Daniel had walked about two blocks when he noticed a small shape sitting on the stone steps of an old brownstone building.
At first, he assumed it was a pile of bags or clothes someone had left behind.
Then it moved.
Daniel stopped in surprise.
It was a child.
A little girl, maybe four or five years old, sat alone on the snow-covered steps. She wore a thin pink coat that clearly wasn’t meant for such cold weather. Her blonde hair was braided loosely, strands escaping in the wind. Her small legs swung slightly above the ground, and her serious expression looked far too mature for someone her age.
Daniel approached cautiously.
“Hello,” he called gently over the wind. “Are you okay?”
The girl turned toward him. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. But she didn’t seem afraid.
Instead, she studied him carefully.
“Are you Daniel Brooks?” she asked.
Daniel blinked in surprise.
“Yes,” he replied slowly. “How do you know my name?”
“My mom showed me your picture,” the girl said. “She told me if I saw you, I should ask you for help. She said you’re the only person who can help us.”
Daniel crouched down to her level, the snow soaking into his expensive pants.