JANUARY

January Jennice walked the busy streets of Davilla in Potezia, dressed in a full jogging outfit with her hoodie pulled over her head. The stars twinkled above, and the crescent moon shone down. She moved like a shadow, a reflection of the life she'd lived for the past eight years since losing her parents.

She was 10 when she lost her parents, the only family she had. She didn't know or had ever seen any relatives from either side, so when they died, she was left completely alone.

Both her parents were news reporters, and their death came as a shock. On the day it happened, she was at home alone, as usual, watching the news and waiting for them to return. But as she watched, a news report came on.

The news reported that several reporters, including her parents, had died in a tornado storm while on location for a news story. Even though their van was built to withstand such storms, the tornado managed to overturn it, scattering their bodies. On hearing it, that was when her world shattered.

As if that wasn't enough, on that same day while still sobbing she heard a vehicle drive into their house and wondered who it was. She thought maybe it was the police, until she peeked through the window and saw men dressed entirely in black-and-white coveralls, holding guns. 

She realized they weren't police and ran to hide in the emergency safe room her parents had built. Her parents were wealthy, so a house with such features was normal.

The men broke into the house and began searching. "Tear the place apart. No one must know about her. Find her!" she heard one of them shout from her hiding spot. She knew she had to flee, they weren't here to help. 

She escaped through a hidden exit in the safe room that led to a sewer behind the house. Crawling out of the manhole was grueling for a 10-year-old, but she did it. That's how she ran away, never to return, believing they'd still be hunting her. 

Since then, she'd lived under a bridge on the streets, a life she'd grown used to. She learned to survive on her own, through pain and struggle, terrified the men were still hunting her. That's why she refused to trust or get close to anyone. She stayed hidden, though it wasn't easy.

The downside? She stole to survive, and she'd never been caught, until she turned 18 and vowed to stop. Now, she was returning from a restaurant job to her space under the bridge, where she kept a few clothes and shoes. 

As she walked, hands in her hoodie pockets, the cool night breeze brushed her skin. She'd been working hard to save for an apartment and finally leave the streets for good. Nearing her bridge, she noticed a commotion ahead, a group of men in casual clothes, two holding a young man, blocking the sidewalk. She tried to slip past, focused on getting home. 

But as she edged through the crowd, the young man suddenly shouted: "That's her! She's the one behind everything!" January glimpsed him pointing at her. 

She tried to hurry, but one of the men blocked her path. "She's the one, I swear!" the guy kept yelling. 

"I'm Detective James. We need to ask you some questions," the man said, flashing his badge. 

"You've got the wrong person," January insisted. 

"Can't let you go. You're coming with us," Detective James replied. 

"You can't just harass strangers! I don't know what this is about!" she snapped. Behind them, another detective gripped the shouting guy by the collar, handcuffs on his wrists. 

"Just tell them you hid the drugs! We're caught—stop pretending you don't know me!" the guy pleaded. 

"Are you insane? What drugs? Who are you?" January demanded. 

"I'll swear under oath the drugs are stashed where she lives!" the guy declared. 

"Ma'am, you'll need to show us your residence," Detective James said firmly. 

"Look, I know this is confusing, but let me be clear: I don't know him. I've never met him, and I don't have a residence. Please excuse me—I need to go," January said, trying to walk past, but the detective grabbed her arm. 

"You're not going anywhere. Either show us your residence or come with us," the other detective barked. 

"You're harassing me, and you're not even police!" January snapped. 

"Wrong. I am a police officer," Detective James said, flashing a second badge. 

"You can't seriously believe this guy! He's framing me!" She turned to the man. "There's a mix-up here. I don't know you. Tell them you've mistaken me for someone else!"

"You think you can deny me now? Unbelievable," the guy spat. 

"This is getting out of hand," January breathed, her voice low. 

"Everyone, calm down," Detective James ordered. 

"Fine. If you claim to know me, what's my name?" January challenged. 

"Your name is January," the guy said smugly. 

Her eyes widened in shock. 

"Your reaction says it all. You're taking us to your apartment. Now," Detective James demanded. 

"I don't have an apartment. I live under a bridge. But if you insist on searching for drugs I know nothing about, let's go. It's not far," she said coldly. 

The two detectives nodded, flanking her as they walked, the guy trailing behind. With every step, January's gut screamed that something was terribly wrong. 

When they arrived at the space under the bridge where she lived, there were only two bags and a thin foam mattress. 

"You live here?"Detective James asked. She didn't answer. 

"How do you survive here? As a girl? Oh, right—you do drugs. Should've guessed. You've done a good job acting poor to hide your tracks," he sneered. 

"Don't you dare say that!" January shouted, filled with rage. "You have no right! Say anything else, but don't accuse me of faking this life. I've been through hell, and you stand here judging me? I dare you to say it again!" 

The detectives froze. 

"Search the place. That's what you came for," she hissed. 

Detective James began rifling through the two bags. The first held a few worn clothes. As he reached for the second, January noticed the guy smirking, as if he'd already won. But when the detective upended the bag, there was nothing.