Chapter 2

I told them Owen's name.

One of the older officers exchanged a look with his partner when he heard it.

I couldn't read that look, but it made my heart sink.

They took me back to the station, handed me a blanket, and then came an endless wait.

Hours later, the older officer walked over and placed a document before me.

He said, "Miss Walters, we checked the nearby surveillance cameras, but the angle was off, so nothing clear was captured.

"Your phone's busted, so we couldn't pull any evidence from it."

He looked at me, his voice was emotionless.

"So, for now, we can't open a case," he added.

I jerked my head up, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"There's not enough evidence?" I blurted out.

He avoided my gaze, his voice dropping even lower.

"Trust me, kid, let it go. Don't pick fights you can't afford," he said.

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone on the cold chair, feeling like I'd been plunged into freezing darkness.

By the time I left the station, dawn was breaking. The morning mist in Suham City was damp and cold, wrapping around me like an invisible web, trying to keep me trapped. My pockets were empty; I didn't even have enough for a bus ride.

I trudged along the river back to my shoebox apartment of barely 100 square feet. With every step, the pain in my knee grew sharper.

But all I could think about was taking Owen to court.

The thought burned in my gut, making every part of me ache. If I didn't know the law, I'd learn it. If I didn't have evidence, I'd hunt for it. But no way would I let this go.

Back at my apartment, I dug out the small wooden box hidden under my bed. Inside was everything I owned, and an old silver bracelet.

On the inside of the bracelet was a faded engraving of the word "Claire." My mom had slipped it off her own wrist and fastened it onto mine before I left for Suham City.

I stared at it for a long time, then slipped it into my pocket and headed out, walking into the cheapest pawnshop in Suham City. The few hundred pounds I got for it were all I had to fight back with.

With my broken language and a translation app, I managed to find a cheap lawyer, a grizzled old man named Herman Barnett. Herman's office looked more like a storage closet than a law firm.

I shoved all the money I could scrape together across his desk, my voice hoarse but unwavering. "I want to sue him for assault, robbery, and humiliation."

Herman counted the cash, glanced at the bruise on my forehead, and sighed. Then he nodded, agreeing to take my case.

He sent me to the hospital to get my injuries officially documented, then went with me to track down a few witnesses who'd been there that night.

Some people wanted nothing to do with it the moment they heard Owen's name, but after Herman talked to them, a few hesitantly agreed to speak up. For that week, it felt like there was finally a glimmer of hope.

However, hope faded fast.

Herman was the first to call, sounding exhausted. "Claire, the witnesses all changed their stories. They say they were too far away to see anything."

I gripped the phone, my palm icy. "Why?"

"I don't know," Herman said, his voice heavy with defeat. "Maybe someone got to them."

Next came the restaurant where I worked. I was in the back washing dishes when a group of stylish guys and girls strolled in. Leading them was the same tall guy who'd kicked my knee that night.

He let out a cocky whistle, swinging a bucket of dirty liquid in his hand. "Hey, isn't this the exchange student? Still scrubbing dishes here?"

His friends burst out laughing, whipping out their phones to record.

The manager rushed over, his face drained of color.

The tall guy didn't glance at the manager. He strode right up to me and poured the bucket of dirty water over my head.

The foul-smelling liquid splashed over my face, stinging my eyes and seeping into my mouth.

"Heard you're trying to sue Mr. Fleming? Are you crazy?" he sneered, slapping my face hard. "Here's a lesson for you. Get smart."

They laughed loudly and swaggered out, leaving me standing there.

Five minutes later, the manager handed me my wages and told me to go.

"Claire, I'm sorry, but we're a small place. We can't handle big shots like you," he said.

I didn't argue. I took the money, stripped off my soaked uniform, and left quietly. I felt like a plague.

I didn't dare step outside anymore. Owen's friends were like ghosts. They always seemed to know exactly where I'd be, waiting for me.

I managed to land three temp jobs, but they ruined every single one the same way.

My landlord gave me an ultimatum too. If I didn't pay the rent, he'd kick me out.

I holed up in my apartment, feeling like a rat hiding in its burrow.

My mom's profile picture stared back at me from my phone screen. I tapped it several times, hesitated, and kept backing out. In the end, I finally called her.

"Hey, Claire, how's it going? Are you busy with school? Do you have enough money?" Mom's voice was as gentle as ever.