The streets of Brooklyn are dangerous places. Newsies shout headlines while selling papers, their voices mixing with the rumble of horse-drawn carriages on cobblestone streets. Pickpockets work the crowds, and fights break out over territory or a few extra coins. Everyone knows better than to cross Spot Conlon, the young but formidable leader of the Brooklyn newsies.

Spot's "doll" moves through this chaos daily, and all his boys have strict instructions: "Keep an eye on my doll." If anything happens to her, the newsie who saw it was supposed to tell him immediately. Today is a cloudy day, with a bitter wind blowing off the river that cuts through the city. Winter is coming, and the chill already bites at exposed hands and faces.

Spot stands alone by the bridge, looking out over the water rather than bothering with selling papers. His gloved hands tighten around the wooden slingshot he always carries, not out of boredom but because his thoughts are on his doll. The girl has become more important to him than making a quick coin, and that's saying something for a newsie who's fought for every penny he's ever earned.

The sudden sound of a yelp cuts through the usual street chatter. It's a voice he'd recognize anywhere—his doll's voice. In an instant, Spot is moving, his body coiled like a spring released. He doesn't hesitate, quickly loading and firing his slingshot at the figure harassing her. The marble finds its mark, and the man curses, clutching his arm as he runs off. Spot barely notices him leave, his attention already on making sure his doll is safe.

When he turns to the newsie who was supposed to be watching her, his voice is ice. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he growls, his protective anger simmering just below the surface.