The ramen shop was always warm.
Even on nights when the city felt hollow and cruel, heat lived here rolling out in soft waves from simmering broth, clinging to the air with the scent of pork, soy, and green onions. Steam fogged the windows so thickly that the outside world became nothing more than blurred shapes and muted lights.
Carter liked it that way.
He sat on one of the tall stools, feet hooked around the rung beneath the counter, watching Mr. Pearson move with practiced ease. The old man never hurried, even when the shop was busy. He poured broth as if he had all the time in the world, as if nothing outside these walls could ever intrude.
Anna sat beside Carter, swinging her legs, humming softly to herself. She traced circles on the counter with one finger while waiting for her bowl.
"You're going to wear a hole in my counter," Mr. Pearson said gently.
Anna smiled up at him. "Sorry, mister."
He chuckled and slid two bowls toward them. "Eat while it's hot."
Carter nodded in thanks. He always did. He always made sure Anna had her chopsticks first, that she took the first bite. Their parents said he was too serious for his age, but Carter thought seriousness was just another word for paying attention.
For a little while, everything felt normal.
Then Carter noticed the smell.
It crept in beneath the ramen's warmth—sharp and bitter, scratching at the back of his throat. He frowned, glancing toward the door. The shop was quiet now, most of the evening crowd gone.
Outside, a siren wailed.
Anna paused mid-bite. "Do you smell that?"
Carter slid off his stool. "Yeah."
Mr. Pearson was already moving, wiping his hands on a towel as he looked toward the fogged glass. "Go on home," he said, a crease forming between his brows. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Carter didn't argue. He took Anna's hand, the way he always did, and pushed open the door.
Cold air rushed in.
Smoke hung low over the street, drifting like a living thing. Ash floated through the air, settling on Carter's jacket, melting into dark flecks against the fabric.
"That's near our apartment…" he muttered.
The words barely left his mouth before his stomach dropped.
"Come on, Anna," he said, his voice sharp with panic. "We gotta hurry."
They ran.
The closer they got, the thicker the smoke became. Sirens multiplied, overlapping until they were all Carter could hear. His lungs burned. His legs felt heavy, like the street itself was trying to pull him back.
When they turned the final corner, the world ended.
Their apartment complex was ablaze—orange flames clawing up the sides of the building, black smoke pouring from shattered windows. Firefighters shouted orders as water hissed uselessly against the inferno. Neighbors stood behind barricades, crying, screaming names that went unanswered.
"Mom!"
Carter's voice broke as it tore from his chest. He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees on the cold pavement.
"Dad!"
Anna clung to him, shaking so hard he could feel it through their joined hands. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her face into his jacket as if that could shield her from the sight.
Someone pulled him back.
"Hey—kid—you can't be here!"
Hands grabbed at his shoulders. Another set reached for Anna.
"No!" Carter shouted. He twisted away, clutching her tight. "Don't touch her!"
"We're trying to help—"
He didn't listen.
All he heard were fragments—no survivors… structural collapse… bodies recovered.
The world narrowed to one thought:
If they take her, she's gone.
Carter bolted.
He ran without direction, without thought, Anna's small body light in his arms as they vanished into the night.
That was the night Carter and Anna became orphans.
The nights that followed were worse.
At first, they hid anywhere they could—beneath stairwells, behind dumpsters, in alleyways that smelled of rot and rain. Anna cried for their parents until her voice gave out. Carter told her lies he wanted to believe.
"They'll find us," he whispered. "We just gotta wait."
Days blurred together. Hunger became constant, gnawing and sharp. Carter learned which corners were safe to stand on, which faces to avoid. Uniforms terrified him. Any hand reaching out felt like a threat.
Winter came early that year.
Snow felt thick and relentless, burying the city in white. They slept beneath bridges, wrapped in threadbare blankets Mr. Pearson somehow always managed to sneak them.
He never asked questions.
He brought leftover ramen, warm coats, quiet kindness.
Some days, Carter took Anna back to where their apartment once stood. Nothing remained but a blackened scar on the ground. They sat on the curb and begged. Most people passed without looking.
As the cold deepened, strange men began to appear.
They wore white coats too clean for the streets, their shoes untouched by slush. They came every few weeks, always watching from a distance.
"You're meant for something more," one said softly as he dropped spare change into Carter's hand.
Carter pulled Anna close and said nothing.
The third winter nearly broke them.
Anna's hands were always cold. She coughed at night. Carter stopped sleeping, afraid that if he closed his eyes, someone would take her.
One evening, Mr. Pearson brought them home.
"It's not much," he said, placing two small, wrapped gifts into their hands. "But no one should be alone on Christmas."
Anna opened her gift first.
Inside was her dolphin pendant—the one she'd lost the night of the fire.
Carter's breath caught.
He opened his own gift to find a silver wolf resting in his palm.
"What does the wolf mean?" he asked quietly.
Mr. Pearson smiled, though his eyes were sad. "That's for you to decide."
That night, Carter stood at their usual street corner alone, breath fogging in the cold.
The man in white did not seem to approach so much as be there.
Carter noticed him only when a shadow fell across the snow at his feet. He looked up to see a tall figure in a pristine white coat, untouched by soot or slush. His hair was dark, neatly kept, his face calm in a way that felt rehearsed.
The man crouched slightly so they were closer to eye level.
"My name is Elias," he said gently, as if introducing himself were the most natural thing in the world. "I've seen you here before."
Carter stiffened, fingers curling around the wolf pendant beneath his coat. "I don't want trouble."
Elias smiled faintly. "I'm not here to cause any."
He pressed a few coins into Carter's palm. His touch was warm—too warm for the winter night.
"You've done well keeping her safe," Elias continued, his voice low. "Most children wouldn't last as long as you have."
Carter's heart hammered. "You don't know anything about us."
Elias rose to his full height, unbothered. "I know enough."
Snow fell silently between them.
"You'll find your purpose soon," Elias murmured.
By the time Carter blinked, the man was already walking away, his white coat fading into the falling snow, leaving unease twisting deep in Carter's chest.
They had survived five years on the streets.
But Carter was beginning to understand something terrible.
Things only get worse before they get better.