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The moon cast a crisp glow over the frosty back streets as the boy slipped from the shelter, clutching the skateboard under his left arm. The worn deck’s rough texture reassured him as he moved forward, the thrill of his find drowning out the nagging reminder to stay close to his mother. Discovering the discarded skateboard while dumpster-diving earlier that morning was as exciting as a Christmas morning surprise.

His mom had told him he could go skateboarding tomorrow morning, but the excitement was too irresistible. He had tried to go to sleep, but to no avail. His mind refused to shut off, and all he could think about was getting on his board.

The boy dropped the board onto the sidewalk with a clatter and launched himself forward, the skateboard wheels creaking as they glided over the uneven pavement. The cold air nipped at his bare arms and face, though he hardly felt it. His mind focused on the rhythm of skating, savoring the fleeting sense of freedom.

As he glided into a side alley, his thoughts wandered to better days—before his father had left him and his mom destitute—days when he and his friends spent hours at the skate park without a care in the world, and when home was a place of warmth and safety. Those days felt like a distant dream now… like someone else’s life.

He suppressed the painful nostalgia, blinking back tears before they blurred his vision. Crying about a life long gone didn’t help with the current reality. His mom needed him to be strong, and sulking only made things harder for her. He was fifteen; it was time to grow up.

I’ll grow up tomorrow, he thought as he sailed down the alley, dodging debris from the dumpster. I just want to be a kid tonight.

The alley spilled into an empty street, with only the distant hum of traffic suggesting life. The boy felt a surge of exhilaration as he sped toward the street, his skateboard responding to his commands like an extension of his own body. For a fleeting moment, he closed his eyes as the chilly air rushed against his face and tousled his hair. He felt as if he were flying—away from the streets, away from the dirty dumpsters and half-rotted food, away from the smelly, musty shelters… away from this life that robbed him of his carefree teenage years and insisted he become a man before his time.

The boy’s eyes opened a split second before something struck him in the chest. The skateboard shot out from under him and clattered down the alley and into the deserted street. He landed hard on his back, his head cracking against the concrete as the wind rushed from his lungs. He couldn’t move for a moment, his mind and body stunned by the fall. Lying on his back in a puddle of freezing slush, he stared up at the night sky, barely visible between the two buildings on either side of him.

“Shit, sorry about that.” A man appeared above him and thrust out a gloved hand. “Didn’t see you there.”

The boy hesitantly accepted his hand as he was hauled to his feet.

“You all right?” the stranger asked, maintaining his grip on the boy's hand. He wore a black beanie cap covering his head and ears, a thick overcoat, and work boots. It was difficult to see his face in the darkness of the alley.

The boy felt a little unsteady on his feet but nodded. “Yeah,” he mumbled, feeling the chill of his wet shirt as it clung to his back. “I’m okay.” He pulled his hand free.

“You cracked your head pretty hard.”

“I’m okay,” the boy repeated and ran his fingers through his dirty hair.

“What’re you doing out here in the middle of the night?” the man asked. “It can be dangerous on the streets at night.”

The boy knew that better than anyone. “I-I know,” he whispered, his head throbbing. “I was just…” He gestured absently toward the skateboard that had rolled to a stop in the middle of the street. “I wasn’t supposed to leave the shelter.”

The man chuckled. “What teenage boy isn’t a little adventurous and rebellious?” He rubbed his chin. “You’re from the shelter? Are you alone? With family?”

“My mom,” the boy mumbled, anxious to grab his board and return to the shelter. He didn’t like strangers, especially this one; the way he stared at the boy made his skin crawl. “I-I got to get back.” He backed away, abandoning the board.

“What about your skateboard?”

The boy shrugged and ducked his head.

“You don’t want to leave it in the street.” The man smiled. “Hang on, I’ll grab it for you. It’s the least I can do after knocking you down.”

The kid shifted nervously as the man trotted into the street and picked up the board. Maybe he was just a nice guy. The boy didn’t trust anyone and expected the worst from every stranger he met. Surely not everyone was bad, and he really didn’t want to give up the skateboard.

“Here you go,” the man puffed as he jogged back into the alley and handed over the board.

“Thanks…” the boy whispered.

“You know, you really should get your head checked after cracking it so hard.”

Shaking his head, the kid mumbled, “I’m all right.”

“If you can’t afford the ER, I’ll foot the bill since it was my fault.” The man stepped closer. “I can give you a ride. My rig is right around the corner.”

The boy knew never to get into a car with a stranger. “Thanks, but I-I’m okay… really.” He moved away from the man toward the mouth of the alley.

“If you’re worried about your mom not knowing where you are, I can call the shelter from the hospital.”

The man’s relentless approach put the boy on edge. “No… I-I gotta go…” As he started to leave, he half-expected the man to grab him. With every step, he felt the hairs on his neck stand up. A glance over his shoulder eased his mind; the man wasn’t pursuing him. Exhaling a shaky breath, the boy hurried his pace as the mouth of the alley loomed ahead. The shelter's entrance was just around the corner.

