chapter 4 - survival

The street Matteo lived on didn’t have a name on any fancy map. Locals just called it The Stretch — short for “Stretch of Nothing.” And that was the truth.

The pavement was cracked like old bones, full of potholes that turned into muddy puddles whenever it rained. The streetlights flickered, or didn’t work at all. Most nights, the only light came from buzzing neon signs hanging over bars and broken shops selling everything from fake sneakers to half-dead cell phones.

The buildings leaned like tired people — old brick walls with rusted fire escapes and windows patched up with tape and old newspapers. Through the thin walls, you could hear babies crying, couples shouting, and TVs playing loud from different apartments all at once. The air smelled like fried oil, rotting trash, and something else — a stinging smell you couldn’t quite name.

Most people on The Stretch kept their heads down. You moved fast, kept quiet, and minded your own business. Kids like Matteo learned early — lie, run, fight. Before you even learned how to read.

But no matter where he went, Matteo always came back here. Because this broken street was home. And because this was where Leo was waiting for him.

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Matteo’s heart still pounded as he climbed the stairs of the old building at the end of the block. The paint peeled off the door to Apartment 3C, his sanctuary from the harsh world outside. He slid the key into the lock and opened the door quietly, careful not to wake anyone.

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Matteo stepped inside and dropped his jacket on the broken chair by the door. The small apartment was dark and still—old couch, chipped tiles, a rickety table covered with empty medicine bottles and old receipts. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

A soft, weak voice called from the bedroom.

“Matty?”

Matteo sighed. So much for being quiet.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “No ghosts here. Just your big brother.”

A coughing fit answered him, sharp and dry.

He hurried to the bedroom and found Leo curled up under a thin blanket, pale and sweating. His chest rose and fell quickly, wheezing with every breath.

Next to him lay his inhaler and a half-full glass of water.

“You okay?” Matteo asked, kneeling beside the bed. “Did you use your inhaler?”

Leo nodded slowly and reached for it again. Matteo helped him take a deep breath.

“Good. Slow and steady, okay? That’s it.”

Leo coughed again and whispered, “It’s cold tonight.”

“Yeah, this place is freezing,” Matteo said, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “I’m gonna have to teach the landlord a lesson soon.”

Leo gave a tiny smile, but looked tired—more tired than usual.

“How was work?” Leo asked after a moment.

Matteo froze for a second, then forced a grin.

“Terrible. Some guy tried to pay me with expired soup cans,” he joked. “What am I, a dumpster?”

Leo’s eyes searched his face. “You didn’t steal again, did you?”

Matteo laughed. “Me? Steal? Nah, I’m an honest citizen.”

But the pouch pressing against his ribs said otherwise.

“I’ll make you some tea,” Matteo said, standing up quickly. “You need something warm.”

He turned toward the kitchen, but Leo’s soft voice stopped him.

“Matty... it’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

Matteo didn’t answer right away. He looked at the cracked wall and swallowed hard.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said with a small smile. “That’s my job.”

But Leo didn’t laugh.

Matteo opened the nearly empty fridge. Only mustard and a bottle of water stared back at him.

He looked down at the pouch in his jacket. “I hope this gets us something... anything.”

He didn’t know exactly what was inside. Only that people wanted it bad. And he didn’t care anymore.

Leo needed medicine.

They needed food.

Matteo needed a way out—before it was too late.

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