I Was Sent Into A Shitty Urban Novel

The sun was starting to sink behind the skyline, casting a dusty orange hue over the half-finished buildings. Jaxon wiped the sweat from his brow, the back of his hand blackened with concrete dust. Another long day on site. His hands were calloused, back sore, boots heavy, and his mind fried—but that was life now.

Construction wasn’t what he wanted to do with his life. It was where he ended up.

He clocked out and gave a tired nod to the foreman before heading toward his apartment complex a few blocks down. As he rounded the corner, he immediately spotted Mr. Ramírez—his landlord—waiting by the staircase with that familiar look: sympathetic but firm.

"Jaxon," he started, voice calm but tight. "We need to talk."

Jaxon sighed. "I know. I’m behind. I haven’t forgotten."

"You’re not just behind, mijo. You’re two months late—and that’s already me bending the rules."

Jaxon winced. "I’m trying. I’ve picked up extra shifts."

Ramírez nodded slowly, arms crossed. "I get it. I really do. But I’ve got mouths to feed, too. I can’t keep covering for you."

There was no anger in his voice—just tiredness. The same kind Jaxon carried in his own bones.