“And you?” he asked gently.

“Two months. My grandma died.”

She said it casually, without self-pity.

“No other family?”

“Just her. A social worker tried to take me to a shelter, but I ran away.”

“Why?”

“Too much yelling. Too much sadness. Grandma said to listen to your heart. Mine said no.”

Her words landed deep.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Always.”

He found a few crumpled bills in his pocket—his last. Enough for two cheap sandwiches and a bottle of water from a 24-hour deli.

“That’s your money,” she protested.

“Not anymore.”

They ate under a bus stop awning. Lily devoured hers quickly but tucked a piece into her hoodie.

“For later,” she explained. “Grandma said always save a little.”

Gabriel swallowed hard.

She pointed at his backpack. “What’s in there? You guard it like treasure.”

He hesitated, then pulled out the flash drive.

“This can prove I’m innocent.”

She held it carefully. “Then you’re not done yet.”

“I don’t have a computer. Or a lawyer.”

“When you have the truth,” she said firmly, “you find a way.”

That night she led him under a bridge where others stayed—Mr. Ray, an older man with kind eyes, and Miss Helen, who lost her home after medical bills piled up.