As the boy approached the street, a black van pulled into the alley and halted. He slowed his pace, watching the van cautiously while shifting to the side of the alley. Unable to see inside, he sensed someone's gaze from the driver's seat. His heart raced, making it difficult to breathe. Turning back, he noticed the man strolling towards him at an easy pace, which somehow felt more unsettling than if he had been rushing.

Every stranger danger synapse in his brain popped like fireworks, and panic set in. He was afraid to run, fearing it would trigger the man and whoever was in the van, like prey fleeing from a predator.

The boy took deep, fearful breaths. Just keep walking… don’t act scared… just keep walking.

His grip on the skateboard tightened as he prepared to use it as a weapon. He kept his eyes fixed on the windshield of the van as he approached the vehicle from the passenger side, pressing close to the brick wall of the building on his left. His heart beat like a drum in his ears, pounding harder and louder as he slowly walked past the van. His gaze shifted to the side door, expecting it to burst open and someone to drag him inside.

Despite the chill coursing through his body, sweat beaded on his brow and dampened his palm as he gripped the skateboard with foreboding, ready to use it as a weapon. He held his breath while passing by the van, releasing a hard exhale only after he moved beyond the vehicle, its presence looming ominously behind him.

You’re safe. They’re not trying to kidnap—

He didn’t notice the rear door creak open; he only felt a sudden grip from behind when someone grabbed him. His skateboard was yanked from his hand, slamming hard against the pavement. Panic erupted inside him as a rag was thrust against his mouth and nose. Before he lost consciousness, he caught a glimpse of his skateboard lying upside down, wheels still spinning—the last trace of his childhood fading away into darkness.

Cold air crept through the gaps in the shelter's walls as the Hispanic woman moved, her breath appearing in soft puffs against the frigid morning. The distant rumble of traffic was softened by the lightweight blankets they used to protect against the chill. A gentle murmur of voices filled the space, the subdued discussions of the other occupants gradually diminishing as she struggled to awaken from a deep, fatigued slumber.

Her eyes fluttered open, and a wave of unease washed over her. The room was still, too still. Her son—her only child—wasn't next to her. She blinked, her heart skipping a beat.

Her fingers trembled as they glided over the thin mattress beside her. Empty. The space he’d slept in felt cold, frozen, as if he hadn’t been there.

The reality hit her all at once, a cold fist to the stomach. She shot up from the bed, her legs unsteady as she stumbled to the edge of the room, scanning the small shelter. The cramped space was dim, the bare light bulb flickering in the corner, casting harsh shadows across the worn, cracked walls. She didn’t see him; not among the others who were still sleeping, nor in the corner where they had huddled together for warmth the night before.

No. No, no, no.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Panic twisted her insides as her breath quickened, her mouth dry. Her head swam with fear. Where is he?

She forced herself to breathe, trying to steady her racing thoughts. He couldn’t have just gone. He wouldn’t . He had to have stayed close. He promised. He always promised he wouldn’t wander off.

She stumbled into the hallway, her voice rising in desperation as she called out to her son.

No response.

Frantically, she turned to the shelter worker, a young woman behind the counter who was half-dressed in a bulky winter coat, sipping coffee from a chipped mug. The mother’s voice cracked as she asked, “Mi hijo? He’s... he’s not here.”

The worker blinked, startled. “Huh?”

“My son. Have you seen him?”

“Uh, he might’ve gone to the bathroom or something. Just check—”

But the mother wasn’t listening. She dashed past the worker, ignoring the muffled protests from the others who’d begun to stir at the disturbance. She didn’t care. She had to find him.

The city's frigid air struck her as she stepped through the shelter’s door. Jesus . It was just before dawn, and the cold wind pierced her lightweight jacket, chilling her skin. She wrapped her sleeves around her hands, her gaze sweeping over the deserted street, where a stretch of gray snow and slush lay before her. The dark alleys gaped wide, empty except for the occasional flickering streetlight overhead.

She called out to her son again, her voice breaking.

Her feet quickly went numb as the cold seeped into her bones, yet she pressed on. She had to; he was out there somewhere.

Her eyes darted across the street, scanning every shadow and abandoned storefront. He was out there; he had to be.

Then, something caught her eye. Just up ahead, near an alley leading to a run-down deli, she saw the skateboard her son had found in the dumpster yesterday . He had promised to wait until that morning before going skateboarding. He’s still a kid… he couldn’t wait.

She walked forward slowly, a different chill permeating her bones. The skateboard was there… but where was her son? Standing at the mouth of the alley, she looked all around. There was no trace of her son. When she bent down to pick up the board, she noticed the tire tracks, barely visible in the melting slush. Horrific thoughts filled her head—images of someone grabbing her son off his skateboard and taking him… where?

ICE. Had ICE taken him? He was only half-Hispanic and a U.S. citizen, but that seemed irrelevant these days. She had heard stories of legal immigrants being arrested and deported—some sent to terrible prisons , never to return.

Not my boy. Please, God.

She remained still, glancing around in despair, fully aware that no one would aid her in locating her son or even show concern for his disappearance. She was utterly alone.

Kneeling on the cold, wet ground, the woman hid her face in her hands, weeping as her deepest fear became reality: her child had vanished.