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I met Anthony when I was trafficked to the UK.

The warehouse was jam-packed with children my age, some even younger. Girls were crying, while others were hiding in corners as if fear alone could earn them mercy.

Thirty-three men were in charge of all of us.

When Alina and I escaped. I helped Roman track down thirty-two of the men over the next five years, and Alec and Roman finished the job by killing them.

I couldn’t find Anthony, but I never gave up. Year after year, I kept searching for the man who had ruined thousands of innocent lives for his sick pleasure.

But to learn he abused Elara for years was my final straw.

Footsteps echo in the otherwise quiet corridor as Roman walks towards us, a gloomy look etched on his face.

He sees Alina first, standing with her back to us, shoulders shaking as she cries into the wall.

Alec stands a few steps away, watching her with desperation, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as if he can’t wait to reach for her.

His cheek is bruised, his lips swollen from where I hit him. He doesn’t smile. Heavy and suffocating regret hangs on him, the thought of Elara trying to kill herself is something none of us can fully grasp.

Roman steps forward instead and pulls Alina in a hug. She curls in his arms almost instinctively, she’s been crying for hours.

First when she learned her trafficker raped Elara for years and then even harder when she found out Elara had tried to take her own life.

“It’s alright, milaya.” Roman whispers but the sound grates on my nerves.

I look away, tears haven’t stopped and her blood on my hands is only making me spiral and relive the scene over and over in my head.

The doors finally open after six hours.

The doctor steps out, pulling off his gloves, exhaustion written across his face. His eyes find mine, landing on my chest covered in blood and I rush towards him.

“H-how is she?” My voice is croaky and almost pleading, my body trembling, itching to hit something.

“We’ve managed to stabilise her.” He speaks. “She lost a significant amount of blood, but we were able to control the bleeding in time.”

My chest tightens, but I don’t breathe. Not yet.

“There was extensive damage to both wrists.” He continues. “One of the arteries was severed, but we were able to restore blood flow. She also hit her head hard, but there’s no sign of a concussion.

“She’s out of immediate danger.” He adds, more firmly this time. “But the next twenty-four hours are critical.”

My voice comes out rough. “Will she be okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his lips pursed in a disapproving and sympathetic smile.

“She’s alive.” He says carefully. “That’s what matters right now. Recovery will take time. There may be lasting effects.” The doctor exhales slowly, as if choosing his words with care.

But I’m rigid and nervous, my legs almost wanting to give out as my heart beats at an erratic pace.

She’s alive. She’s alive.

“She’s stable for now.” He says. “But I need you to understand something.”

My chest tightens.

“This wasn’t just a physical injury. Once she’s conscious and medically cleared, we’ll be involving our psychiatric team.”

I nod, already knowing what he’s about to say.