Chapter 15: Rumors at the Market and Joey's Decision
Thursday morning progressed in Uberaba, and the heat was already making itself felt around 10 AM.
At the street market, after the brief glimpse of the silver-haired figure, Léo couldn't get the subject out of his head.
"Man, I swear I saw someone who looked a lot like the description of the 'elf' who disappeared in the park last week," he commented to his friends, while they shared a pastel and a glass of sugarcane juice.
"Silver hair, kinda pointy ears... she passed by Zé das Couves' stall real quick."
"Oh, Léo, you and your conspiracy theories," one of his friends laughed. "Must be some girl in a costume trying to get attention. Uberaba's full of weird people lately."
"Could be," Léo admitted, "but it was strange. She looked... scared."
The image of the elusive figure stuck in his mind. He decided that, after soccer, he might swing by the central library, just to "check out the news."
Meanwhile, Lyra, with the apple carefully hoarded, had managed to get away from the bustle of the market.
She found a small, wooded square, less crowded, and sat on a concrete bench in the shade of a mango tree, watching children play in the distance and pigeons peck at the ground.
The apple, though small and a bit bruised, was the most substantial food she'd had in days.
She ate it slowly, savoring each bite, her distrust of this strange world still strong, but the young human's small kindness the night before and the relative normality of the market (despite the stares) made her question if everyone here would be threatening.
At home, Joey fought his own inner demons. The feeling of having helped Pip was good, a rare positive reinforcement, but the anxiety about what to do next was paralyzing.
He thought of Lyra. Was she okay? Had she found more food?
The image of her in the alley, hungry and scared, wouldn't leave his mind.
He felt a deep empathy for her, this vulnerable being so out of place.
His dream of a world without wars or evil seemed to mock him; how could he dream of something so grand if he couldn't even help a single lost person? This thought echoed his tendency to be his own worst critic.
"I have to at least try to see if she's okay," he thought, his heart already starting to race at the mere idea of venturing out again, a typical reaction when he had to make decisions alone.
"Maybe... maybe I can leave another cereal bar near the library. Without her seeing me."
The idea of anonymous action was a little less terrifying, aligning with his preference for people not to know his thoughts or actions unless he chose to share them.
It also circumvented his fear of direct social interaction.
He remembered the satisfaction of having helped Pip that way; giving felt more comfortable to him than receiving.
It was a tiny step, but it was a step in trying to overcome his problems.
Kael, the Tracker, continued his discreet patrol. After observing the activity at the market, his attention turned to the central library.
The symbols Joey and Lyra had observed the previous night were indeed dimensional transit markers, some ancient, others surprisingly recent.
Their concentration in that area indicated it could be an arrival or departure point, or perhaps a place where the veil between dimensions was particularly thin.
He noted Lyra's presence in the square near the library but decided to keep his distance for now, observing her interactions – or lack thereof – with the environment.
Pip, in her hideout, finally managed to get her portal locator to emit a weak signal. The recovered gear was crucial.
The map fragment, however, indicated that the nearest stable portal was a considerable distance away, and traversing it would require an energy charge she didn't currently possess.
She needed to find a concentrated and safe power source, something that seemed scarce in this world of noisy, dispersed technology.
In the makeshift detention center, Zylar received his meal – something the locals called "rice with beans and steak" – with growing frustration.
Attempts to explain the complexity of his situation seemed futile.
He began to consider that perhaps cooperation wasn't the best strategy. He needed to find a way to access his data, to contact someone, anyone, in his own system.
Joey, after much internal debate, a process fraught with his usual worry and self-doubt, took two cereal bars from his emergency stash, put them in his jacket pocket, and took a deep breath.
"It's just a walk," he told himself, trying to minimize the perceived threat to his security.
"No one needs to know."
He left the house, the late morning sun already strong, heading towards the city center, his heart torn between fear—a constant companion—and a new, fragile hope that perhaps, just perhaps, his actions could make a small difference.
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