There were three things she'd never forget about the night he saved her.

On a chilly, unforgiving November night in Worst Neighborhood, Manhattan, she folded in on herself as the cruel wind bit at her exposed skin. She so desperately wished she could find refuge in a warm building, or snag a blanket from the homeless man sleeping further down the corner, but she knew that would be wasting the night. And Lord knows she needed the money.

Instead she waited, like always, under the dim, well known streetlight- the only one near the infamous alley that blinked- letting the dull hum of electricity lull her into a more relaxed state of mind. She tried so desperately to forget about the sleep she was losing, forget about the food she wasn't eating, forget about the money she wasn't making. Just forget. She always tried to think of better things instead. Tonight, it was that damned streetlight, the single flashing light somehow reminding her of the bigger, prettier ones she'd read about in the papers. Something about the turn of the century leading to newer, better, bigger inventions that were all the rage. The lights shined on a flashier, busier street that was not too far from her own. People came from across the globe to visit New York- the city of dreams, a promise land of opportunity that she'd been deprived of for sixteen years. A scoff escaped her.

No, her world was much different. With the way her life was going, the closest she'd get to "opportunity" was a bedroom that wasn't hers.

There were three things he'd never forget about the night he found her.

On the same chilly, unforgiving November night in Worst Neighborhood, Manhattan, he pulled his vest a little closer in a fight against the gust of wind that suddenly blew against him. He knew he shouldn't be out at this time- no good ever comes from dark Brooklyn alleys in the middle of the night. But cigars didn't come free, and the card games were most exciting in the few hours after midnight.

He tucked away the wad of cash he'd won deep in his front pocket and picked up the pace. He knew Jack was waiting up and would give him another lecture on staying out all hours of the night- he'd be stupid to think anything less. Might as well get in as early as he could. On a second thought, however, the seventeen year old knew the only man who sold cigars to kids his age was just a block over, and the boy's supply was getting fairly low. His addiction won over as he decided to take the detour from his route home. The few working street lights illuminated a familiar enough figure in his usual spot. The blonde exchanged a small chunk of his earnings for three cigars, shook hands with the man, and tucked them all away, one in his mouth, the other two in his back pocket. He pulled out a match from his shirt pocket, scraped it against a wall, lit the cigar, and surrounded himself with a cloud of smoke. He liked the hum that filled his lungs, liked the way it always somehow seemed to take his mind off of more troubling matters. He tucked his cap in a fashion that cast a shadow over his face and continued to walk down the deserted street, hands in his pockets and head in his own clouds.

She had almost fallen asleep sitting under that broken street light. The night was slower than usual, and the street light lullaby wasn't helping her at all. Just when she was about to call it a night, a buggy slowly turned the corner, headlights off. Her heart seemed to sigh with relief as the buggy slowed to a stop, and a man smirked at her. As quickly as her heart raised, however, it sank twice as fast. There must have been some piece of her that was grateful for the slow night, grateful that she wouldn't have to forget anything, at least for tonight. Nevertheless, the world around her spun on, and with a tear rolling down her cheek, she forced herself to approach the black automobile. She convinced herself it was alright. She'd earn what she needed, and it was going to be fine. Now, if she could just forget what she was doing…

He turned the corner just in time, catching sight of the girl he concluded couldn't be any older than sixteen walking up to the passenger's side of a black buggy. Her light brown hair cascaded down her exposed back, her fingers fidgeted under the spotty glow of a humming street light. Of course, with all the kinds of activities occurring at this time of night, he couldn't safely judge what exactly was going on at first. But a closer look gave him what he needed to know. Her revealed legs, the bags under her eyes, the few tears streaming down her cheeks… a surge of remorse for this unknown girl flooded through his veins, and there was no possible way he could let her get in that car.

His feet moved faster than his mind. Without a plan, he approached the girl, tucking the cigar in between two fingers and hoped his mouth wouldn't fail the two of them. Just as she nodded her head at the man and began to pull herself up into the car, the boy snatched her arm and yanked her close to him. A gasp escaped her lips, shocked and afraid. The unfamiliar scent of cigar smoke and mint swirled around her, and she was intrigued, but more alarmed than anything. Her mouth opened to scream, to speak, to cry, to do anything. He knew he had to act quickly.

"Whattaya doin' out here?" he began, "I told ya you's was mine tonight. Was my offer not good enough for ya?"

He held his breath, hoping she'd catch on and let him save her. Her coffee brown eyes widened in fear, silently swearing to herself for seemingly forgetting this deal she'd made with a guy she was almost certain she'd never met. But his grip on her arm loosened, and an intense gaze from his icy blue eyes assured her she was right- she couldn't have met this boy before; she would've committed those gorgeous eyes to memory. So then… what?

