The city had long learned to whisper the name Victor Halden with a mix of admiration and distance. He was the kind of millionaire people talked about in lowered voices—sharp, untouchable, always ten steps ahead. His mansion overlooked the skyline like a fortress of glass and stone, a place where decisions were made that could shape entire industries. Yet behind that polished image, there was something people didn’t speak about as openly: Victor was not well.
It wasn’t an illness that showed clearly on the outside. There were no visible wounds, no dramatic signs that could be easily understood. But those who worked closely with him noticed the subtle things—the sudden fatigue, the moments where his hand would tremble slightly, the way his voice would sometimes fade mid-sentence. He had consulted the best doctors money could buy. Specialists from different countries, experimental treatments, private clinics hidden from public view. Nothing worked. Every test ended the same way: uncertainty.
Victor hated uncertainty.
One afternoon, as his driver navigated through a less polished part of the city, Victor leaned back in the seat, his eyes half-closed. The car slowed to a stop at a narrow intersection crowded with street vendors and pedestrians. It wasn’t a place he normally passed through, and the contrast between his world and this one felt almost unreal.
That’s when he noticed the child.
A small figure stood near the roadside, barefoot, holding nothing, asking for nothing. Unlike the others, the child didn’t approach cars or knock on windows. He simply stood there, watching. His eyes were steady—calm in a way that didn’t match his surroundings.
Victor frowned slightly.
“Why is he just standing there?” he muttered.
The driver glanced briefly. “Just another street kid, sir. Probably waiting for someone.”
But the child wasn’t looking for someone.
He was looking at Victor.
Something about that gaze unsettled him—not out of fear, but out of curiosity he couldn’t quite explain.
“Stop the car,” Victor said suddenly.
The driver hesitated. “Sir, this area isn’t—”
“I said stop.”
The car came to a halt.
Victor stepped out, ignoring the surprised looks around him. The air felt different outside—louder, heavier. He walked toward the child slowly, studying him more closely now.
“How old are you?” Victor asked.
“Ten,” the boy replied quietly.
Victor nodded once. “And what do you do?”
The boy shrugged slightly. “I see things.”
Victor let out a short, dry laugh. “You ‘see things’?” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”
The boy didn’t smile. “Things people don’t want to see.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Victor crossed his arms. “Alright,” he said, his tone shifting into something more challenging. “Let’s test that.”
The people nearby had started paying attention now, sensing something unusual.
Victor looked directly at the boy. “I’ve been sick for years. No doctor can fix it. If you can heal me…” he paused briefly, then smirked, “…I’ll give you my mansion.”
A few bystanders laughed quietly, assuming it was some kind of joke.
The boy didn’t laugh.
He stepped closer instead.
“I don’t want your mansion,” he said simply.
That caught Victor off guard.
“Then what do you want?” he asked.
The boy raised his hand slowly.
“Your hand,” he replied.
Victor hesitated for just a second. Then, almost out of curiosity more than belief, he extended his hand.
The boy took it.
His grip was small, but firm.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Victor raised an eyebrow. “Is this the part where I suddenly feel bet—”
“Someone is poisoning you,” the boy said quietly.
The words cut through the noise around them.
Victor’s expression hardened instantly. “What did you say?”
The boy didn’t let go.
“It’s slow,” he continued. “Not enough to kill you quickly. Just enough to keep you weak… confused… dependent.”
Victor pulled his hand back slightly, but the boy’s words had already taken hold.
“That’s ridiculous,” Victor said, though his voice had lost some of its certainty. “I have people I trust. I control everything that comes into my home.”
The boy shook his head.
“Not everything,” he said.
Silence settled between them.
Victor’s mind began racing. Years of unexplained symptoms. Treatments that never worked. Moments of weakness that came and went without reason.
“Who?” Victor asked, his voice lower now.
The boy looked up at him, his eyes steady.
“The one who never leaves your side,” he said.
Victor froze.
There was only one person that description fit.
His assistant.
The man who had been with him for over a decade. The one who managed his schedule, his medications, his meetings—everything.
“No…” Victor muttered, shaking his head. “That’s not possible.”
“Check your medicine,” the boy said. “Not what’s written on it… what’s inside.”
