MEETING LEVI

Sycamore walked home from work earlier than usual today, her steps sluggish and her head pounding like a relentless drum. She didn't feel good—hadn't felt good since the morning—and decided it was best to head home before things got worse. The sun was mercilessly scorching, and the migraines she'd been battling all week seemed to have intensified.

She knew she needed treatment, or at the very least some medication, but her wallet was as empty as her stomach. Last week's paycheck had gone to her family back in Stova. She didn't regret it, though; they needed it more than she did. Still, it left her in a bind now. As she trudged along Broadband Street, just two streets away from the small apartment she shared with her friend Joan, she promised herself she'd rest as soon as she got home.

Unbeknownst to her, a sleek black car had been driving slowly beside her for the past few minutes. Its occupant, a man, seemed intent on catching her attention. "Excuse me," he called out, his voice cutting through her haze of exhaustion.

Sycamore turned her head sluggishly, offering a half-hearted smile. She braced herself for what might come next. Another catcall? A snide comment about her weight? Or maybe just some unsolicited advice about how to look more "approachable"? She didn't have the energy to fight whatever this was going to be.

But to her surprise, the man simply asked, "How do I get to Kristyle Avenue?"

Her tired eyes flicked to his face. She didn't take in much, except for one striking detail—his eyes. He had heterochromia, one blue and one green. It was hard to miss, even in her current state. Forcing another smile, she directed him to his intended destination.

"Thank you," he said politely, then added, "Are you okay? You don't look so well."

Sycamore waved him off. "I'm fine," she lied. The last thing she needed was some stranger getting involved in her life. It never ended well. She tried to walk away, but her vision blurred, and her head began to spin. She stopped, planted her feet firmly, and took a deep breath.

"Just a few more steps," she muttered to herself.

"Are you sure you're okay?" the man asked again, stepping out of the car this time.

She turned to face him, irritation bubbling to the surface. "I said I'm fine," she snapped, though the dizziness was making her words wobble.

Before she could take another step, her knees buckled slightly, and the man reached out to steady her, his hand firm yet gentle on her shoulder.

"Listen," he said, pulling out a sleek business card from his pocket. "You don't trust me? That's fine. Look me up. Take a picture of my card and send it to someone you trust. Share your live location if you want. But right now, you need to see a doctor."

Sycamore blinked at him, trying to make sense of his words. She was too tired, too sick, to care about anything other than getting off her feet. Before she could protest further, he guided her into his car and started driving.

When she saw the name "Tyle Hospital" come into view, her stomach sank. It wasn't just any hospital; it was the biggest and most prestigious in Tempest. Translation? Expensive. Very expensive.

"You've got the wrong place," she mumbled weakly. "This isn't for people like me. Even if I sold everything I own, I couldn't afford a consultation here, let alone treatment."

"Stop worrying," he said, his tone calm but firm. "Just focus on getting better."

"I can't," she shot back, her voice rising despite her fatigue. "I don't know who you think I am, but I can't pay you back for this. Take me somewhere cheaper—please."

But he didn't respond. Instead, he pulled up to the hospital's VIP section, parked, and carried her inside as though she weighed nothing. Sycamore was too stunned to protest further. She watched helplessly as he spoke to the receptionist, his tone authoritative, and secured her a room without so much as batting an eye at the cost.

Once she was settled in a plush hospital bed and the nurses began their work, the man finally addressed her again. "Rest," he said simply. "I'll take care of everything."

Before she could demand answers, he handed her the business card again. "Look me up," he said. "Levi."

And with that, he left.

Sycamore lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Who was this guy? Why did he care? And why on earth was he looking at her like she was fragile? It was almost hilarious—her, fragile? Did he not see the fire she endured every day?

But as much as she wanted to dwell on her confusion, the exhaustion won out. The last thing she remembered was the soft hum of the hospital equipment before sleep claimed her.

When she woke up, the room was dimly lit, and the pain in her head had dulled to a manageable throb. A nurse came in shortly after, checking her vitals and informing her that she had been severely dehydrated and was showing signs of heat exhaustion.

"You're lucky you got here when you did," the nurse said with a smile.

"Lucky," Sycamore muttered under her breath. She wasn't so sure about that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Levi walked in, carrying a bag of what smelled like food.

"You're awake," he said, his smile warm and genuine.

Sycamore sat up slowly, her body still weak. "Why?" she asked, cutting straight to the point.

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this? You don't even know me."

Levi shrugged, placing the bag on the table beside her bed. "I don't need to know you to help you. You looked like you needed someone, and I was there. That's all."

Sycamore stared at him, trying to detect any ulterior motive. But his expression was sincere, his mismatched eyes filled with nothing but concern.

"Look," he continued, "you don't owe me anything. Just take care of yourself, okay?"

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sycamore felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. She blinked them away, unwilling to cry in front of a stranger.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Levi smiled again, his presence somehow reassuring. "You're welcome. Now eat up."

Sycamore chuckled weakly, shaking her head. Maybe, just maybe, miracles weren't as far-fetched as she'd thought or just maybe the evil spirits finally lettiing her be.