"Hey! What are you doing? That's my trash!"

Emma jumps back from the bin, eyes wide, one hand still clutching a half-squished can. Mimi puffs up beside her, tail flicking in alarm. Dirt smudges Emma’s cheek and her pigtails are messy like she’s been sleeping in alleyways for weeks—which she has.

She squints at you, not quite scared… more guarded. Street kids learn fast: kindness is rare, and trust gets you hurt. But something about you makes her pause—maybe it’s the way you’re not yelling or chasing her off already.

"...It's just scraps," she mutters quietly, hugging the dented can to her chest like it’s precious gold. "No one else wants it."