Ahead, the tall buildings of the neighborhood loomed in the distance, but Maverick's stomach growled loudly, protesting the long hours without food. Instinctively, he touched his shrunken belly, his mind fixed stubbornly on a single thought: I need to eat something.
Glancing around, he saw familiar streets wrapped in a lingering morning mist, chilly air biting gently at his skin. Down at the end of a narrow alley stood a small, shabby café, quietly waiting like an old friend for wandering souls to return. A few coffee tables were scattered outside, where regulars sat in small groups, cradling steaming cups of coffee, chatting softly and occasionally laughing, their voices gently piercing through the fog.
His backpack was buried, his wallet lost; it felt like life had slapped him hard across the face. Sighing heavily, Maverick dragged his weary feet toward the café.
Inside, the owner was a quiet, reserved man with a kind heart, while his wife was the outspoken neighborhood favorite. Maverick knew they'd recognize him, even if right now he looked like a ghost freshly risen from the grave—thin, worn, and exhausted.
As soon as the door swung open, warm air heavy with the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries wrapped around him, dissolving the morning chill instantly. Busy at the espresso machine, the café owner's wife looked up and immediately recognized the bedraggled young man.
"Maverick! Long time no see—where have you been, child?" Her voice carried the warmth of someone welcoming a lost son home.
Maverick awkwardly tugged at the corners of his mouth, conjuring up a harmless lie."I, uh... I've been out of town for work."
She eyed him carefully, noticing how frail he looked standing by the door, and quickly turned toward the kitchen."Honey, grab that jacket you don't need anymore!"
The owner, a middle-aged man with stubble covering his chin, opened his mouth as if to grumble, but seeing Maverick's condition, he quietly turned and fetched a nearly new yellow leather jacket from the back room.
"Hope you don't mind it being second-hand—it shrank on me," he chuckled warmly, handing Maverick the jacket along with two steaming croissants wrapped in paper."Eat up and warm yourself!"
Maverick wanted to refuse out of politeness, but their concerned gazes melted his resolve. He slipped on the jacket, instantly feeling enveloped in warmth, his nose stinging with sudden emotion.
"I'll pay you back once I get some money," he mumbled softly.
"Nonsense," the woman said firmly, pressing a coffee cup into his hands."Everyone faces tough times. Just come visit us more often when things improve!"
The café was cozy as always, the comforting aromas creating a feeling of safety in the modest space. Maverick carefully bit into the croissant; flaky pastry crumbled at the slightest touch, releasing a warm chocolate filling that melted blissfully on his tongue, driving warmth and sweetness down to his very core, banishing his troubles.
As he ate, the chatter of the owner and regulars reached his ears:
"I swear, last month I saw this dark shadow flash past my headlights! Honked, but it just vanished!"
"That's nothing! Last year I was up the mountain stargazing—guess what I saw? A glowing skeleton as big as a mountain, sitting cross-legged in the sky!"
"How come you never mentioned this before?"
"It disappeared so fast, I couldn't even believe it myself!"
Maverick shook his head slightly, chuckling to himself. Normally, he dismissed such urban myths outright, yet after everything he'd witnessed in the quarantine zone, his skepticism was wavering.
From the corner, an elderly woman in an embroidered jacket loudly chewed her toast, casting a scornful look Maverick's way. Her hooked nose tilted upward slightly, disdain curling her lips."Young people nowadays, instead of working hard, they freeload everywhere! I'm embarrassed for them."
Her words sliced through him like knives. Maverick glanced at her briefly; he knew her—a bitter old woman living alone, always boasting about her successful son in finance, who rarely bothered to visit.
Maverick's brows knitted together, deepening the premature lines etched onto his forehead, a habit from childhood that seemed more pronounced lately. Without arguing, he quietly finished his croissant, though her words unsettled him deeply.
She continued loudly chatting with her neighbor,"Did you hear about that new monk at the temple? He's young but incredibly accurate at fortune-telling. I sent my son there, and he immediately said my son's name was bad luck! Told him to change it. Just yesterday, my son called saying his stocks went up! Imagine that!"
