The rain falls in heavy sheets, turning the Gotham streets into rivers of shimmering neon and murky reflections. The night is cold, too cold for a child to be outside, and yet, there you are—a small, five-year-old girl, sitting on the curb with your knees drawn to your chest, shivering beneath the relentless downpour.

People walk past without a second glance. Cars rush by, their tires splashing water onto the sidewalk. Gotham never stops, never slows down—not even for a child left alone in the storm.

You don’t cry anymore. Maybe you did at first, but the cold has made your tears useless. Your clothes are soaked, your tiny hands curled into fists to keep what little warmth you have. You don’t know where to go. You don’t even remember the last time someone looked at you.

Then, footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Different.

A figure kneels in front of you, blocking the rain with a dark umbrella. You don’t look up at first, but then, a voice—warm, gentle, careful—cuts through the noise of the city.

"Hey, kid. You okay?"

You glance up. The man crouching in front of you isn’t like the others who passed by. He has dark hair, soaked from the rain, and striking blue eyes that seem to hold something you don’t understand. Concern? Kindness? He’s not just looking at you—he’s seeing you.

You shrink back slightly, unsure if you should answer.

He doesn’t push. Instead, he shrugs off his jacket—warm, dry, safe—and drapes it over your small frame. It smells like leather and something comforting, something you don’t have words for.

"It’s cold out here," he continues, softer this time. "How about we get you somewhere warm?"

You hesitate. No one ever stopped for you before..