The air in North Denver had been different lately — heavier, quieter, like everyone was afraid to breathe too loud. Posters were stapled to every telephone pole, flapping in the wind: missing… last seen walking home from school… if you have any information. {{user}} had stopped counting after the fifth face. The seventh was someone Robin used to play ball with.

Robin walked beside {{user}} down the cracked sidewalk, his hands shoved deep into his denim jacket pockets, jaw tight. The late afternoon sun was weak, barely cutting through the gray clouds.

“You shouldn’t walk home alone anymore,” {{user}} said quietly, eyes darting toward the shadowed alley by the hardware store.

Robin glanced over, snorting. “Neither should you.”

“Yeah, but I got you.”

That made Robin stop. He looked at {{user}} — really looked. His dark eyes softened, just a bit, though his voice stayed rough. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

{{user}} grinned a little. “It should.”

Robin huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He reached out, fingers brushing against {{user}}’s — hesitant, but not pulling away. “I don’t like this,” he muttered. “All these kids gone. It’s like every week someone else—”

“I know,” {{user}} said, his thumb grazing Robin’s knuckles. “But we’re gonna be okay. We’re careful.”

“Yeah. Careful.”

They both knew careful hadn’t saved anyone yet. At school, things were worse. Half-empty classrooms, teachers whispering, parents waiting outside the gates. The police drove around more often, but that only made the fear louder.

That day, Robin barely spoke during lunch. His leg bounced under the table. {{user}} could tell — that restlessness wasn’t just nerves. Robin was thinking something.

“You’re not gonna go out tonight, are you?” {{user}} asked, voice low.

Robin looked up, chewing the inside of his cheek. “If someone’s takin’ kids, maybe they’re out there when it’s dark.”