The shop’s proprietor was in the midst of a battle against flies. Estelle replenished her bag with bread and energy bars, topping off her supplies with a bottle of soda.

As she browsed the aisles, a group of men approached a table where a solo young lady sat. They encircled her, their words a jumble of another language and gibberish.

“Hi, beautygirl.”

“Hey there, where you off to?”

“Looking for a place to stay?”

“Can I love you?”

Their eyes were fixed on the girl, their sneers dripping with malice. Startled, the girl stood up, clutching her purse, and hurried toward the exit.

The men were quick to follow, once again enclosing her, escalating from catcalls to unwanted touches.

Waving her purse frantically, the girl shouted,

know you, back

boyfriend will be here

going to call the

scuffle, one of the men groped her, eliciting a

cats with a mouse, their

Cullinan, pounding on the windows, “Help me, please. Somebody,

the car, a man lay reclined, legs propped on the steering wheel, sunglasses masking his eyes. Awakened by the rapping on the glass, he opened his striking brown eyes only

car, the girl dashed back toward the store, seeking refuge with the indifferent store owner. Such incidents were all too common in a place like Citadel, and the owner

on her, their

“Don’t touch me.”

“Please, let me go.”

my money, just let

the girl grabbed a leftover food tray from a table and smashed it into one of their faces, food and sauce splattering. The man wiped his face clean, revealing a sinister scowl before slapping the girl

others laughed as they tugged at her

fiercely, but a punch to her face

stepping out with her soda in hand, witnessed the scene. She paused, took a swig of her drink, and

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