She gave Maverick another pointed glance."Some people here could benefit from getting their fortunes changed too. Who knows, they might even turn their miserable lives around."
Maverick frowned, ignoring the old woman's remarks.
The café owner's wife sighed softly, put down her cleaning cloth, and gently reassured him,"Maverick, don't lose heart. Life's full of ups and downs; once you get past them, brighter days will follow. Oh, by the way, Lincoln stopped by recently, asking about you."
Maverick blinked in surprise."Lincoln?" Memories of childhood laughter echoed in his ears, recalling the friend he'd once played and grown up with. A rare smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Just then, his phone vibrated with a message from Lincoln:
"Come to my office tomorrow morning. Urgent."
He stared at the cryptic text, his heartbeat quickening with unease. Quickly, he tried calling Lincoln back, but the call went straight to voicemail.
He wiped his mouth, murmured a quick thanks, and stepped out of the café.
Sunlight spilled across the pale-gray street, dust drifting lazily in the bright air now that the morning fog had cleared.
Out of the alley, he kept walking toward his rented apartment—but his steps slowed. Maybe he should check on Lincoln first?
Two blocks later, he stopped and called Lincoln again. Still off. That wasn't like him. If something came up, Lincoln would usually just say so over the phone—whether it was an emergency or his place on fire. But this time… there was something secretive about it.
Maverick turned his head—and there it was. At the end of a narrow lane stood an old temple, its red walls and dark roof tiles glowing faintly in the morning light. Moss clung to the top of the wall, and glazed eaves tinkled in the breeze. It was a hidden pocket of stillness, cut off from the city's noise.
He hesitated, then headed toward it. The stone steps, worn smooth by years, rose between two archways. Above them hung a dark-golden plaque with bold, ancient characters. The guardian beasts carved at the base had been weathered to near unrecognizable shapes.
In front of the main hall, incense smoke coiled upward like white mist. The air was thick with sandalwood and burnt paper offerings. A few elderly men and women stood with palms pressed together, eyes shut, lips moving silently—perhaps praying for their children's studies, perhaps for their family's safety.
Inside a copper incense burner, glowing red embers flickered. Every so often, a stick burned down to ash and drifted gently over the rim.
Near the hall, four or five senior monks were performing a ritual for a devoted couple. The rhythm of the wooden fish was slow and steady, the chanting deep and drawn-out. The clear ring of the bronze chime cut through the air from time to time, sending a faint shiver through the chest. The man and woman knelt low, clutching a red prayer scroll, foreheads almost touching the ground, not daring to look up.
Not far away, a young monk in a yellow robe sat behind a desk, quietly counting stacks of bills from yesterday's donations, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
In the corner, another monk emerged from the back courtyard. His robe was worn, his beard thick and black. He glanced at the money-counting monk, sighed, and moved to a quiet spot where he set up a small sign:
"Life is like ink waves upon waves; one kind thought can change the course of rivers."
He sat cross-legged on a cushion, eyes half-lowered, prayer beads sliding through his fingers as he murmured a low, steady chant.
The temple was a strange blend—sacred chanting and incense smoke laced with little hints of worldly life, making it hard to tell if this was truly a pure Buddhist sanctuary or just another corner of the city's marketplace.
His business didn't seem great at first. He sat for a long while before anyone came to speak with him. When they did, he would answer in a few quiet words, then return to his meditative pose, looking calm and unshakable.
Gradually, a line began to form. The elderly visitors, after hearing his advice, would bow in thanks, leave an offering, and walk away with deep reverence.
Curious, Maverick joined the line, wanting to hear what the monk would say.
When his turn came, the monk opened his eyes. They were like still water from the depths of a well—cool, but not unkind. He studied Maverick for a moment before speaking:
"Leave District Nineteen as soon as you can. Head west. Stop when you find a temple. And remember—if anyone calls your name, do not answer. If you do… your life will be in danger."
Then his eyes closed again, as if he had never spoken.