What happened to her?

*Tjeck*

 Inside the apartment, an eerie calmness hangs in the air, thick enough to cut through. From the kitchen, I can hear Kress and Thorn’s murmured voices, their tones low and urgent as they hover over Clay, who lies motionless on the kitchen table. Adis stands in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, biting his nails, his anxiety palpable. He hardly registers my presence, lost in his own thoughts.

 By the couch, KC squats beside a slender, seemingly unconscious girl, meticulously tending to a wound as Hope sits beside him on a stack of empty beer crates that serve as a makeshift coffee table, passing him the supplies he needs. These are the kids I worry about… the ones who have learned to care for the wounded in a world that demands far too much from them at such a young age. In the underworld, children grow up alarmingly fast. It’s a stark reality when a fifteen-year-old acts as a nurse to a seventeen-year-old battling injuries from the street.

 I know Kress and Thorn will call for me if they need my help, so I decide to investigate the girl they’ve found. 

 Kattie was right. This girl bears an uncanny resemblance to Amber. Long, dark hair cascades in natural curls, framing a slightly round, doll-like face with a subtly crooked nose. A familiar beauty mark graces her ear, and I don’t need to see her eyes to know they would be the same warm hazel as Amber’s had been. I recognize her face so well because I watched Amber after she died, trying to unravel the mystery of how two brothers could become mortal enemies over her, how her death could somehow end a war without a clear victor.

 “I know it,” KC murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he stitches up a gash on her arm with hands far too skilled for his age. “She looks like Amber. But it isn’t her.”

 “Amber has been in her grave for two years. She’d definitely be less pretty if we dug her up,” I point out, kneeling beside KC. My gaze catches what looks like a bullet wound at the back of the girl’s head.

 I don’t need to ask Hope; she instinctively hands me a small flashlight and a scalpel. In moments like this, she’s as knowledgeable as the older members trained in medical care. Reality has been her harsh tutor.

 “What happened to her? Do you have any idea?” I ask, leaning closer to examine the injury.

 “She got caught in the middle of our shootout with Zombie,” KC replies, his voice still hushed, as if afraid the walls might have ears. “Someone hit her in the back of the head, but she has a lot more injuries that aren’t from the battle.”

 “Do you know who she is?” I ask, holding the flashlight between my lips, muffling my words. I need both hands to make a precise incision and remove the bullet. It’s incredible that she survived this.

 “Sarah Nobel,” KC whispers, casting a furtive glance at Adis. I have to close my eyes for a moment, the weight of the name sinking in. The Nobels are one of the seven packs that practically run Catrista. They have ties to the board of directors that currently keep our existence hidden from the country’s president, but they could expose us at any moment, igniting a battle we can’t win.

 I say nothing as I carefully place the bullet on the table. Hope quickly hands me something to clean away the blood, then a needle and thread to close the wound.

 “How did she end up down here with us?” The question escapes my lips mostly to myself, though KC answers anyway.

 “My best guess is The Suns.” He meets my gaze, the gravity of his words sinking in.

 The Suns are notorious for making people disappear without a trace, for torturing and teaching lessons, not only to the inhabitants of the underworld but also to the wealthy packs of Catrista who can afford their prices. It’s a logical deduction.

 “Unless she ran off on her own to be here,” I suggest, though the idea feels flimsy.

 “She hasn’t got the brains,” KC shakes his head. “The girls of the upper class are pretty but stupid. That’s how their fathers and later their husbands want them. Stupid she-wolves don’t ask questions.” His harsh words ring true. If the she-wolves of the upper class packs were smarter, surely more of them would find their way to us.

 “The question is why… and who paid them to take her?” KC’s brow furrows as he contemplates the girl.

 “It isn’t just Sunny who’s hurt her,” Hope chimes in. “Look at her neck and wrists. The Suns never keep their hostages for more than a couple of days.”

 Hope is right. I see the marks… most likely from ropes around her neck, and her wrists bear the scars of being cut open multiple times, perhaps from thin ropes or handcuffs. This isn’t Sunny’s doing.

 “It isn’t easy being a daughter of the upper class,” KC states dryly, his voice tinged with understanding. He, of all people, knows that. Having lived in Catrista before coming here, he’s seen the darkness behind the façade. “Let’s move her into a bed.”

 Gently, I lift her from the couch. She feels so small and delicate in my arms, almost fragile… entirely unprepared for life among us.

 Once she’s laid in the bed, I carefully remove her clothes to inspect her bruises and abrasions. Her skin bears more scars and marks than any of ours, and we live amidst weapons. That alone sends a wave of worry coursing through me.

 “I know it’s stupid to let her stay here, but I don’t want to send her back to that treatment,” KC says behind me. He reminds me of myself at his age… eager to learn, impatient to grow up and be taken seriously. His dedication and maturity will surely carve a promising path for him among us, but I can’t help but worry what that path might eventually lead to.