the elite is a massive advantage. If you manage to catch the eye of one of them, people consider you lucky," Robert said, his tone a mix of cynicism and cold reality.

  "What about your family?" Hanna asked.

  "My father has more money than he knows what to do with, but he doesn't even acknowledge I exist. Sometimes, I wish time would just move faster. I want to finish school, find a job, and just get out of there," Robert admitted, his gaze going hollow.

  "I don't care about school or careers. I only have one goal: I want to find my mother."

  "Do you know where your grandfather lives?"

  Hanna simply shook her head weakly.

  "But, Hanna..." Robert trailed off. A sense of guilt pricked at him as he hesitated to ask his next question.

  "Just ask, Robb."

  "Your situation... it feels strange. Usually, a grandfather would take the grandchild, not leave them stranded like this. In your case, it’s all backward," Robert said, trying to make sense of the puzzle.

  "I’m just as lost as you are, Robb."

  "Don't worry. I promise I’ll help you. Give me your phone number?"

  "I don't have a phone," Hanna said truthfully.

  "You... don't have a phone?" Robert repeated, looking at her as if he couldn't believe his ears in this day and age.

  Hanna shook her head vigorously to confirm.

  "Alright then. As soon as we set foot in Manhattan, I'm buying you one," Robert said with newfound determination.

  "You're going to buy me one?"

  "Just a cheap one," Robert replied, letting out a small laugh to break the tension.

  "I have money, Robb. You don't have to do that."

  They drifted back into a long conversation, sometimes whispering secrets, sometimes punctuated by muffled laughter. A bond was forming, knit together in the quiet of a bus ride between two strangers.

  But in the cold, dark cabin of the bus, their every move was being watched. Two women sitting several rows ahead observed them with sharp, predatory eyes.

  "I think... I’ve seen that fat kid before," one whispered, her brow knitting as she stared at Robert’s silhouette.

  her companion, seated by the window, turned around. She craned her neck, squinting through the dim light to study Robert’s face. After a moment, she leaned back, her expression unreadable.

  "Isn't that kid a stray?" the woman asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

  The first woman turned back quickly. "I think so... I’ve seen him sleeping in the alleyway by our building."

  The woman by the window looked again, making sure her memory wasn't playing tricks on her. "Yes, that's him. That's definitely the boy."

  Immediately, the air between the two women sharpened with suspicion.

  "Maybe the kid is with Wolfgang, or Os Ca?adores," one muttered.

  "Listen. As soon as we arrive, you handle the boy. I’ll get the girl out of the terminal as fast as possible."

  Her partner nodded in silent agreement, her gaze now fixed like a hawk on their target.