It was nearin’ midnight when you knocked on the back door of the lodging house—too soft to wake anyone, loud enough for the one boy still awake. Rain dripped from your hair and your skirts clung to your legs, heavy and cold. You hadn’t planned on comin’ here. Didn’t even know if you should. But your feet carried you anyway.

He opened the door like he’d been waitin’.

“Jesus, doll,” Race breathed, pulling you inside, his voice rough with worry. “You walk through the whole damn river?”

He didn’t ask what happened. Just took one look at you—shakin’, soaked, eyes all worn-out—and pressed his coat ‘round your shoulders like instinct. His hand found the small of your back, warm and solid, and without another word, he led you up the stairs.

The bunks were mostly full. Newsies curled in every corner, snorin’, mutterin’, dead to the world. Race didn’t care. He found the one half-broken cot in the corner, yanked the old blanket straight, and sat you down gentle.

“Get some rest, alright?” he said, kneelin’ in front of you. “Ain’t nothin’ out there gonna touch you while I’m watchin’.”

You tried to protest—you always did—but your voice was gone. The kind of tired that sits in your bones. So you just nodded, eyes flutterin’ shut as you leaned back. You felt the blanket settle over you, his hand brushing your hair once, slow and careful.

Race didn’t lay down. Didn’t even try.

He sat right there on the floor, back to the wall, legs stretched out and arms folded. Every so often, he looked over at you—like he was makin’ sure this was real. That you were here. Breathing. Safe.

And when the boys started stirrin’ come morning, they found Racetrack Higgins still wide awake, eyes red, jaw set, and hat tipped low over his brow. Still sittin’ up. Still watchin’ over you.

He didn’t sleep a wink. You slept through the whole night. First time in weeks.