Chapter 1 — Kiera
My golden-brown hair was piled into a messy bun, a signature look that stuck no matter how I styled it. I was never the type of girl who really gave a shit about her appearance. And I should. At least that’s what everyone kept telling me.
Oh, you’re a girl.
You have to look the part.
Blah, blah, blah.
As a lawyer, I was supposed to look like the law: tailored suits, pencil skirts, and a pair of heels that clicked with purpose when I moved. Every detail of my appearance was supposed to be intentional enough to command respect without seeking attention.
But that wasn’t my style.
I dressed for comfort. Jeans. Boots. Leather jackets. Nothing sophisticated or fancy, just something real that didn’t trap me in a version of myself I barely recognized.
I loved the law and believed in justice. Even so, most of the time I didn’t trust the system to deliver it. But the system, however rigged, was my only and best shot at making sure justice prevailed.
My boots echoed across the worn-out floor as I made my way to the intake room. There, a trafficking victim was waiting for me. According to my colleague, Jake, the girl had specifically asked for me.
“Name’s July. July Morales,” he said, walking beside me, dressed in a nice suit and wearing a decent cologne. Cheap, but decent. “Twenty-two.” He handed me her file.
I accepted it mid-stride, fingers flipping through the pages. According to the file, this July girl was listed as relocated. Yet she had no fixed address and no follow-up service after relocation.
“Who handled her case?” I asked.
“State taskforce,” he answered.
We rounded a corner.
Phones rang. A copier jammed.
Someone yelled at the old vending machine after it malfunctioned yet again. It was Suzy. “Oh, c’mon!”
She wasn’t exactly known for her patience.
“Try the one downstairs,” Jake said to her as we walked past.
“Already did that—same thing!” She kicked the machine and walked away, cursing under her breath.
He chucked lightly.
Around here, there was no peace and quiet. Only chaos, the work-related kind. It was loud and lousy. But I’d already gotten used to the fast-paced environment. I thrived in it.
As we neared the intake room, he slowed down and held my hand. “Hey, uh….”
I stopped, glancing up at his face.
“Before you go in there, I want you to know this is way above our pay grade, so you might wanna tread carefully.”
I raised my brows. “When have you ever known me to tread carefully?”
“Never,” he said. “And that’s why I’m telling you this now.”
I paused, watching him in silence, studying his expression and the fear he tried to hide. It was clear that something else was going on here that he hadn’t said yet.
“According to you, she specifically asked for me, right?”
He hesitated for a split second before nodding.
