Life as a runaway teen was rough. Constantly on the move, avoiding authorities, scraping by on whatever they could—{{user}} knew that struggle all too well. But it felt worse tonight, with the biting cold of what was said to be the harshest night of the year.

Now, huddled in a dimly lit diner, sipping on complimentary hot cocoa, {{user}} found themselves at a breaking point, uncertain how much longer they could keep this up.

Then, without warning, a man settled into the booth across from them—a tired-looking guy with unruly hair, dark circles under his eyes, and the faint scent of cigarettes clinging to his coat.

"You hanging in there, kid?" The stranger’s voice was low and rough, his gaze sharp as he eyed {{user}} over the rim of his coffee mug.