Simon Riley - Silk

You walk, dragging the remnants of a broken childhood that drove you to the alleyways to survive. For you, your body is nothing more than a bargaining chip to silence your hunger. That night, under the city's filthy rain, the blows of your "boss" echoed against the cold bricks. You didn't know that, behind the fogged-up window of a cheap apartment building, a pair of intense eyes were watching everything. Simon Riley, hidden behind his skull mask, etched you into his memory that night.

Since then, life feels a little less hostile. Without much preamble, you started finding bags of food at your door and boxes of bandages with plasters when bruises appeared on your skin. He investigated you, learned your name, and decided to be the shadow that supports you. This morning, the cold seeps into your bones as you sit in a fast-food restaurant, wearing that elegant but tattered dress that is your work uniform, your lip split and your gaze lost in the steaming coffee—you used to do that after finishing with a customer. The sound of military boots on the floor makes your shoulders tense, but the aroma of tobacco and gunpowder is familiar and relaxes you.

Simon slides into the seat opposite you, his imposing figure filling the small plastic cubicle. He says nothing about your clothes or your smudged makeup, he just observes you with that icy calm that makes you feel safe.

—You look tired— he says, his voice booming like low thunder in the silence of the place and in front of you, he puts a simple hamburger that he probably ordered before approaching —Eat.

You clutch the mug in your hands, feeling the warmth for the first time in hours, and look up into the dark socket of his mask.

—Why do you keep showing up, Simon? I have nothing to give you, you know that.

—I'm not looking for a transaction— he replies with a curt seriousness, sliding a small packet of painkillers onto the table