Allen's heart thumped hard in his chest, like a fast drum in the quiet park. His hat lay on the ground, but he didn't even notice. He just stared at the man who had said something only Amy and he could know.
"How... how do you know that?" Allen asked, his voice rough and small.
The charm seller looked back at him, calm as ever, despite his messy hair and old clothes. A small smile played on his lips.
"I'm just a charm seller trying to sell his charms," the man said again, his voice quiet. But the words didn't help. They only made the strange feeling inside Allen grow worse.
His mind spun, trying to make sense of it. Could the man have overheard him talking to Dean, the orphanage director? Or when he whispered aboutAmy earlier? No — the seller said he'd been sitting there for three hours. He wasn't anywhere near the food court or the theatre.
"You're lying!" Allen cried, taking a shaky step forward. "You must have heard it! Was it Dean? Did he tell you?"
The seller shook his head slowly. "I know everything, kid."
Before Allen could shout again, a couple walked past. He caught part of their conversation:
"Is that guy mental? Why's he standing there talking to himself? And shouting like that?"
"We could hear him from across the park," the other said.
Allen froze. His palms were sweating. His t-shirt clung to his back.
"I must be hallucinating," he muttered.
A voice replied, "Try slapping yourself and see."
Without thinking, Allen slapped his cheek — hard. The crisp sound echoed through the park. The couple turned their heads, eyes widening at the sight of a boy hitting himself. They quickened their pace, glancing back once before hurrying away.
"Still here?" the charm seller asked, his smile now wider. "Feeling better?"
"Now, take a breath and calm your heart," he said. "Sit in front of me if you want to know where Amy is."
Allen took a deep breath and sat down across from him. "What do you want?" he whispered. His voice wasn't angry anymore — just scared. His eyes drifted to the blanket spread on the grass, covered in little charms and lockets. They looked ordinary. But the man selling them was anything but.
"To answer that," the seller said, "I need to flip a coin."
He raised a hand into the air and made a slicing motion. Allen's eyes widened. A thin line tore open in mid-air — like a knife through butter. It was as if reality itself were just paper. The man reached into the gap, as if dipping into another world, and pulled out a coin.
It was bronze, rustic, and a little worn. On one side were wings; on the other, a goat with long horns.
"Now," said the seller, "hope you get the wing side."
He flipped the coin. It spun with a crisp metallic sound. Allen's eyes locked onto it, following every turn as it rose and fell through the air. His breath quickened. He clenched his fists. Something in him — a small, stubborn spark of hope — flickered to life.
The seller caught the coin in one palm, then covered it with his other. He looked at Allen and asked, "Any magic words?"
"Just show it," Allen whispered, not blinking.
The man lifted his hand. The wing side faced up.
"Very well," the seller said. "Your lady luck worked, I must say." He leaned forward just slightly. "Now, ready to know the secret...?"