The walk to Sunnydale Hospital felt longer than it should have. By the time I pushed through the sliding doors, the sterile smell of disinfectant hit me like a wall.
The lobby was quiet, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I went straight to the desk, my bag heavy at my side.
The young nurse looked up, recognition flickering in her eyes. "You're back," she said softly. "Checking on your mother?"
I nodded, my throat tight. "How is she?"
Her expression softened, but there was caution there too. "She's stable. Still weak, but resting. The doctors say she's holding on."
Relief washed through me, sharp and fleeting. "Can I see her?"
The nurse hesitated, glancing at the chart in front of her. "Visiting hours are almost over, but… I'll make an exception. Just keep it brief."
I leaned forward, my voice low, urgent. "I don't care if it's five minutes. I just need to see her."
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Room 214. But don't wake her if she's asleep."
I swallowed hard, gripping the strap of my bag. "Thank you."
"She'll be glad you came back. Don't let her see how scared you are," her voice softer now.
I didn't answer. My chest was already tight, my steps heavy as I moved toward the room where my mother lay.
The hallway smelled of antiseptic and stale air, the hum of machines echoing faintly behind closed doors. My chest tightened with every step toward Room 214.
I pushed the door open slowly. The lights inside were dim and the blinds half drawn. My mother lay in the bed, pale against the sheets, her chest rising shallow but steady. Bandages wrapped her neck, hiding the wound but not the truth.
I froze in the doorway, my bag slipping from my shoulder. For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
A nurse was beside her bed. "She's resting."
moving closer. "She looks… weaker."
The nurse adjusted the IV line, her hands steady. "She's healing. It takes time. But she's stronger than she looks."
I sat down beside the bed, my fingers trembling as I reached for her hand. It was cold and fragile, but it twitched faintly against mine.
"She knows you're here," the nurse said gently. "Even if she can't speak yet."
The nurse lingered a moment, then stepped back toward the door. "I'll give you some time."
The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the steady hum of machines and the fragile rhythm of her breathing.
I bowed my head, my voice breaking. "I should've been faster. I should've stopped it before—"
I squeezed my mother's hand, whispering, "I'm here. I won't leave you."
I leaned closer, my forehead brushing the back of her hand. "I'll kill them, Mom. I swear it. They won't touch you again."
Her fingers twitched once more, faint but real. And for the first time since the bus, I felt easy.
Time slipped by in the dim room, the steady hum of machines marking each moment. I sat with her until the nurse returned, her shoes soft against the tile.
She gave me a small smile. "You should get some rest too."
I nodded, reluctant to let go of my mother's hand. "Thank you… for letting me see her."
The nurse's eyes softened. "She'll need you strong when she wakes. Go home, and rest."
I rose slowly, my bag heavy at my side, my chest tight. I whispered a final word to my mother—"I'll be back"—then stepped into the hallway.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I walked toward the exit. The smell of antiseptic clung to me, but outside, the air was cooler, sharper.
I said goodbye to the nurse at the desk, her voice gentle as she wished me well. Then I pushed through the sliding doors, the night air swallowing me whole.
on my walk home My stomach started to twist—I hadn't eaten since morning, and the hospital air had left me hollow.
The neon sign buzzed faintly above the take‑out place, the smell of fried noodles drifting into the street. I pushed inside, ordered quickly, and waited as the clerk slid a greasy paper bag across the counter. The warmth of it hit my palm, sharp and comforting.
I stepped back into the night, into the street. I was halfway down the block when movement caught my eye.
She was there—the girl from Meyer Sport & Tackle. Hoodie sleeves swallowing her hands, legs pumping as she sprinted across the sidewalk. She just bolted straight toward a narrow alley, swallowed by shadows.
Two men followed. two old men in dark suits. Their pace wasn't frantic but steady and deliberate. Predators who knew their prey couldn't escape.
Without hesitation I followed them.
I slipped into the alley after them. The air was damp and sour with garbage and rust.
The girl had stopped halfway down, her back pressed against a chain-link fence, hoodie sleeves swallowing her hands. Her eyes were sharp, but her chest rose fast, betraying fear.
My grip tightened on my backpack. I dropped it to the ground. My hand slid inside, fingers brushing the knife's hilt.
One of the men spoke, his voice low, gravelly. "You shouldn't have run, Amber."
Amber. The name hit me like a spark.
Amber's chin lifted, defiant despite the fear in her eyes. "I'm not scared of you."
