It's been six months and six days exactly since the trial. At first sight, Camila lashed out at Hartley, though she hadn't managed to get her hands on her. As a result, she'd missed her first chance at parole. Those three months became difficult as Camila acted out at every opportunity, seemingly hopeless or, perhaps, willingly sabotaging herself. She was reluctant to change the way she lived, still opting to eat in her cell and stay cooped up most days rather than heading into the recreation room or even the canteen, though when I joined her for lunch one day, I understood why; the glares that were thrown her way were simply vile, not to mention the crude words and, at some points, food that joined them. I managed to get through to her, though. This second quarter-year, she's knuckled down, been on her absolute best behaviour, and listened closely as I tried to teach her just how to be good. Through it, she's shown me a little more of herself, the parts of her I'm slowly growing more and more besotted with. She's holding back, too, though. There's something she's not telling me, something that makes her shrink and change the conversation. I put it down to simple nerves, which is more than understandable.

"Ready?" I ask softly, reaching out for her hand.

She nods slowly, slipping her hand into mine. With her free arm, she holds each of her few belongings that Dinah brought to the cell for us. I squeeze her hand as we make our way to the exit, and she smiles weakly in return. I didn't think it was possible, but she looks even smaller than usual in her outside clothes, clad in a stained tank top and a torn pair of sweatpants, the clothes in which she'd been arrested. Her shoes, the converse she wore in the van, had been taken in as evidence and lost somewhere within the system, so she's been allowed to keep the shoes she's worn for the past three years or so.

"Well..." I sigh as I clamber into the car, looking over to where she sits in the passenger seat, her seatbelt already fastened securely. "Where are we headed?"

She shrugs, toying with a loose thread from her sweatpants. "Their- um, my house, I guess."

I frown, watching as she shifts to slip her shoes off before pulling her feet up onto the seat, hiding behind her knees. "You don't seem too happy about that."

Slowly, she looks over to me, only to flick her eyes back to her lap. Her voice is low, quiet, and muffled slightly by her pout when she explains, "It'll probably be the last place I go."

"What?" I almost yell, taking my hands off the wheel and turning to face her properly, "Don't say that."

She shrugs again, looking out of the window. "Everyone knows where it is. Doesn't matter what the jury thought, La Familia are gonna think different. Start the car, I'll give you directions as we go."

"Camila, I-" I pause as a thought crosses my mind. There's no harm in offering, right? "Why don't you stay with me?"

She whips her head around, a wide-eyed expression on her face. "You... wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not. I have a comfy sofa, or... y'know. We can make it work."

She brings her lip between her teeth but smiles, and I can't help but smile back. Hers drops suddenly, though. "Sofi!" She exclaims, "I have to go back for Sofi."

"She can stay with us, too, if you want."

At that, she drops her jaw and slowly lowers her feet back to the ground. "You're sure?"

I nod, laughing when she launches herself at me only to be caught by the seatbelt. Groaning in frustration, she quickly unbuckles herself before trying again, this time successfully wrapping her arms around my neck as she kisses my cheek.

"You're lucky I parked around the back." I chuckle, holding her for a moment before gently pushing her back into her seat.

"Eh," She smiles. "I'm not your patient anymore, right? 'Cause I'm not... holy fuck, I'm not an inmate anymore." She laughs, tipping her head back against her seat. Once she recovers, she fastens herself in again, turning to me with a grin. "Alright, let's go find Sofi."

"Let's go find your sister." I nod, finally turning my key in the ignition.

...

(Camila's POV)

Lauren is parked a little ways down the street, to keep her out of harm's way if anything goes wrong, and I've told her to leave if I'm not back within the hour. I can't risk her getting dragged into my mess if members are hanging around, waiting for my return.

I shiver as I creep around the house. It's so... eerily normal. Nothing has changed from what I remember, though I hadn't exactly expected it to. I catch a glimpse of the door to the basement, slightly ajar, and memories hit me, knocking the wind out of me and sending me stumbling back until I collide with the wall behind me.

No. I squeeze my eyes shut and picture the beach, the beach with a green-ish ocean to look like Lauren's eyes. That was before. They're gone now. I'm safe. I have Lauren, and I have to find Sofi.

"Sofi!" I call out, continuing through the living room. I grimace when I hear a small clatter come from what is now behind me. Of course, I sigh. Of fucking course.

Peering through squinting eyes, I push open the basement door and poke my head into the darkness.

"Sofi?"

There's another sound from within. I shake my head, hurrying to the nearby sofa to find the knife stowed within the cushion. I don't bother pushing the stuffing back into the cushion as I clench the knife's handle with a white-knuckled fist, inching once more to the door, this time crossing the threshold.

I have Lauren, and I have to find Sofi.

My eyes struggle to see in the dark, so I mostly have to go by feel as I make my way down the wooden steps into the place I so often wanted to escape. A damp smell suffocates me. Once I reach the bottom, I hold out a hand to find the light switch my parents forbade me to use. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling flickers to life, buzzing in protest as it casts its dim glow over the concrete wall, revealing many-a mouldy patch. I tug the front of my shirt up over my mouth and nose as I push through the room, trying desperately not to look to the corner I often laid. I make my way to a door on the other side, leading to the room my parents would usually use to conduct the acts they were going to do in the van that night. They only reason they didn't was that they were using it to start training Sofi up.

This room is entirely covered with pallid green tiles. On either side, large rectangular tubs sit, a few feet tall, full of stagnant water. One still has a torn rag hanging on its side. Gargled screams echo off of the walls in my mind, and I grit my teeth.

"Sofia, are you in here?" I hiss, adjusting my grip on the weapon by my side.

A force hits me from behind, and the knife clatters onto the floor. I burst into action, ripping away from whatever is wrapped around my waist and spinning on my heels, poised to pounce.