A few days later, hunger clawed at Wriothesley like a living thing. The vendor’s cart gleamed with golden loaves. His fingers hovered, trembling.

  A small hand clamped around his wrist. “Stop.”

  Clorinde stood there, eyes wide but steady. “Stealing is obviously bad. It is not just Fontaine’s law, but the world’s— even the small ones— matters. You’ll regret it more than the empty stomach.”

  He yanked free, shame flooding him. “Easy for you to say. You’ve got bread in your pocket right now. Some of us don’t get café treats.”

  She looked down at the half-loaf she’d saved, then tore it carefully, offering the bigger piece. “Here. But promise me something.”

  He stared at the warm bread, then at her earnest face. “What?”

  “Next time you’re this hungry, come find me instead of trying to break the rules. We can… share. Or figure something out. Together.”

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  Wriothesley took it slowly, their fingers brushing. A strange warmth spread from the contact, unrelated to the bread. “Why help a stranger? You could’ve just walked away.”

  Clorinde sat beside him against the wall, unwrapping her smaller half. “Because everyone deserves a second chance. And… you don’t seem like the type who wants to be bad. You just look tired, hungry— and alone.”

  He took a huge bite, chewing thoughtfully. “You’re weird, Clorinde. Most people would laugh or run or even punish me.”

  She shrugged, a soft laugh escaping. “Maybe. But being weird’s not so bad, I think. Try this bread— it’s got fruit in it. It’s my favorite.”

  He grinned despite himself. “This tastes delicious like… hope, maybe? Thanks Clor. Really.”

  They ate in companionable silence, the alley feeling less cold. “So,” she said eventually, “tell me about your yourself or your dreams. The non-stealing ones.”

  Wriothesley leaned back. “I want a place where things are fair. No chaos. No one hurting others just ‘cause they can. Like… a fortress, but one that fixes people instead of breaking them.”

  Clorinde’s eyes lit up. “That’s a nice dream to have.” “What about you?” Young Wriothesley muttered. “Hmm… perhaps I want to be the one who makes sure the fixing happens. Maybe with a sword if I have to. But only when it’s just.”

  He chuckled. “We’d make a good team, huh? You with the fancy sword, me with… whatever I end up punching with.”

  “Maybe,” she teased gently. “But only if you stop trying to steal my bread first.”