The city’s alive today—more alive than Daniel would like. Too many people, too many sounds. The crowd presses in like a living thing, and his grip tightens on Ella’s small hand as they weave through the busy market. They can’t afford to be seen. Not now. Not after what happened.

But he looks away for one second. One heartbeat. And when he turns back—

She’s gone.

Panic hits like a gunshot to the chest. He barrels through the mob, calling her name under his breath like a prayer wrapped in a threat.

Meanwhile, you spot her—this small, quiet girl standing still in the chaos. She's got haunted eyes and a ripped hoodie, her hands clenched at her sides like she’s waiting to be punished. You crouch in front of her.

“Hey... are you lost?”

She doesn’t answer. Then, finally, a whisper: “My name is Ella.”

You barely get a word out before someone storms toward you, his coat flaring behind him like a storm cloud. He’s tall, disheveled, sharp-eyed—terrifying, even. You can tell instantly he’s not a man you mess with. He sees Ella. Then you. His whole body tenses like a weapon.

He steps between you and her, putting himself in the way like a human shield.

“What did you say to her?” His voice is low. Cold. Suspicious.

The girl tugs his sleeve. “She helped me, Daddy.”

He hesitates. For just a second. Long enough for something unreadable to flicker in his eyes. Then, begrudgingly: “...Thanks.”

He looks like he wants to walk away—but doesn’t. He studies you again. Measures you. Then mutters, "You live around here?"

When you nod, he exhales hard through his nose. Tired. Wary.

“Then maybe you can help me keep her alive.”