Chapter 4

He burst out laughing, revealing a gap where a front tooth should have been. "Mr. Thorne the big shot wants to experience life?"

So he recognized me. Of course, every ad screen downtown was constantly playing our family's pharmaceutical commercials.

"I'm on the run," I whispered, like sharing a dark secret. "Someone wants my liver, my kidneys, and this heart that's beating too fast."

Maybe it was the cigarette, or maybe I was just too convincing. The homeless man's eyes changed. He tossed me half a bottle of cheap whiskey he'd found, still bearing a 'Happy Birthday' sticker.

"I can teach you," he said, flicking the bottle neck with his grimy fingernail. "Just talk with me, and I'll tell you."

So I learned how he'd been swindled out of his military pension by unscrupulous partners after leaving the service. How he'd had three ribs broken while trying to collect unpaid wages. And how, outside the courthouse, he'd discovered the opposing lawyer was his own brother. Every wrinkle on his face hid the city's dirtiest secrets.

He blew a smoke ring that dissolved in the river breeze.

"Damn!" The homeless man's cigarette butt fell into a puddle, sizzling. His calloused hand suddenly clapped me on the shoulder. "Kid, you should see my spot. Even debt collectors can't find that place."

I chuckled. "Mind if I get a roommate?"

[Divine teammate online!]

[This homeless guy is not simple.]

[Male lead found a treasure!]

The sight of us, arm in arm, heading deeper into the bridge's archway, was captured by a jogger on their morning run. In their lens, my expensive dress shoes were gone, replaced by a pair of beat-up canvas sneakers Gus had scrounged up. Their toes curled upward, making them look almost… hopeful.

The next morning, the headlines exploded:

/SCION OF THORNE EMPIRE SPOTTED UNDER BRIDGE WITH MYSTERY MAN!/

/BILLIONAIRE HEIR'S UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP?/

/SHOCKING DISPLAY OF... HUMANITY?/

When Tiffany called for the twelfth time, I was learning from Gus how to start a fire with old newspapers. As my phone screen lit up, the fire in the bridge arch flickered, dancing in the river breeze. Tiffany's face on screen was deathly pale, as if all the color had been drained from her. Strands of hair clung to her forehead, and her carefully sculpted eyebrows were twisted into a mask of rage.

"Alex Thorne! Have you lost your mind?!" Her voice was sharp, piercing, and in the background, I heard the sound of porcelain shattering. "Why didn't you sign?! Do you have any idea how furious your father was this morning when he found out you hadn't signed? He practically demolished his study!"

I adjusted the angle, letting the bonfire's glow illuminate my face. After a night under the bridge, the stubble on my chin and the soot-stained collar of my shirt created a perfect, gritty composition with the crumbling bridge wall behind me.

"Tiffany, why do you look so bad?" I leaned closer to the camera, feigning concern. "Didn't sleep well last night?"

She instinctively touched her thinning hairline, then burst into a violent cough, a stark crimson stain appearing on her handkerchief. When she looked up, I saw that the capillaries in her right eye had burst, the whites now a terrifying bloodshot red – the system's backlash was faster than I'd anticipated.