The casino doors slammed shut behind Edward.
"Cheated me…"
He stumbled down the steps, catching himself against the railing.
"They cheated me."
His voice was low, bitter.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out what little money he had left. He counted it twice before stuffing the crumpled notes back into his pocket.
The streets beyond the casino were already drowning in darkness.
Edward wandered until he found a small bar tucked between two buildings. The place was crowded, noisy, and dimly lit.
He walked to the counter.
"Give me something strong."
The bartender looked him over.
"Money first."
Edward frowned.
"Put it on my tab."
"You don't have a tab here."
Edward stared at him for a moment before pulling out his remaining cash.
"Fine."
The drink was placed before him.
He finished it quickly.
Then, with the bottle still in his hand, he turned toward the door.
"Hey!"
Edward ignored him.
"Hey! You haven't paid for that!"
Edward broke into a hurried walk.
The bartender shouted after him, but Edward was already outside.
He kept the bottle.
By the time he reached the older part of the city, the streets had grown narrower. The buildings leaned over the roads as though they were slowly collapsing into one another. Broken lamps flickered above puddles of stagnant water, while voices drifted from behind half-closed doors.
Edward turned into an alley.
Then another.
Eventually, he reached a wider street overlooking one of the poorer districts.
He stopped there for a moment.
Below him, the slum stretched beneath the night sky.
Corrugated roofs overlapped one another. Small fires burned outside makeshift stalls. Children ran between buildings while adults argued over food, rent, debts, and anything else that could turn an ordinary evening into an argument.
Edward scoffed.
"Look at them."
He took another drink.
"Everyone talks about helping this place. Politicians come here, shake hands, make promises, then disappear once the cameras are gone."
A voice came from somewhere behind him.
"Perhaps they don't know what to do with it."
Edward turned.
A man stood several steps away.
He wore a dark coat that looked strangely clean against the dirt-covered surroundings. His hair was neatly arranged, and his shoes showed barely a trace of dust.
He wasn't doing anything suspicious.
That was what made him difficult to notice.
His posture was relaxed. His hands remained still. His expression carried neither sympathy nor contempt.
Only attention.
Edward narrowed his eyes.
"And you know?"
The stranger glanced toward the slum.
"No."
A pause.
"But I know people like talking about problems they don't intend to solve."
Edward gave a humourless laugh.
"If I had their money, I'd do something."
"Would you?"
"I would."
The stranger looked at him.
Edward gestured toward the buildings below.
"I wouldn't sit in some mansion while people live like this. If I were rich, I'd build proper houses. Schools. Hospitals. Give people work."
He shook his head.
"Money changes people."
"Does it?"
Edward looked at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
The stranger's gaze returned to the slum.
Edward took another drink.
"If I had enough money, I wouldn't become one of those people. I'd take care of everyone around me."
"Everyone?"
"Everyone who matters."
The stranger smiled faintly.
It wasn't quite amusement.
"That's an admirable thought."
Edward snorted.
"Thoughts don't feed anyone."
"No."
The stranger looked at the bottle in Edward's hand.
"Neither does pride."
Edward's expression hardened.
"What do you want?"
"Your name."
Edward hesitated.
"Why?"
"So I know what to call you."
"Edward."
The stranger nodded once.
"Edward."
He said the name quietly, as though committing it to memory.
Edward looked away.
The silence stretched.
Then the stranger asked, almost casually,
"Does everyone at home share your ideals?"
Edward laughed.
"My family?"
"Yes."
Edward's smile disappeared.
"My family doesn't share anything."
The stranger said nothing.
Edward continued before he could stop himself.
"Always needing something. Always complaining. Always expecting me to fix things."
He kicked a loose stone into the gutter.
"My wife especially."
The stranger glanced at him.
"She isn't well?"
"She's sick."
Edward's voice became irritated rather than concerned.
"Helpless. Always lying there. Always needing someone."
He took another drink.
"Sometimes I think…"
He stopped.
The stranger waited.
Edward looked down at the bottle.
"Sometimes I think things would be easier if she wasn't there."
The stranger's expression didn't change.
"That sounds like a difficult thought."
"You don't know what it's like."
"No."
The stranger looked toward the slum again.
"But perhaps you're tired of carrying things that aren't yours."
Edward's jaw tightened.
"Exactly."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the stranger said,
"There are places where certain burdens can be transferred."
Edward frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing, if you're not interested."
The stranger began to walk past him.
Edward turned.
"Wait."
The stranger stopped.
Edward stared at him.
"What kind of place?"
The stranger looked back.
"A school."
Edward frowned.
"A school?"
"For exceptionally intelligent children."
He spoke calmly.
"Children who require better education. Better accommodation. Better opportunities."
Edward said nothing.
"The institution takes care of everything," the stranger continued. "The child stays there. Education, food, accommodation—all provided."
"And the family?"
The stranger's eyes rested on him.
"They are compensated."
Edward's fingers tightened around the bottle.
"How much?"
The stranger didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he studied Edward's face.
"Enough to change circumstances."
Edward looked toward the slum.
Then toward the direction of his home.
For the first time that night, he didn't immediately reach for the bottle.
"How do I know it's legitimate?"
"You don't."
The stranger reached inside his coat.
He pulled out a small white card and held it toward Edward.
Edward took it.
Blank.
No name.
No address.
No company logo.
Nothing except a phone number printed neatly across the centre.
Edward turned it over.
Nothing.
He looked back at the stranger.
"What's the school's name?"
"When you've made your decision, call the number."
"And where is it?"
The stranger gave him a faint smile.
"You'll know when you need to."
Edward's eyes narrowed.
"That's not an answer."
"No."
The stranger turned and walked away.
Edward watched him disappear into the narrow street.
"Hey!"
No response.
Edward looked down at the card again.
The phone number seemed almost absurd against the empty white space.
He slipped it into his pocket.
Then he started walking toward home.
Behind him, from the darkness between two buildings, the stranger stopped.
He watched Edward's figure grow smaller.
The light from a distant streetlamp briefly touched his face.
His blue eyes gleamed.
Quiet.
Patient.
Unhurried.
Then Edward disappeared into the street.
And the stranger disappeared into the shadows.