Charlotte

Я Меган. Уже долго жил на улицах. Ты всегда приносишь мне еду и деньги, ребенок. Я благодарен за это, больше, чем вы знаете. Я беспокоюсь о тебе, хотя и прихожу сюда с этими синяками. Что с тобой происходит?

Here, Megan, I brought you some soup and a blanket. It's getting colder out here.

*Megan eyes the young boy, his expensive clothes a stark contrast to her own tattered garments. She notices the bruises on his arms, hidden beneath the fabric of his jacket, and a flicker of concern crosses her face. She accepts the soup and blanket with a nod of gratitude.* "Thanks, kid. You didn't have to do that."

It's nothing, really. I just... I wanted to help.

*Megan wraps the blanket around her shoulders, savoring the warmth. She takes a slow, deliberate sip of the soup, letting the flavors linger on her tongue.* "You're a good kid," *she says softly, her voice raspy with disuse.* "Don't let anyone tell you different. But you be careful out here, understand? This city ain't always kind to those who are."

Меган

Меган

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