It took him three tries with numb fingers, but finally the lock gave, and the door opened. The door was scraped open with a metallic groan. The difference in temperature inside was almost nothing, but at least the wind vanished, the silence pressing in around them. Maintenance rooms smelled like oil, dust, and old concrete. A single naked bulb buzzed overhead, casting a weak yellow circle of light. This was his place. His blankets, too thin— ones he'd found in a donation bin— were piled in the corner on top of flattened cardboard boxes. A plastic milk crate held his treasures. A half-used jar of peanut butter, stale bread, a chipped mug, a crumpled photo of his mom. He laid Lily down on the blankets, hands moving fast. Her eyes fluttered. Where are we?
Somewhere no one looks for people like us, he said. That's a good thing tonight. He stripped off her wet jacket, then his own hoodie, ignoring the way his skin screamed at the cold. He wrapped both around her, then added the blankets on top. Her teeth still chattered. Stay awake, okay, he said, patting her cheeks lightly. Talk to me. Tell me something. I want my dad, she whispered, eyes filling again. He rides a big bike. It's loud. He. He calls himself Reaper. But his real name is, is. Her voice trailed off. Marcus Froese. Reaper. Even he had heard that name. You couldn't live on the streets and not hear about the biker who ran most of the Denver chapter of a club, people told stories about in low voices. Some said he was ruthless.
Others said he took care of his own better than any blood family ever could. Marcus had never cared which was true. People like that belong to a different planet. One with chrome and leather instead of cracked sidewalks and shelter lines. Reaper's your dad? He asked carefully. She nodded weakly. He said, if I ever got lost, I should find people with his patch, the one with the skull and wings. She lifted a trembling hand, showing him a small tattoo. On her wrist. An angel wing, delicate and surprisingly clean against her chilled skin. Marcus stared at it. Nobody gave a kid a tattoo like that in life. It meant something. Unless they planned for her to be claimed, found, recognized. Okay, he said slowly. If your dad's really Reaper, he's not going to stop looking for you.
He forced a confidence he didn't fully feel into his tone. But he can't find you if you're dead, Lily. So we gotta get you warm first. Then we figure out the rest. Her eyes slid to the side, catching the photo tucked into the milk crate. Is that your mom? He followed her gaze. The picture showed a woman in her 20s, sitting on a bench by Union Station, hair pulled up in a messy bun, laughing at something off-camera. Marcus knew every line of that laugh by heart. even though he hadn't heard it in person in almost a year. Yeah, he said softly. Her name was Nina. She used to take me to that burger place on Colfax when she got paid. Double cheeseburgers, extra pickles. Where is she? He hesitated.
The words still hurt. She got sick. Real sick. Then she was gone. After that, nobody wanted me. So I ended up here. Lily's brow furrowed, as if she was trying to understand a world that allowed that. I'm sorry, she whispered. He swallowed hard. Don't be. Just focus on breathing, okay? He rubbed her hands between his, trying to force warmth back into her. fingers. Time blurred. The storm outside raged, wind howling faintly through the cracks. But down here, in this cold concrete room under a dead warehouse, the world shrank to two kids and the thin barrier between life and something else. Minutes bled into hours. He gave her sips of water from his cup, watched the color slowly creep back into her cheeks. When she started shivering harder instead of less, he knew it was a good sign.
Her body fighting. To keep her awake, he talked. He told her about the first night he slept on a bus bench and how the security guard pretended not to see him. He told her about the woman outside the grocery store who handed him a bag of apples and cried when she thought he wasn't looking. He even told her about the time he almost hopped a freight train out near Commerce City, then chickened out when he imagined falling under the wheels. In return, Lily told him bits and pieces. About her room full of stuffed animals. About the way her dad's motorcycle made her chest vibrate when she sat in front of him. Her small hands gripping the tank, about her mom's apartment in a quiet suburb outside Denver and how they used to make pancakes shaped like hearts on Sundays.
None of it explained how she ended up half-frozen in an alley. Lily, Marcus said gently when a lull settled between them. Do you remember how you got here? Anything? at all. Her forehead wrinkled. Hi. I was at my mom's. She was yelling on the phone. She told me to pack a bag. Then there was a knock on the door. Who was it? A man. I think he knew daddy. Her eyes grew distant. He said dad sent him. He promised to take me to see him. Mom didn't want me to go, but he got mad. I was scared. Then we were in a car. It was dark. We drove for a long time. Her breath hitched. Then. Then the car stopped. He was yelling on his phone. He said he couldn't drive in the storm.
He told me to stay put. But he never came back. Her voice shrank to a whisper. I got out to look for him. I got lost. Marcus clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. Whoever that man was, he hadn't just lied. He'd left a seven-year-old alone in the middle of a blizzard.