The next morning arrived dim and heavy, awash in a wave of heat and humidity. Night had dumped a layer of steamy fog on the city by the bay and turned it into a soupy sauna. Wires dripped with condensation and windows were fogged all up and down the coast. Moisture hung so thick in the air that it dampened the very clothes on people's backs.

There wasn't so much as the hint of a breeze when Mako rolled out, hoping to beat the worst of the heat to the park. He left early, waking Bolin before the streets came to life, and it couldn't have been later than 8 o'clock when they reached their destination, but even so the day was already stifling.

He chose a prime spot to deposit his brother, on the grass near the big fountain. It was shaded—or would have been if the sun could cut through the mist—by a little grove of trees and within easy walking distance of everything a person might need in the course of the day.

"There's a drinking fountain over there," Mako pointed out attentively, wiping away the sweat that threatened to run in his eyes. "Can you make it that far if you get thirsty or do you want me to move you closer?"

Bolin shrugged distractedly. They hadn't been there five minutes but he was already caught up in their surroundings. The birds, the traffic, even the fog all seemed wonderful after where he'd spent the past few days.

"Here's fine," he answered with more animation than the question warranted, drawing a dubious look from his brother.

"Fine, but it's over there," Mako continued. "And here's the rest of your roll. Try and eat some of it, okay?"

"Okay."

"And don't wander off."

"Uh huh."

"Bolin!" Levelling a sharp glare at his brother, the Firebender caught him by the arm, reclaiming his attention by force. "I mean it. Stay around here. I don't want to have to go looking for you again."

Equally exasperated, Bolin dramatically dropped his head backwards and groaned.

"Okay, I know," he agreed dismissively and gently pulled his arm free. "You worry too much."

Mako planted his hands on his hips and sighed, following his brother's line of sight out past the fountain to where people were vanishing and reappearing on either side of a thick fogbank.

"I wouldn't have to if you'd stay put," he muttered mostly to himself.

No matter what Bolin said—or how impatiently he said it—Mako knew he couldn't count on him to stay in one place. They'd been through this routine too many times before.

There had been a time when Bolin was too young to help make ends meet and he'd had to stay behind and wait every day. Mako would hide him somewhere and tell him to stay put, and for the first couple of years it had worked just fine. But as he got older and more used to living the way they did, Bolin had started talking to the friendlier shopkeepers instead of hiding from them, palling around with other street kids, exploring whatever neighborhood he happened to be in and venturing farther and farther away from where he was supposed to be. Until one night Mako came back and he was nowhere to be found.

Years passed, things changed and not finding his brother became something of a habit whenever they had to separate, but the memory of that first night never left Mako. No matter how many times he had to stand around and wait or how often Bolin came running back with an apology and an excuse, his first reaction was always of panic. And it wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he blew out a long-suffering sigh.

"Look, just promise me you'll be here when I get back."

A patronizing grin and a pat on the shoulder seemed to put the matter to rest as far as Bolin was concerned. "Yeah, I promise…! I'll be here…!"

Mako growled under his breath, but he let it go. No amount of arguing would change Bolin's attitude. He'd been trying for years and never made progress yet. All he could do was hope nothing went wrong while he was gone.

But as he took his first step toward the city, he hesitated. For all his enthusiasm, Bolin looked so small and fragile standing there alone. If anything did happen…

Clearing his throat, he grazed his brother's shoulder, not bothering to hide his trepidation.

"Bo."

"Yeah?"

"Try not to overdo it with the magic show."

Republic City's shopping district was a honeycomb of restaurants, stores and open air markets all abuzz with shoppers, merchants and tourists. Food carts and kiosks dotted its sidewalks; Satomobiles hummed up and down its streets; and the place was alive with activity every day of the week from just after dawn until well into the night. There was something for everyone. People from all walks of life, from the richest of the rich to the most desperate street urchins, convened there to find what they needed —and almost no one went away unhappy. Without travelling more than a block, a person could buy an outfit in the latest fashion, consume enough grilled meat to ruin ten new outfits, or lift a purse with plenty of cash to do both.

