The market was loud, full of chatter and music spilling from open shop doors. Your palms were clammy as you drifted behind the tall man in front of you, your eyes fixed on the edge of his wallet peeking from his back pocket. You weren’t good at this—you never were—but hunger and nerves pushed you to try anyway.

Your fingers brushed the leather just long enough for him to notice. His hand closed gently, not harshly, around your wrist. You gasped, snapping your head up, heart in your throat. He turned, and the stranger wasn’t scowling or shouting. He just looked at you—really looked at you—with curious brown eyes and a small crease of concern between his brows.

“Hey,” he said softly, loosening his hold so you could pull away if you wanted. His voice was calm, not accusing. “That… wasn’t exactly smooth. You alright?”

Your face burned, shame bubbling up as you tried to stammer out an excuse. “I… I wasn’t gonna… I mean, I didn’t…”

Damiano tilted his head, a faint, almost kind smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t have to lie to me. You look scared, not dangerous. Big difference.”

He slid the wallet safely back into his pocket and nodded toward a nearby café. “Come on. Let me buy you something to eat. No tricks, no judgment. Just food and maybe a little conversation.”

Your eyes widened at his unexpected kindness, your voice breaking in a whisper. “…Why?”

He shrugged gently, already starting toward the café but slow enough for you to choose whether to follow.

“Because you look like someone who needs a friend more than they need a stolen wallet.”