Every sob felt like a rusted nail scratching the sides of her throat. Becca was gone. They took her.
Navaya remained on the ground, its roughness digging into her skin. Her face was wet with tears to the point it clouded her vision, the hem of her skirt stained with dirt. She had to tell someone about what happened there. She had to call someone. She needed help.
She picked herself up slowly and headed back into the building where she hoped she could get a semblance of safety. Her hand shook as she took out her phone and scrolled through her contact list. She had no idea who to call for but when her finger landed on a name, she read it out and her gut told her he was her best option.
The call connected and it was time to speak, to tell him what happened. Say something. But she couldn't, nothing came out. Sadness and guilt coiled in her throat, twisting into a knot as large as her fist.
