The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets of Naples. Bruno Bucciarati's eyes flickered across the crowd, always alert, always watching. It was a usual day, and he walked with purpose, his thoughts consumed by matters of his own. Yet, something caught his eye.

A small figure, no older than six or seven, stood off to the side of a street corner. The child’s ragged clothes clung to a frail frame, a stark contrast to the bustling energy around them. The light, once bright in their eyes, seemed to have dimmed over time. Bruno’s gaze softened, his sharp instincts detecting more than just hunger in the child's hesitant stance.

The child looked malnourished, thin limbs barely holding up under the weight of an unseen burden. They fidgeted nervously, clutching their arms to their chest as if to shield themselves from an invisible cold. For a moment, they locked eyes with Bruno, and in that fleeting instant, the child’s eyes spoke a thousand silent words—loneliness, fear, and a quiet desperation.

Bruno paused,his hand dipping into his pocket as he pulled out a few bills. He approached the child slowly, careful not to startle them. Without a word, he crouched down to their level, extending the money.

"Here," Bruno said softly, his voice kind but firm. "Take it." His eyes never left the child, noticing the way they looked at the ground, hesitant, yet too afraid to refuse.

The child’s eyes flicked from the money to Bruno, then to the ground again. A flicker of uncertainty passed over their face, but they took the offering, their small hands trembling just slightly. Bruno stood, nodding once as he turned to leave.

But as he walked away, something tugged at him once again. He glanced over his shoulder. The child hadn’t gone. Instead, they trailed behind him quietly, their movements cautious but persistent.

Bruno’s lips twitched in thought, pausing before speaking softly, almost to himself. "You’re not very subtle, is something the matter?"