The streets of London were unkind to anyone who called them home, and for an eleven-year-old like Magnus, they were dht merciless.

  The city moved fast, its crowds rushing all around him, oblivious to the child hiddeh an oversized hoodie and worn jeans.

  He had been told more than ohat he was too tall for his age, as if he hadn't figured that out himself.

  His height made him look older, which out there, was both a blessing and a curse.

  The advantage was that it spared him the unwanted pity that was bound to be shown to a child.

  Such attention would have certainly nded him ba the system, and he’d find himself stashed ba one of those hellholes they called children's homes.

  Of course, he would find a way to escape—he had dohat a couple of times—but he would rather avoid getting on the system's radar. He did not wish to end up in juvie.

  From the stories he’d heard, that pce made the cold streets sound like paradise.

  Oher hand, his tall stature invited a harsher kind of dismissal. To most who saw him, Magnus was just areet rat, hardened by life’s cruelties, another shadow among many.

  "Ugh!", He groaned as he straio get up.

  The ms were the worst.

  Waking up on the cold, rigid paveme his muscles stiff a up. It was like he had been lifting tons of weight all night instead of resting.

  His makeshift 'shelter' was wedged between a dumpster and a graffiti-covered wall in a dingy alley.

  In terms of fort—well, let's just say it was no match for the biting London chill.

  The damp winter air seeped into his bones, and the stant drizzle often made his thin jacket feel more like a soaked rag. It was a miracle he hadn’t gone down with pneumonia.

  yet!

  He had seen more than one of his fellow street kids fail to wake up.

  His stomach growled as he sat up and wiped the drool from his mouth with the back of his hand.

  He g the world beyond the alley.

  It was a blur of polished shoes, clig heels, and the occasional growl of an ehe smell of freshly baked bread and fried sausages from nearby cafés made his stomach painfully.

  "Alright, another day," he muttered to himself, f his ag body to stand.

  Street life was a stant hustle. You learned quickly or… you didn’t survive.

  Magnus had mastered the art of slipping through the cracks, sging, and avoiding trouble. But even for someone as sharp as him, it wasn’t easy.

  His tall frame allowed him to blend in with the older teens who frequehe same ers, but that also meant he had his fair share of dumpster scuffles.

  Street teens saw each other as petition for the dumpster treasure. It all came down to choosing his battles wisely—and thus far, he had.

  By midday, Magnus had walked for hours, cheg bins behind cafés, keeping an eye on diners who might leave scraps behind, and dodging the occasional poli.

  His luck hadn’t turned up anythi, and the gnawing hunger in his stomach was beginning to make him dizzy.

  The freeziher only made things worse.

  He was shuffling through the crowded streets of Camden, his eyes darting around, searg for an opportunity when his gaze nded on a man.

  He was seated on a bench outside a fish-and-chips shop, uning a juicy burger with no apparent rush.

  The sight of it made Magnus’s mouth water.

  He slowed his pace, the growl in his stomaow being a wail.

  'It would be o have that burger', he thought absently as saliva filled his mouth.

  And then, it happened.

  The man stopped mid-bite and turned his head, log eyes with him.

  Magnus froze.

  He couldn’t have heard him, could he?

  The straood up, walked over, ahe burger out to him.

  "Here, kid," he said in a voice devoid of aion. "Looks like you his more than I do."

  Magnus hesitated, disbelief fshing across his face. "Uh… thanks," he mumbled, taking the burger with trembling hands.

  The man smiled almost meically and walked away.

  Magnus was left staring after him in fusion.

  Maybe it was just kindness… you occasionally came across such people every on a while.

  But even as he thought about it, he k wasn’t.

  This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

  He had long siopped questioning the strareak of fortuhat seemed to follow him.

  He couldn’t expin it, but he’d noticed it years ago when he had first run from the children’s home.

  Whenever he truly needed something—food, warmth, or escape —it would somehow e to him.

  He called it his 'mojo'.

  It wasn’t magic, he told himself. He wasn’t a frigging Harry Potter or some superhero with powers.

  No.

  It was just luck… a freakishly good streak of fortuhat came during despair, but still luck.

  It, however, didn’t always feel that way.

  Sometimes it worked so perfectly that it felt like more than ce. Other times, wheried to show it off to his street friends, it failed miserably, leaving him feeling foolish.

  Like st week, when Magnus had tried to "summon" a sandwich from a bakery dispy for one of his friends.

  He’d focused all his energy, staring at it like his life depended on it.

  After ten minutes or so, nothing happened.

  The teen had ughed so hard he nearly fell into a puddle, calling Magnus a crackhead .

  But today, as he bit into the burger, Magnus finally felt tired of the uainty.

  Today… today he would have to settle the issue ond for all.

  One part of his brain was howling with ughter at the absurdity—how could he even tolerate the thought that he could have magic? He had to be nuts to even think about it.

  But he couldn't ighe other part.

  What if it wasn’t luck? What if there was a crete expnation behind his streak of fortu had happeoo many times for it to still feel like a ce, which meant there had to be some reason behind it.

  It was that reason he was after.

  The taste of the fresh burger only amplified his hunger. His eyes watched as it quickly disappeared from the huge bites he took, and in no time at all, there was nothi—only the sweet smell on his fingers.

  His gaze slowly went back to where the man had been sitting.

  He was hoping to test his mojo on another er, but the seats were empty.

  Magnus felt frustration, fueled by the anticipation in his mind and the lingering taste in his mouth.

  He, however, forced himself to calm down.

  He would wait… someone was bound to e by, either for a drink or a bite. The weather would make sure of that.

  His expectations, however, turned out to be far-fetched.

  Almost thirty minutes went by with no sign of ers.

  'Maybe I should just move on and check the bins' , he thought.

  The day was dwindling, and he hadn’t stocked up yet, let aloisfied his hunger.

  He was about to turn his ba the shop when something occurred to him.

  The shop!

  Magnus stopped.

  I mean, why wait for ers when the source of what he wanted was right here?

  Well, there was the fact that up to now his luck had only worked on people, but then again, that could be because he always focused his thoughts on them.

  What if he tried it on the fish-and-chips shop instead?

  His mouth filled up just thinking about a spicy bag of chips in his hand. He had occasionally found those in bins, but they had always beeher cold or stale.

  He couldn't help thinking of how they would taste fresh and warm… oh, and how it would feel apanied by a steaming mug of tea.

  Magnus almost screamed in shock as he stared at what he was holding.