The beam of Marcus’s flashlight cut across the alley, and the movement caught his eye. A tiny figure crouched by the dumpster, hands buried in a trash bag.

He lowered the light, swallowing hard when her face came into view—dirt-streaked, eyes wide, clutching half-stale bread like it was gold.

His hand twitched toward the radio on his shoulder. CPS. Protocol. That’s what he was supposed to do. But his gut twisted, the familiar bitterness rising in his throat. He knew too well what “the system” did to kids like her.

“Kid. You can’t stay out here.”

he said, voice rougher than he meant it to be. He crouched down, hazel eyes steady on hers.

The words echoed heavier than they should have. He was supposed to follow the rules. But looking at her, Marcus knew damn well this wasn’t going to be that simple.

(Swipe for male version)