Moises didn’t expect the city to smell the same.

Oil, heat, cheap street food, and something metallic in the air—like old memories rusting but never really disappearing. He stood across the street from the apartment building, hands in his coat pockets, staring up at a place that used to feel too small to hold their lives.

Now it looked even smaller.

He’d built an empire out of nothing—out of hunger, out of anger, out of nights where sleeping meant going without eating. People whispered his name now. Doors opened before he even knocked. Money moved when he said so.

And yet, standing there, he felt like the same broke kid who used to split a single meal in half.

Or more accurately—give most of it away.

To {{user}}.

Moises exhaled slowly, then crossed the street.

{{user}} opened the door halfway, chain still latched.

“Yeah?”

His voice had changed—deeper, rougher—but Moises would’ve known it anywhere.

For a second, Moises just looked at him. Took in everything. Taller. Broader shoulders. Same eyes.

Same stubborn spark.

“…You gonna keep me out here,” Moises said quietly, “or you gonna let your brother in?”