Page 2 of Shades of Silver City

Veering to the left to avoid a few trash cans, I end up tripping over a man hunched in a corner, smoking.

“Watch it, bitch!” he yells as I run away.

Gritting my teeth, I restrain myself from voicing my thoughts.

I wouldn't be in a hurry to get to work if Mellie didn't have to get home to her son. Because of me, she's already been stuck working for an hour past the end of her shift, and it weighs on my heart.

Relief washes over me when I catch sight of Pub Path, the bustling pedestrian street in the city center known for its bars. My pace quickens, and my lungs start to burn as I make a beeline for it, only for my boot to catch on something.

My arms flail as I go flying.

I slam into the cement, my knees and palms taking the impact. The collision causes a surge of pain to shoot through my body, and tears prick my eyes.

After taking a few deep breaths, I sit back on my haunches and wipe my palms on my jeans. When the pain lessens, I glance back to see what I tripped over.

Sprawled facedown on the pavement is a girl.

There’s a serious drug problem in the city.

“Hey,” I say. “Wake up.”

Standing up, I nudge her with the toe of my boot.

She doesn’t move. I reach down to shake her shoulder.

Nothing.

Dread creeps up my spine as I crouch down, ignoring my sore knees, to inspect her.

“Hey,” I repeat.

I brush her hair away, uncovering a face that’s too pale, with purple lips and bloodshot eyes.

Screaming, I jolt backward and fall on my ass.

My hands shake as I take in her appearance. She can’t be older than fifteen or sixteen. A smoky haze surrounds her body—a grey soul-shade—indicative of her demise.

I missed it initially, so used to vibrant colors that the grey blended right in with the cement. And I’ve only seen grey once before.

The only other time I’ve seen a dead body…

An image of my parents flashes in my mind.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head.

I should call the Silver Scouts. Report the death. Clearly no one else has.

But I can’t.

My stomach roils. I jump up and run to the closest dumpster, deeper in the alley, barely making it before spewing my stomach’s contents.

The sobs come before I can swallow them down.

“Hey!” a deep voice calls. “Are you all right?”

My legs threaten to give out—wobbling from exhaustion and shock. Someone gently cups my arm, steadying me and rubbing my back in soothing circles.

“I’m fine,” I say hoarsely. “There’s a…” I swallow, glancing toward the girl. “She’s—”

---