Nia Mitchell had a long dream, in which many things were quite surreal. She stood there, a long corridor stretching before her. Then, with a sudden shift, it transformed into a deserted, desolate path.
"Dad, run."
In her dream, they didn't just sit and wait for death, nor did they hand over the money. They kept running, running endlessly.
But they were still caught.
The smiles on those men's faces, and every kick and blow from their assault, landed on Mr. Mitchell.
Blood. Blood was everywhere—a sea of crimson.
"Dad! Dad! Dad!"
Nia Mitchell shouted, waving her hands incessantly.
Frowning, she screamed desperately, trying to call for help, but it felt as if her throat was constricted, rendering her speechless.
"No! No! BOO HOO HOO..."
Molly Harguez was dozing fitfully by Aldy Mitchell's bedside, her brow furrowed in unease.
Suddenly, the sound of Nia Mitchell crying nearby startled her awake.
"Nia?"
She immediately walked over, her face pale, and gently shook Nia.
