Prudence Morgan. She cringed as the blue ballpoint pen danced across the solid black line at the bottom of the form sheâd been handed, one in a pile of many being held together by the metal bar at the top of the clipboard. Sheâd spent three days in the infirmary, if that was what they wanted to call it, upon her arrival, having been dehydrated and covered in questionable wounds. It wasnât much of a surprise that sheâd been in bad shape, having survived with very little help for a majority of the time sheâd been on the streets. It was almost laughable, as she sat on the edge of the make-shift nurseâs bed, clad in clean sweatpants despite her dirty, bloody skin, that the they were even bothering with release forms, though she was certain there was probably something hidden in the small print. There always was. âProbably just signed my death warrant.â She grumbled, assuming the paperwork was likely some sort of understanding that evictions were based on health, or something of the sort.Â
As soon as she was given the chance to leave, however, sheâd grabbed her backpack, and hurried down the hall, thankful that her body felt rested for the first time in ages. One of the nurses had explained how rooming in the building worked, and had given her the proper key and information, mentioning a full itinerary that was hung by the elevators, and naturally, that was the first thing on Prueâs mind. Was her brother safe? She could feel it in her bones, that he was still alive. But, she couldnât help but hope he was here. Quickly scanning over the list, index finger gliding across each line, she took note of the names that sounded familiar, before digging through her backpack for a small notepad and whatever writing utensil she could find. Settling on a permanent marker, she began to jot down the names and their room numbers, writing so quickly that she could barely read them by the time she made it to the appropriate floors, determined to ease her suspicions.Â
Standing in front of each door was more nerve wracking than she had anticipated. She was normally such a brave girl, afraid of nothing. But, after everything sheâd seen, she knew how foolish it was to get her hopes up that they were still alive, even as her knuckles beat against the front door.
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