Miles glanced toward the scraps of bread in the alley. "A little."
James did not ask anything else. He brought a chair and a glass of water, then returned with a warm roll and a bowl of soup from the kitchen. Miles stared at the food as though it were another impossible gift, and James quietly set it where he could reach it without attracting attention. For the first time that evening, somebody seemed to notice that helping adults should also involve caring for the child standing in front of them.
Hamilton pushed lightly against the wheelchair's armrests. Victoria immediately reached for him, and Brandon warned him to wait. He had been afraid to stand for weeks, but the return of movement filled him with a reckless desire to prove it was real. After another few minutes, with support on either side, he rose just enough to take weight briefly through his legs.
A cheer rolled across the patio. Hamilton stood unsteadily, took a few cautious steps while Brandon remained beside him, then sat in an ordinary dining chair at Victoria's insistence. He laughed in disbelief and began crying before he could stop himself. The empty wheelchair stayed beside the table, an expensive black shape that looked suddenly less like a permanent sentence and more like an object whose meaning had not yet been decided.
Miles watched Hamilton walk and did not smile immediately. The boy was trying to understand something much more complicated than a successful guess. A stranger had listened to him, pain had eased, and the world had responded with applause instead of dismissal. His mother had never received that ending, and the unfairness of the difference caught him unexpectedly in the chest.
A siren finally rose above the distant traffic. Leon cleared a path from the restaurant entrance, and paramedics arrived with equipment that seemed both reassuring and intimidating to Miles. Hamilton began explaining what had happened, gesturing toward the boy, but the lead paramedic stopped him gently. "First we're going to assess you," she said. "Rapid improvement is encouraging, but it doesn't tell us by itself what caused the symptoms."
Hamilton agreed, still too astonished to argue. The crew checked him for urgent warning signs, asked detailed questions, and advised medical evaluation despite the improvement. Miles stood nearby holding his journal bag, worried that the professionals would be angry with him for intervening. Instead, one paramedic thanked him for raising the alarm and then explained that unusual weakness always deserved a proper assessment.
"What happened may be complicated," she told him quietly. "You noticed something important, but please don't think a page in a journal replaces a team or an examination."
"I know," Miles said. "I just didn't want him to hurt."
"I can see that," she replied. "And I'm glad you're listening now, too."