"If ya don't mind," the captivating blonde turned to the man in the buggy, "I's called the goil for the night. You can 'ave her some otha time."

The man scoffed, angry features running across his face. The boy racked his mind for a last resort that would get the girl off the hook. With one hand still on her arm, he reached into his pocket for the wad of cash he'd won that night. Keeping up his charade, he rolled his eyes at the man's anger and offered the money over. The man snatched it greedily, counted it, and pocketed it.

The boy snickered, relief flooding his chest. "So's it's settled then. 'Ave a good night, mista."

The man merely nodded at the boy, giving the blonde a sickened feeling. Regardless, he waited until the buggy was out of sight to say another word. As soon as it did, the brunette pulled her arm away from the blue eyed boy, wrapping herself in her own arms. Her chest began to rise and fall too quickly, her fingers fidgeting too frequently. Tears streamed down her face and sobs began to rack her body.

"Hey doll, is you alright?" the boy's voice quaked, "I didn't mean no harm. Is you h-"

"What do you want from me?" the girl trembled, backing herself into the wall behind her as the boy approached her. What did he want from her? Well, he wanted her to be okay. For some reason, he wished she'd let him dry her tears and hold her until she was still again. But one look at the poor girl told him that wasn't an option right now.

"Not a thing, sweetheart," he responded instead, his heart aching for her. She looked at him, unsure. "Honest. I just wanted to save ya. Ya didn't look real happy, y'know."

A laugh escaped her, mid- sob. "No, No I guess I probably didn't." She calmed a bit, let herself ride out the fear as her chest began to move slower. Suddenly, as her fears quieted and she realized the situation for what it truly was, she dropped her arms and sighed.

"Thank you," she nearly whispered, sheepishly, "You- you didn't have to do that."

"Oh, but I did," he replied honestly. He wished he would've given himself a second longer before opening his mouth. "No thanks necessary, miss. Is you alright?"

It took her a beat to assure herself that she was. "Yeah, I just…I don't know... I..." she began to trail off.

Her red-rimmed coffee brown eyes averted his own, yet he was still so captivated by them. He found himself wishing he could get lost inside them and just forget the rest of the world. Instead, he drank in the rest of her, appreciating things most men in her world had ignored without a thought. Her fidgety fingers were small and delicate, smoothing over the hem of her dress that stopped just below her knees. He longed to smooth out her slightly knotted light brown hair. And he nearly did, his fingers itching to reach out and tuck a stray lock behind her ear, when he came to his senses and realized the girl was no longer shaking from fear, but from the unforgiving wind that chapped her bare arms.

"Hey, doll, does you got a place to sleep?" his voice was kind and soft, soothing and quiet. "We's got plenty'a blankets at the Lodging House." The girl nearly jumped at the idea of having a place to sleep for the night. She was so exhausted, and she would've said yes, had it not been for her empty pockets where money was supposed to be. She looked in his eyes, those gentle, bright blue eyes and could hardly force herself to say no. But, for her own sake, she did.

"Aw doll, c'mon. Do I gotta stay out here all night watchin' for ya?" the boy, who was never good at taking no for an answer, insisted. "Please. I knows ya don't wanna be out here. Let me take you home."

The boy reached out to take her hand, a sweet gesture, but one that neither of the kids realized would forever change their lives.

And with that, she simply could not resist.

He treaded his waters carefully, conscious not to overstep his boundaries. As much as he wanted to hold her and warm her up in his arms, he stuck to holding her hand, guiding the way to the Lodging House. And as much as he wanted to stop her and ask her everything on his mind (and there were a lot of things), he just asked,

"Well sweetheart, you got a name?"

The corners of her lips turned up, much to his heart's delight. "Rosie," she nearly whispered, heart lifting at the sound of her real name. "And you?"

"Race," he smiled. "Racetrack Higgins."

"What a name," she breathed. "Is it your real one?"

"It's a name the brothers gave me," he explained, as he had many times before. "The boys give everyone a name. They'll maybe give ya one too, if you're sweet enough." Race winked.

"Huh," Rosie remarked. She was still shaken, still slightly swayed by this boy and his intentions. She pried her fingers out of Race's hand, filling up with the feeling of wanting to disappear. She was scared, nervous, and a little more shy than normal. What did this boy really want from her? And why was she trusting him at all? For all she knew, he could have stolen her from one wolf just to feed her to ten more. She'd given him her true name since birth only to receive a nickname in turn. She wondered if he also happen to share her unfortunate situation… She was so unsure.

