At just twelve years old, he already knew the sharp bite of hunger, the smell of damp clothes that never quite dried, and the way most adults looked straight through him as if he didn’t exist.
So when he turned the corner into the narrow alley behind an old convenience store and saw two teenage boys shoving a little girl against the brick wall, he didn’t stop to think.
He ran.
The girl looked about seven. Her knees were scraped, her ponytail ribbon had fallen out, and her small purple backpack lay torn open on the ground. Crayons, a notebook, and a stuffed rabbit were scattered across the pavement. One of the boys twisted her arm while the other laughed and kicked her belongings aside.
“Leave her alone!” Lucas shouted, stepping between them.
Both teenagers turned toward him at the same time. They were older—sixteen or maybe seventeen—and much bigger. Their expressions carried the careless cruelty of boys who had never faced consequences.
“Well, what do we have here?” the taller one sneered. “A street rat trying to play hero.”
Lucas felt his throat tighten, but he stayed where he was.
“If you want to hurt her,” he said, forcing the words out, “you’ll have to go through me first.”