It was into this bustling center of commerce that Mako disappeared in search of employment.

He moved with purpose, skimming past the morning crowd like it was nothing. His aim was a neighborhood that knew him as well as he knew it, a place where he and Bolin had been something of a fixture in their younger days. Situated a few blocks from the center of things, the buildings were a little run down and the shops a little smaller than what was on the main drag, but he knew if he could find work anywhere, it would be there.

He dove right in full of confidence, asking at every shop, stand and kiosk if they needed anything done—odd jobs, deliveries, anything. He would have scrubbed out dumpsters if they'd wanted him to.

But no one would hire him, even for an hour.

Times were tough, they said. They couldn't spare the expense.

The shopkeepers who knew him by name apologized and asked after Bolin. The ones who didn't shooed him away less graciously. But the story was the same wherever he went.

He pounded the pavement for hours, block after block, mile after mile, but while the neighborhoods changed, the outcome never did.

The fog burned off. The temperature rose. The sun crossed the sky and slid behind the tops of the tallest buildings. And finally, hot, hungry and exhausted, Mako threw himself down on the curb between two parked cars. Rubbing the crease between his brows with one thumb, he snarled out a sigh of frustration. There was no point going any further. If he hadn't found a job by now, he wasn't going to find one.

He could have kicked himself for being so stubborn. Opportunities had passed him by, one after another, all day long and he'd just let them get away—pockets he could have picked, people he could've wheedled a yuan or to out of. He had been so set on finding honest work he hadn't even bothered with anything else.

Now he had nothing. No food, no money, no prospects. And there was no one to blame but himself.

Moodily draping his arms over his knees, he sighed again. He wasn't even sure where he was anymore. The architecture told him he'd wandered into the Water Tribe section of town, but that was about all he could glean.

It wasn't his location that worried him. Mako doubted he could ever really be lost anywhere in the city. "When in doubt head for the bay" was his motto. The problem was he couldn't go back to the park empty-handed. He may not be able to find a job, but he had to at least find something for his brother to eat. He knew the odds were stacked against him. The universe never made things easy. But he still had to try.

Rallying what determination he had left, he raked his eyes from one end of the street to the other, scanning the storefronts.

Shoe repair. Hats. Women's clothing. The greengrocer on the corner seemed a likely target. Bolin had thrown up the last bunch of fruits and vegetables he'd brought back, but even that was better than nothing. Or so he tried to convince himself.

That was when he spotted a noodle shop in the center of the row of buildings opposite.

Sandwiched between two open-fronted stores, it was unassuming and easy to miss—Mako didn't catch it until his second sweep of the block—but its heavy blue entryway curtains and gold-painted side panels gave it a quiet, classy feeling that the rest of the neighborhood just couldn't match.

He recognized the name of it. Shiro Shinobi had mentioned it on the radio—the best seaweed noodles in Republic City.

That was what Bolin needed. If he could keep anything down, it would be soup.

Almost before he knew what he was doing, Mako found himself in front of the little restaurant. It sounded busy inside. Music and conversation mingled with the sounds of dishes. A cool breeze drifted through the open doorway, carrying the scent of cooking broth out to the sidewalk. Everything about the place beckoned him inside.

Only one thing held him back.

The little collection of coins he pulled from his pocket left room to spare in the palm of his hand, looking even more pathetic than he remembered. There was no way he had enough. The radio said the food was affordable, but they weren't working with his budget. Three yuans was barely enough for a street vendor, let alone an actual restaurant.

But Mako only hesitated for a second. Caught where he was between two shades of complete failure, even the glimmer of a third option was enough to compel him to try.

Giving the coins one last wavering look, he closed them in his fist and took a deep breath. Then he set his jaw and went inside.