Some mornings the city sounded like a living thing—breathing, muttering, waking up angry and hungry as Han slipped from sleep. This was one of those days. He lay still under the willow, eyes half-open, listening to footsteps slap wet pavement, the wail of an early siren, the buzz of traffic that never seemed to end, no matter the hour.He shivered, dragging his knees up to his chest. Last night's rain had crept into everything, chilling him to the bone. Han's blanket was a soggy knot, barely better than nothing, but he clung to it anyway. He touched his wrist absentmindedly—felt the scar and the faint, impossible warmth thrumming beneath it. He wondered if the dog would return, or if he'd imagined everything. If courage and magic were things you could just misplace, like a busted pen or a childhood friend.Light filtered through the branches above him, dappling the worn notebook clutched in his hand. He opened it, flipping to a page covered in uneven handwriting:"Sometimes the day starts before you're ready. Sometimes it doesn't wait at all."Han tried to remember how long it had been since he'd felt rested. He rubbed his eyelids, listening to a pair of crows bickering overhead, the sharp caw cutting through the cold. Above the stir of noise, a new thought crept in—what would happen if he stopped hiding? If he stopped drifting and actually tried living, tried belonging to something besides chance and memory?With a quiet groan, Han pushed himself to his feet and stuffed his few possessions into his backpack. He needed warmth and food; he needed to move.The city seemed busier than ever. Market stalls bloomed on the sidewalks, the sharp scent of oranges and sweat mixing with the staleness of old newsprint. People shouted over the hum, jostling for cheap bread, bright scarves, two-for-one apples. Somewhere in the chaos, Han found comfort—a chance to be overlooked was a kind of safety.He kept his head down, letting the crowd push him along. Then a voice—sharp, familiar, almost angry—cut through the noise."You don't see me? I'm right here!"Han looked up. Near the bakery, a girl with wild hair, maybe his age, was arguing with her brother, waving her arms, red sneakers scuffed and battered. She caught Han's eye, just for a second; she looked like every good day he'd lost and every bad day he'd survived. Brave, a little bit hopeless, and stubborn as winter.Someone bumped him from behind and Han turned away, but the encounter clung to him. He wandered the market, hands deep in his pockets, watching strangers' shoes and dodging puddles.When he finally found a dry stoop to rest on, Han fished out his notebook and drew, letting his mind wander. He tried sketching the girl's sneakers, then the bakery cat, then the blue-shadow dog. His fingers were stiff. The page grew crowded with faces, moments, ordinary things that suddenly felt like anchors.The sky shifted, light gold at the edges. Han's stomach rumbled. He stood and headed toward Mr. Bell's junkyard. Along the way, he ran into the soccer ball boy, now minus the soccer ball but still grinning."You lost?" the boy called out."Always," Han replied.The boy seemed to accept this, nodding like he'd known all along. "People say there's a real wolf in the park at night," he said, casual as tossing rocks in the creek."Maybe," Han said, "or maybe it's just someone nobody believes in yet."The boy laughed—a wild, grateful sound. It made Han's chest ache, but in a good way.At the junkyard, Bell handed Han a bucket and pointed to a pile of smashed lamps. "Copper's in there. You know the drill." Bell's gruffness was a comfort. Han set to work, hands moving without thinking, his mind playing back the sound of laughter, the warmth that lived in small acts of kindness.Midway through the pile, Han's wrist tingled—hard enough to make him drop a bulb. Blue light flashed, hidden in the shelter of his palm. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, willing the strangeness not to show.Bell glanced his way. "You all right? You look spooked.""I'm okay," Han lied.Bell shrugged, looking unconvinced, but let it go. "You keep working. Sun's out, maybe we'll get lucky for once."Afternoon shadows grew long. Han finished, wiped sweat from his forehead, and handed Bell the bucket."What happened to your hand?" Bell asked suddenly, peering at the mark under the grime.Han's mouth went dry. "Just got caught on a fence.""Mmm." Bell didn't believe him, but pressed a sandwich into his hand anyway. "Eat. You look like you're going to blow away."Han ate. The world felt softer when he was fed. When he finished, he headed to the river, needing quiet, needing to see the city at its most honest—water reflecting sky, mud and roots, silence and traffic blending into a lullaby.There he found the blue dog, waiting on a patch of gravel, eyes bright in the fading light. Han knelt, notebook open, hands trembling."I don't know if I'm supposed to run or stay," he whispered. "Everything's changing and I don't know what I'm becoming."The dog pressed its head to Han's chest. A whisper of heat traveled from his skin all the way to his heart—steady, real. Han closed his eyes, letting the connection fill the lonely places he'd kept hidden.Footsteps echoed behind him. The girl with wild hair stood by the water, arms crossed."You talk to dogs?" she asked, but not unkindly."Maybe," Han said. "They listen better than most people."She sat next to him, silence easy between them. The city's noise faded, replaced by the slow pulse of river and wind, the promise that the world might still be kind to people like them.Han felt the weight of the day slip away, leaving hope in its place. He turned the notebook, handed her a page. "Draw something," he said.She did—a pair of sneakers, a cat with a crooked tail, stars.Han grinned, and the blue mark on his wrist glowed, not with magic, but with gratitude.Night came, gentle and sure. Han lay beneath the willow again, notebook open, words spilling onto the page:"Today, I found laughter. I found bravery. I'm not lost—I'm only becoming."And outside, unseen except by Han, a blue-shadow dog kept its silent vigil, guarding hope for another day.
