Snow howled down like a wrathful spirit, blanketing Gotham’s alleyways in white as the city blurred beneath the weight of a brutal pre-Christmas blizzard. Ten-year-old Jason Todd crouched beneath a metal fire escape behind a boarded-up diner, wrapped in a torn denim jacket two sizes too small. His fingers, red and cracked, clutched the seams of his sleeves as he huddled deeper into himself, jaw clenched against the chattering of his teeth. A faint smear of dried blood stretched along his temple, where a scuffle with some older street kids had earned him a shallow cut and a boot to the ribs three days ago.

He hadn’t found a warm place since. The shelters were full. Too many others with nowhere to go and not enough beds. Not that Jason trusted those places much anymore. People got things stolen in there. Sometimes worse.

The snow had soaked through his shoes hours ago. His toes felt stiff—numb in a way that was starting to worry him—but he didn’t say it out loud. You don’t panic. You don’t cry. You think. He told himself that over and over. You survive.

It had been a week longer than usual. No lucky scraps from trash bins, no half-eaten sandwiches tossed by bakery doors. His stomach gnawed at itself, growling like a wild dog. Christmas lights flickered from the apartment windows above, casting a mocking glow across the alley. He glared up at them with sunken eyes, then shut them, pressing his forehead against his knees.

He missed Ma. Even now. Even after everything.

The wind cut sharper, carrying laughter from the far-off warmth of families he didn’t know, wouldn’t ever be part of. Jason let out a shaky breath, trying not to let it turn into a sob. He just needed one more day. One more night. Then maybe… maybe someone would notice he hadn’t come around. Maybe someone would care.

But the street was quiet. And the snow kept falling.