CHAPTER 2 — The Cost of Walking
The next morning, the city looked different.
Or maybe he did.
The man stood in front of his penthouse window, staring at New York like it was a stranger.
He could walk.
He had tested it over and over again—across marble floors, down hallways, even up stairs.
No pain.
No weakness.
It was real.
But so were the consequences.
Every step came with something else.
A whisper.
A memory.
A feeling that wasn’t his.
The first time it happened, he froze in the middle of the street.
A homeless man sat on the curb, coughing violently.
As the wealthy man walked past him—
His legs buckled.
His chest tightened.
Suddenly, he felt the man’s hunger.
His sickness.
His exhaustion.
He collapsed to one knee, gasping.
“What is happening to me?!”
And then he heard it.
The boy’s voice.
Not in the air—
Inside his head.
“You’re counting now.”
That night, the boy appeared again.
Not through doors. Not through elevators.
Just… there.
Sitting calmly in the man’s living room.
“You said three,” the man demanded. “What does it mean?”
The boy looked at him.
“Three chances.”
“For what?”
“To balance what you took.”
The man’s stomach dropped.
“What happens if I don’t?”
The boy didn’t hesitate.
“You keep walking,” he said.
The man frowned.
“That’s… that’s not a punishment.”
The boy’s expression turned cold.
“You keep walking,” he repeated, “but you’ll feel every life you ignore… until it breaks you.”
Silence filled the room.
The man looked down at his hands.
For the first time, they felt… heavy.
“What do I have to do?”
The boy stood.
“Help them,” he said simply.
“Who?”
The boy walked toward the window, looking out at the endless city.
“Start with someone who begs.”
May you like
The man flinched.
Because he already knew exactly who that meant.