Race tried to hide the slight sting of rejection. He nervously placed the cigar back in its place between his lips, letting the hum fill his lungs. He was no stranger to flirting and being rejected by a girl, having experience from trying to sell papes to the beauties from better neighborhoods. But Rosie seemed… different. Fragile. Like she could break if you weren't careful enough. He made a mental note to steer clear of the flirtiness for now. Well, at least until tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Race realized he had no actual plan for anything after getting Rosie in a warm bed that night. What would Jack say? He was sure he'd let her stay for the night, but what about the next? Neither of them would just send her back out on the streets. Especially not the streets she seemed to stay around. So then… what?

He turned to Rosie, watching her form fade from tense to tired. He figured he'd get her to sleep, and then have a conversation in the morning.

A few blocks and many footsteps later, they finally arrived at the Lodge. Race took a quick look around to make sure no eyes were watching, then rapped the secret knock. He sighed impatiently, fog and smoke filling the air around them, when he heard the footsteps bounding down the stairs. There was a pause, and then the door swung open. There stood a tired and aggravated Jack, ready to let Race have it.

"For Christ's sake, where the hell were you? I been waitin' all night! The boys went lookin' for ya, where did you-" he turned to see the little brunette at Race's side and took a step back. "Racer, what tha hell!?"

"Ah, give it a minute, will ya?" Race sighed, already annoyed with his friend's energy. "I'll explain. But right now, we needa find this girl a bed to sleep in."

Jack took in the girl before him, shivering and scared. Without another word, he let the two of them in and Race immediately pulled a thin blanket and pillow from a closet near the bunkroom. He took Rosie straight to an open bunk a few beds down from his and pulled the warmest onesie he could find from his drawer.

"In case ya want somethin' a little…" he paused, being oh so careful, "warmer."

She smiled, her own silent form of gratitude, and he let her be.

"Can ya do a pal a favor and explain what's goin' on?" Jack whispered outside once they were both in the hall. Race shut the door carefully, not making a sound.

"She's just got herself in a bit of trouble is all," he explained. "She was shiverin' so hard when I found her, Jack, I couldn't just leave her."

The leader pondered this. "Is… Is she a-"

"Yeah, Jack. She is. But that don't say nothin' bout her, you know that."

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "No Race, it don't say nothin' bout her. What I wanna know," his mood shifted as he paused, "is where you been runnin' around all night before ya found her."

Race sighed, running a hand through his curly blond locks. "You know where I been. Papes ain't sellin like they used to and-"

"And what?" Jack interrupted. "You took ya'self to the bar to make up for the loss of it?"

Race sighed.

"Ya can't keep gamblin' in the middle of the night like that, kid," Jack tried with all of his might to convince his brother. "You'll get ya'self caught by the bulls, and then what?"

"Ya lose me. And I'll lose youse guys," Race repeated for the third time this month. Jack's lips pursed in defeat, knowing it wasn't sinking in for his brother. Instead of getting angry, he pulled the blonde into his arms. Race's arms wrapped around his brother, a little unsure, but grateful for the love received.

"I can't lose ya, kid," Jack sighed in his shoulder. "I just can't."

"Alright," Race stopped him, suddenly overtaken by guilt. He knew his choices weren't any real good for him. He could live with that. But when it bothered his brothers, when he knew they could be hurt by his actions, it gave him a sick sort of feeling in his gut that he couldn't quite shake off. "Jack, what're we gonna do with Rosie?"

Jack sighed, which turned into a yawn. "We'll figure something out, kid. Let it wait until the morning."

So Race laid there in his bunk near the window, the moon illuminating his worn out features as he replayed the events of the night over again in his mind. There were words he couldn't quite remember, but there were three things for certain. Those chocolate brown eyes that intrigued him and placed fear in his heart at the same time. He wondered if the red in them had calmed a little since she'd cried. He remembered the hum of the cigar smoke in his lungs, distracting his mind but making him wonder what other feeling he was hooked on. And that's when he realized he was certain of another hum in his body that night. One that sparked in his heart and still hadn't stopped. Thinking about her made it stronger, and he liked it. Could get addicted, even. So he didn't let go until the tendrils of sleep forced him to.

Rosie's mind danced as she began to relax enough to be pulled down by sleep. She was angry with herself for losing a night of pay, and even a little disappointed that she'd trusted a complete stranger, but fascinated by three things that wouldn't stop buzzing through her mind. The hum of the street light lullaby singing her to sleep… but that was too much of a constant in her life to be the thing gnawing at her. She could still smell the mint and smoke, whether from his pajamas or her memory, she wasn't sure. It wasn't strong- just enough to intoxicate her and send her thoughts straight to those eyes. His crystal blue eyes. Seemingly kind and gentle, and Rosie could only hope they were true. Doubt stemmed from her heart like a weed she couldn't pull, but she made a silent promise to herself and to him that she'd learn how… she'd be able to pull it someday. Because those eyes were just too beautiful not to let herself get lost in.