Damien
"Her condition has stabilized," Kevin, one of the lab doctors, announces as he withdraws a thin needle from Kaya's arm.
My pulse quickens as I watch the veins in her forearm swell, then settle, disappearing beneath the silver-dusted rivulets of her long, jagged scars. She bore those marks the first time I saw her nine years ago. Back then, I believed her story—that they were the remnants of brutal attacks from her packmates when she'd been too small to even remember the details.
But later, I learned the truth. Because people love to run their mouths, spinning lies until they sound like gospel. And the poor? The poor will swallow every word of it—because it's easier to believe in someone else's story than face the ugly truth.
***
Damien, nine years ago
