Dust woke to the sound of merchants setting up their stalls in Market Square, their voices carrying through the thin walls of his makeshift shelter. The rain had stopped sometime during the night, leaving behind the fresh, clean smell of wet stone and the promise of a day where he might actually be able to work.
He stretched carefully, wincing as his joints protested. Sleeping curled up in corners wasn't kind to the body, but it was better than not sleeping at all. His stomach immediately reminded him of its empty state with a sharp pang that made him press a hand to his ribs.
Food first. Always food first.
Dust crawled out of the narrow space between two buildings where he'd spent the night. The alley was still damp, puddles reflecting the gray morning sky like broken mirrors. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair, trying to make himself look somewhat presentable. First impressions mattered when you were asking for work, even if you were just a street kid.
The main square was already bustling with activity. Merchants called out their wares, housewives haggled over prices, and children with actual parents ran between the stalls, their laughter sharp against the morning air. Dust kept to the edges, moving with the practiced invisibility of someone who'd learned that drawing attention was rarely a good thing.
"You! Boy!"
Dust froze. A heavy-set man in a stained apron was pointing at him from behind a cart loaded with crates. The baker, Miller, if Dust remembered correctly. He'd tried to get work from him before, with no luck.
"You looking for work, or you just here to steal?"
"Work, sir," Dust said quickly, stepping closer but not too close. "I can carry, clean, whatever you need."
Miller looked him up and down, taking in the patched clothes and too-thin frame. "Can you lift those crates without dropping them?"
Dust nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure. The crates looked heavy, and he hadn't eaten properly in days. But work was work, and he'd figure out the rest.
"Two copper pieces if you can get them all to my shop without breaking anything. One if you drop even a single loaf."
It wasn't much, but two copper could buy him bread and maybe a bit of cheese. Enough to stop the gnawing in his stomach for a day, at least. "Yes, sir."
The first crate was heavier than it looked. Dust's arms trembled as he lifted it, and he had to bite his lip to keep from gasping. But he managed to carry it the three blocks to Miller's bakery, then came back for the second. By the time he'd moved all six crates, sweat was running down his back despite the cool morning air, and his vision was starting to blur around the edges.
Miller examined his goods, counting loaves and checking for damage. Dust waited, trying not to sway on his feet.
"Hmm." The baker pulled out a small leather pouch and counted out two copper coins. "Not bad for a scrawny thing like you. Here."
Dust's fingers closed around the coins like they were made of gold. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me yet. I might have more work tomorrow if you show up on time and sober."
"I don't drink," Dust said automatically.
Miller snorted. "Course you don't. You can barely afford to eat." But there wasn't cruelty in his voice, just tired resignation. "Get yourself some food, boy. You look like death warmed over."
Dust nodded and hurried away before the baker could change his mind. Two copper coins meant a small loaf of bread from the cheaper stall near the fountain, and maybe—if he was careful—a piece of hard cheese that would last him through tomorrow.
As he walked through the square, clutching his earnings, Dust allowed himself a moment of something that might have been satisfaction. He'd earned these coins. They weren't stolen, weren't charity. They were his.
It wasn't much of a victory, but it was something.
The bread was fresh and warm, and Dust ate half of it sitting on the cathedral steps, watching the world go by. For just this moment, with food in his stomach and a bit of coin in his pocket, he could almost pretend he belonged here among the normal people living their normal lives.
Almost.
The bells chimed noon, and Dust wrapped the remaining bread carefully in a piece of cloth. He'd save it for tonight, make it last. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new hunger, new small victories or defeats.
But for now, this was enough.