A heavy silence hung in the slum alley as Daniel stared through the gap in the curtain. His grey
eyes were locked on the sight unfolding inside the cramped room—a scene that seemed to slice
him open from the inside out.
Inside, a group of ragged adults crowded around a battered wooden table piled high with scraps
of food—the very same food Daniel had handed out to the kids with trembling, hopeful hands.
A woman with greasy hair and hollow eyes shoved a child aside and grabbed a piece of bread,
stuffing it into her mouth.
"Stupid little brats," she spat between bites. "Keep makin' that good-for-nothin' bastard feed you
so we get our share."
A man sitting beside her let out a harsh laugh, his teeth yellow and broken. "Hah! That Daniel kid's
just a son of a concubine, ain't worth piss. Thinks he's some hero feedin' kids. He's just our pantry
boy, that's all."
Another man slammed his cup down, cheap liquor sloshing over the rim. "I say bleed him dry for
