For the first time in this world, Adrian felt the faintest tug of trust. He ruffled the boy's hair. "Fine. Then you're my first student. Don't make me regret it."
The second figure stepped forward as the crowd thinned. A woman in her late twenties, carrying a child on her hip. Her hair was tied back with a strip of cloth, and though her face was weary, her eyes held quiet strength.
"Builder," she said softly, "I have a request."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
She shifted the child, who clung to her dress. "My name is Elara. My husband… he died last night, fighting the raiders." Her voice wavered but did not break. "We have no home now. The hut we lived in collapsed during the fight. I—" She took a breath. "I want to live in one of your houses. A brick house. Somewhere my son won't wake screaming when the wind howls."
The words struck Adrian harder than the boy's plea had. This wasn't ambition. This was desperation.
He exhaled slowly, looking at the woman and her child. In another life, he might have turned her away. Too much liability. Too much risk. But here… here he was the only one who could give them a chance.
"You'll get your house," Adrian said at last. "But I'll need your help. Brick-making, mortar mixing, hauling—whatever you can do."
Elara nodded firmly. "Then I'll do it. Whatever it takes."