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

will be here any

going to call

groped her, eliciting a piercing scream

mouse, their menacing laughter sending

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

legs propped on the steering wheel, sunglasses masking his eyes. Awakened by the rapping on

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

on her, their hands reaching for her face,

“Don’t touch me.”

“Please, let me go.”

my money,

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

others laughed as they tugged at her

girl struggled fiercely, but a punch

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

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