The city didn't care if I lived or died.
I learned that a long time ago.
I pulled my coat tighter around my thin frame as I walked, the wind cutting through the holes in the fabric. My boots—worn and a size too small—scuffed against the pavement with every step. My fingers were numb, my stomach twisted in painful knots, but hunger had become an old friend.
I had gone two days without food.
Not the longest I'd ever gone, but long enough that every smell, every discarded wrapper on the sidewalk, made my mouth water.
Tonight, I was trying my luck at The Haven, a nearby shelter. It wasn't a place I liked going to—not because I was picky, but because places like that made you feel even smaller. It was packed with people like me, each one with their own story, their own tragedy. And some of them were far worse off than I was.
The shelter came into view—a dull gray building tucked between two larger ones. A few people stood outside, bundled in layers of mismatched clothing, murmuring among themselves.
I exhaled in relief. Maybe tonight I'd get a meal. Maybe even a bed.
I stepped inside, immediately hit by the scent of stale coffee and sweat. The large room was filled with rows of cots, most of them already occupied. A group of volunteers moved around, handing out sandwiches and bottles of water.
I got in line, my stomach clenching as I watched them hand out food.
When I reached the front, a middle-aged woman in a faded green sweater smiled at me. "Here you go, sweetheart." She placed a peanut butter sandwich and a bottle of water into my hands.
I forced a smile. "Thank you."
I moved to an empty chair in the corner and peeled the sandwich open, eating in small bites to make it last. It wasn't much, but it was something.
I was halfway through my meal when I felt eyes on me.
A man sat a few feet away, watching me. He was older, maybe in his forties, with a thick beard and a sharp, assessing gaze. His clothes were just as tattered as everyone else's, but there was something off about him.
I didn't like the way he was looking at me.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned away, focusing on my food.
"Never seen you here before," the man said.
I ignored him.
A chair scraped against the floor, and a second later, he was sitting across from me.
"Where you from, girl?" he pressed.
I tightened my grip on my sandwich. "Does it matter?"
He chuckled, low and amused. "Not really. Just curious. Pretty thing like you shouldn't be alone in a place like this."
I stiffened. There it was—the same predatory tone I'd learned to recognize. The same one I'd spent years avoiding.
I stood quickly, shoving the rest of my sandwich into my pocket. "I should go."
The man reached out, his fingers brushing my wrist. "No need to rush."
Ice slid down my spine.
I yanked my arm back, heart pounding, and turned toward the exit.
When I looked back, his smirk sent a wave of nausea through me.
My chest tightened as I stepped onto the sidewalk, the cold air a sharp contrast to the heat crawling over my skin. I needed to get away. Far away.
I knew what men like that wanted.
And I knew what happened when they got it.
I kept walking, each step quicker than the last. The night was growing darker, the streets quieter, and I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to the shelter.
Not after that.
I pulled my coat tighter around myself, cutting through the quieter streets where I usually stayed. If I could make it to my usual alley, I'd be fine. I'd curl up under the fire escape, tuck myself into the corner, and let the night pass.
But as I turned the corner, I saw something I shouldn't have.
I barely had time to register what was happening before the sound of a gunshot shattered the silence.
I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from gasping.
A man was on his knees, his hands bound behind his back. His body jerked once before going still, blood pooling beneath him.
Two men stood in front of him.
One was built like a soldier, his face blank. The other…
Tall. Calm. Dangerous.
His black coat barely moved in the wind, his dark eyes cold and unreadable.
"piece of shit" he mumbled
Panic seized my chest.
Without thinking, I turned and ran.
Footsteps pounded behind me.
I sprinted, cutting through narrow alleys, my lungs burning. But I was no match for them.
A hand wrapped around my wrist, yanking me backward with terrifying strength. I crashed against a hard chest, and before I could scream, an arm locked around my waist.
A deep voice murmured against my ear.
"Running was a mistake."
I struggled, kicking, clawing, but it was useless. Big burly men surrounded me, their expressions blank.
A man-who I suppose is their leader- stepped forward, his dark gaze pinning me in place.
"Kill her?" one of his men asked.
My body went rigid.
He tilted his head, as if considering it. As if my life was just a passing thought.
Terror clawed at my throat. My entire body trembled, but somehow, I found my voice.
"Please," I whispered. "I didn't see anything."
A lie. A bad one.
His lips curved slightly, but it wasn't a smile.
"You saw everything," he said.
I swallowed hard. "I won't tell anyone. I swear."
His eyes flicked to his men. "Take her."
Panic exploded in my chest. "Wait—"
A cloth pressed over my mouth. The world tilted.
Then everything went dark.