𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | percy jackson

𝐈. 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

The city streets stretch out before me like an endless maze of concrete and asphalt. Each twist and turn presents another alleyway or storefront as unfamiliar and intimidating as the last. I pull my threadbare jacket tighter around my body. The chill of the early morning seeps through the fabric, mingling with the gnawing hunger that has been my constant companion for days.

I move with a quiet, catlike grace, my eyes darting from one potential hiding spot to another, my ears attuned to the sounds of distant sirens and the murmur of a city slowly waking. The occasional gust of wind carries the scent of stale coffee and baking bread, teasing my senses and reminding me of how long it's been since my last meal. But I press on, driven by a stubborn determination and a flicker of hope that somewhere, somehow, there will be something—anything—to help me.

My name is a secret I hold close, a relic from a past I'm eager to forget. I ran away from my foster home weeks ago, fleeing from a place where I felt more like a burden than a child. I've been to many foster homes, however I never had the courage to run away. However, a few days ago, when my eighth family called it quits, I found the courage. Now, my days are a blur of wandering and searching, my nights a blend of shadows and whispered fears. Every face I pass seems a potential threat, every doorway a possible sanctuary.

I keep my gaze low, my shoulders hunched, my pace quick but unhurried. I'm small for my age, my slight frame wrapped in a secondhand coat that's several sizes too large, the cuffs of my sleeves frayed and dirty. My hair, a tangled mess of dark curls, falls into my eyes, obscuring my vision and providing a makeshift shield against the world.

The buildings around me loom tall and indifferent, their glass facades reflecting the pale light of dawn. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of my own reflection, a fleeting ghost of a girl with hollow cheeks and eyes that seem too large for her face. I turn away each time, refusing to acknowledge the image staring back at me.

I know these streets well, having traversed them in daylight and darkness alike. I've learned the rhythms of the city, the ebb and flow of traffic, the hours when the sidewalks are crowded with bustling commuters, and the moments when they're eerily empty. I've become adept at navigating the labyrinthine alleys and backstreets, finding shortcuts and secret passages known only to those like me.

But today is different. Today, I'm not just another faceless figure lost in the crowd. Today, I'm a girl on a mission, my heart set on finding something to change my circumstances, to pull me from the endless cycle of hunger and fear.

I've heard whispers of a shelter nearby, a place where runaway kids like me can find a hot meal and a bed for the night. It's a small beacon of hope in my otherwise bleak existence, a glimmer of light in the encroaching darkness. I just have to find it.

I weave through the city streets, the morning air crisp against my face as I keep my eyes peeled for any sign of the shelter. The directions I've gathered are vague at best—a bridge, an old church, and a green door. Each one a piece of a puzzle I can't quite put together.