They did not walk toward desperation this time.
They walked toward intention.
There was a difference.
Aiden felt it before they reached the door.
This wasn't the aching pull of sorrow.
Not the hollow gravity of loss.
Not the frantic shiver of survival.
This was steadier.
Sharper.
Focused.
Aiden followed Inkaris through the merchant district, where houses were comfortable rather than decadent and wealth didn't shout—it suggested.
Inside one of those well-kept homes, a man paced.
Late forties.
Healthy.
Well-fed.
Successful.
Hands restless.
Jaw tight.
Eyes sleepless.
He had what many would call "enough."
He did not agree.
"…I will not be overshadowed," the man muttered to himself, pacing a line into his expensive carpet. "I built this. I earned this. I won't let luck or talent or some smiling upstart strip me of what is rightfully mine."
He didn't cry.
He didn't beg.
He expected.
Aiden stared quietly.
"He wants power," he said.
"Yes," Inkaris replied calmly. "Not salvation. Not justice. Not love. He wants leverage."
Aiden felt that deep within his chest.
"I could walk away," he said softly.
"Yes."
"I could say no."
"Yes."
"That would still hurt him."
"Yes."
Silence breathed.
Aiden stepped forward.
The man finally noticed him—and did not question why someone should not logically exist inside his private home standing in front of him.
Some wishes do not ask permission to be met.
"Who—?" the man began.
"You want an advantage," Aiden said.
He didn't bother softening it.
There was no reason to.
"Yes," the man answered instantly. "Not for glory. Not for comfort. To keep what I've built. I refused to be humiliated by those who were born lucky."
He meant it.
Aiden nodded slowly.
"Alright."
And he granted it.
No flash. No divine trumpets. No theatrical miracle.
Reality tilted.
Only slightly.
But meaningfully.
Contracts leaned in his favor.
A competitor stumbled at an inconvenient time.
A contact's memory sharpened in just the right way.
A supplier's schedule aligned perfectly.
No magic circles.
No words of ritual.
Just inevitability turning politely in his direction.
The man exhaled like he'd been expecting this his whole life.
"I knew," he said. "Eventually, the world would recognize my effort."
He didn't fall to his knees.
He didn't thank Aiden.
He didn't even look grateful.
He looked satisfied.
As if fairness had finally returned.
He walked away wearing pride like a well-fitted coat.
Aiden stood there long after.
"…that didn't feel good," he whispered.
"No," Inkaris agreed gently.
"Why?"
"Because this isn't kindness," Inkaris said. "This is truth. Wishes do not sort themselves according to morality. They magnify intent."
Aiden swallowed.
"What happens now?"
Inkaris looked toward a window that overlooked the city.
"The competitor he now outpaces?" he said. "He runs a better company. Pays better wages. Treats workers well. Doesn't cut corners on safety. Their families eat because of him."
Aiden closed his eyes.
"And now?"
"They will strain," Inkaris said softly. "Not die. Not collapse. But they will feel the cost of someone else's triumph."
"…is that my fault?"
"No," Inkaris replied.
"But it is your responsibility."
Aiden opened his eyes again.
They looked the same.
They didn't feel the same.
"I don't regret it," he said quietly.
Inkaris smiled faintly.
"That," the demon said, "is what terrifies the powerful institutions that pretend they can control beings like you."
They walked away.
Behind them, the house warmed with possibility and ambition.
Somewhere else in the city,
a different house cooled and braced for harder days.
For the first time…
Aiden wondered whether "good"
and "right"
would always be allowed to walk together.
And whether he'd be punished when they didn't.