The second man adjusted his tie, his tone colder. "Where's your father?"
"I'll die first before telling you, counsel puppets, where my father is."
The first man stepped closer, his hand brushing the inside of his coat. "I don't want to kill you, little girl; you were not on the list. Now speak."
Amber spat at the ground, hoodie sleeves brushing the fence. "Take that list and shove it."
The second man's smile thinned. "Mouthy little brat." He lunged forward, reaching for her arm.
That's when I moved. "Hey, leave her alone."
The suited men turned toward me, their attention snapping away from Amber. My knife flashed faintly in the dim light, but before I could even raise it, she acted.
Amber's hand darted into her hoodie pocket. In a blur, she pulled a knife, steel glinting under the flickering alley light.
She twisted his grip with surprising strength. In a single, fluid motion, she drove the blade across his neck.
His eyes widened, shock freezing him as he staggered back, clutching at the wound.
I stood frozen, my breath caught, the crimson knife trembling in my hand. I hadn't expected her to move like that—fast, precise, merciless.
The second man's face twisted, rage replacing his cold composure. "You little—"
He lunged at her, fists clenched. Amber sidestepped, her blade flashing again, but he was faster—he slammed her against the chain-link fence, steel rattling.
I snapped out of my shock, ribs screaming as I surged forward. "Hey, she's not alone."
My crimson knife caught the dim light as I swung. The blade tore across his sleeve, cutting deep into fabric, grazing skin.
He roared, shoving Amber aside, turning on me now. His fist cracked against my jaw, stars exploding in my vision. I staggered back, knife trembling.
Amber recovered instantly, darting in low. Her knife slashed across his thigh, blood blooming dark against the suit. He stumbled, but his grip was iron—he caught her wrist, twisting hard.
I lunged, His other hand swung, knuckles smashing into my ribs.
Amber snarled, twisting free, her blade cutting across his arm. He staggered, blood dripping, but still standing.
I raised my knife again, chest heaving, vision blurred. Two against one, but he was relentless.
The man's gaze snapped to me. Not to my face, but to the crimson knife in my hand. His expression shifted—shock, recognition, hunger.
"That knife…" he rasped, blood dripping from his arm. "What is it doing in your hand, boy?"
"I bought it."
Amber's eyes flicked toward me, sharp and unreadable. "Don't lose focus."
"You what!" he roared, lunging at me, fists swinging. I staggered back, ribs screaming, knife trembling, but I didn't let go.
I surged forward, rage burning through exhaustion. My knife slashed across his eye, crimson steel tearing flesh. He howled, blood spraying, but still he reached for me, for the weapon.
"Give it!" he snarled, his voice breaking. "It belongs to us!"
Amber twisted, driving her knife into his side. He staggered, knees buckling, suit darkening with blood.
He collapsed beside his partner, both suits ruined, blood pooling beneath them.
The alley went silent.
Amber stood beside me, chest heaving, her hoodie sleeves soaked. She glanced at the blade in my hand, then at me.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling now.
And then her knees gave out. She collapsed to the floor, the knife clattering from her hand.
I dropped to my knees beside her, panic clawing at my chest. Her breath was shallow, her face pale under the alley's dim light.
"Stay with me; I will take you to the hospital," I muttered, sliding the crimson knife into my jacket. My hands shook as I lifted her, her weight lighter than I expected.
"No… not the hospital. "Time takes me to the shop." Amber stirred weakly, her voice sharp even through the pain.
"Alright"
The alley stank of blood and rust, the two suited men lying silent behind us. I didn't look back.
Step by step, I carried her through the streets, the night pressing in. My ribs screamed, but I didn't stop.
Meyer Sport & Tackle loomed ahead, its windows dark, the sign unlit. The door was locked. Panic clawed at my chest.
I shifted her in my arms, pounding on the door. "Open up!" My voice cracked, desperate.
Inside, faint movement. Then the door creaked open, her father filling the frame—broad shoulders, scarred hands, and one eye narrowing as he saw me holding Amber.
"She's hurt," I blurted.
Her father's gaze hardened, unreadable. He stepped aside, letting me carry her in.
The shop smelled of oil and steel, weapons lining the walls like silent witnesses. I laid her gently on the counter, her hoodie sleeves soaked, her face pale.
Her father's hands moved fast, checking her wounds, jaw clenched. "You did the right thing, son," he muttered. "The hospital can't help with this."
I swallowed. The crimson knife burned heavier than ever.