The night was cold, the kind of biting chill that settled deep into the bones. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself as you walked home, the quiet hum of Beacon Hills settling into the late hours.

But as you made it about twenty feet from your driveway, something made you stop.

A familiar truck, rusted at the edges, sat under the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp.

And inside, curled up in the driver’s seat, was Theo. A thin blanket covering him as he slept, and what looked to be all of his belongings in the back seat.