Each day, Calla and her fragile heart are that little bit closer to death... but before she goes she'll prove to the world the boy she loves is no murderer.
🖤🖤🖤
With a life steeped in wealth and privilege, Calla Pierce should be protected from t...
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The damp air carries the scent of rot. The canal by my side looks thick, more like seaweed-coloured oil than water. Graffiti marks the bridge I pass under - tags, burn marks and dirt cover the wall. The ripples reflect on the concrete above my head.
Around me tower blocks loom, and grey is everywhere. I feel it like a cage. My feet crunch on the path, otherwise, the world is silent, the air still. I'd snuck out while everyone was still asleep. I'm not sure I can avoid my parents noticing me gone, but I couldn't risk waiting any longer. I don't trust Davey Taggart and now Leon knows who I am, there's even more danger. I didn't trust that I could move through the city alone, without eyes on me, so I'd left whilst the sun was still low. The cool air is pleasant against my skin.
My large coat covers the wire and straps of my battery pack, but mainly I'm wearing it to keep my head low. Every now and again, I glance down at my phone, trying to match the surrounding area with what I see on the screen - photos of my wall covered with Owen's own photos.
I knew it was a long shot. But I'd seen enough photos of Owen around these canals whilst I'd been searching for him to know he was connected to this place. It mattered to him. And if I was alone like he was, and needed to hide, I'd go somewhere I knew. Somewhere I felt connected to.
There are warehouses up ahead, separated from the path alongside the canal by an intimidating-looking metal fence. Row after row of small storage buildings, most decrepit and abandoned. Windows smashed, some boarded up. Enough graffiti to let me know there was a way in somehow. Something about this place seems to chime a note of recognition. I stop, glancing around again - on the wall on the opposite side of the canal, I see it. The graffiti from Owen's photo.
My chest tightens. This is the place.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and make my way closer to the fence. There's no obvious way in, so I follow the fence around the circumference of the building. I peer in through the gaps, but there's no life inside. All the warehouses look barren. Off the path, the land is overgrown. Nettles scratch at my skin and I stumble over empty beer cans.
I've grown hot, and frustrated by the time I find the broken slats in the fence. The gap is narrow, but after looking around to check no one is nearby, I duck down and slip inside. My coat catches on the broken edge. Swearing under my breath, I tug on the fabric. My feet slip in the mud and I stumble, tumbling onto the ground and hearing my coat tear. My hands break my fall, and I feel my palms burn as they scrape against the ground. I fall back on my hunches and brush off the dirt from my clothes. Ignoring the throbbing and grit digging into the skin of my hands.
Slowly, I drag my body up and look around. The sunrise is climbing higher in the distance, golden light shimmering across the broken glass and muddy puddles. There are dozens of warehouses. Each a mirror image of the next, some barely more than the skeletal remains of their former structure. I make my way to the nearest building, but in truth, I have no idea what I'm looking for. Though the space looks deserted, I can't be certain there aren't alarms or security of some kind. I can't risk searching each one without drawing attention to myself, and Owen could stay in any of them without leaving any evidence.
