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 any

to

her, eliciting a

a mouse, their

parked Rolls-Royce Cullinan, pounding on the windows, “Help me, please. Somebody, please

steering wheel, sunglasses masking his eyes. Awakened by the rapping on the glass, he opened his striking brown

wouldn’t find her savior in the man with the 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 had no interest in getting involved. He scoffed at the girl’s naivety for

taunting men closed in on her, their hands reaching for her

“Don’t touch me.”

“Please, let me go.”

my money, just

a leftover food tray from a table and smashed it into one of their faces, food and sauce splattering. The

as they tugged at her

fiercely, but a punch to her

her soda in hand, witnessed the scene. She paused,

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