After the battle is over I run up to Lea and ask, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Lea sighs, getting up from the cook. "I'm not sure about the guy, though."

Speaking of the cook, the old man lifts his head off the floor and brushes the pieces of glass off his button-down uniform.

"What the hell?" he croaks, looking around the ruined kitchen. "Who broke all the lights? And why is there blood-"

"Go to sleep," I command.

The cook passes out while I grab Lea by the hand and then pulls her to her feet.

I wince at the cuts and bruises on our skins and murmurs, "At least the cuts aren't too deep. I am glad you're safe—"

"POLICE!" someone yells.

A swarm of police officers burst into the kitchen with their guns pointed at us.

Frustrated, Lea kneels on the floor and holds up her hands to signify the cops she was unarmed. As for me, they look at the blood on my dress and hands until my wounds start closing by themselves.

The cops look at me weird but slap the bracelets on me then hauled me and Lea to the station. Lea was taken to see a different officer while the cop forces me to go to an interrogation room.

As he forces me to move, I walk past an empty desk with a family photo of a Hispanic woman and three kids standing outside of an Abraham & Straus store. I stare at the silver frame until I notice a small piece of paper with their names glued on the bottom.

"Mackenzie, Joseph, and Diego Cortez." I read to myself.

Suddenly, the gears begin to shift inside my head. The cop behind starts pushing me to the interrogation room, but I ignored him and sit down in the blue chair.

There's nothing I hate more than being in an interrogation room. The lighting is terrible, the dark blue walls make me nauseous, and my cramps have gotten worse to the point where I feel like a sewing needle is stabbing my stomach.

Although I changed my tampon, it's hard for me to sit through three hours of bullshit when I haven't taken my ibuprofen yet.

A dark brown curl dangles before my gaze until I deftly brushes the lock away and tucks it behind my right ear. I stoop down to tie the laces of my slightly scuffed sneakers and leans against the chair.

Her gaze remains fixed on the one-way mirror until Detective Lila Cortez sits before her. The woman's brunette hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her outfit consists of a sleek black jacket and a pale blue button-up blouse. The flickering lights cast eerie shadows against her dark gray dress pants and black slip-on sneakers as she persistently prods the witch for a confession.

Believe it or not, I knew Lila when I was a kid. Having run-ins with me in the past, Lila had arrested me for breaking into houses, blackmail, and getting mixed up with unsavory characters.

I think despite my troubled history, Lila saw potential in me and recommended me to Prometheus, hoping he could steer me towards a better path. I did change, of course. I hung out with kids my age and dated a boy I like.

Then, after Prometheus died, I dropped out of college and delved into the risky world of freelance private investigation and monster hunting for money.

Shaking my head, Lila told me how disheartened I was by my actions. That she thought I could change, but now all Lila can think of throwing me in jail.

I lean my elbow on the gray table and wearily gazes at the images of myself and my friends slaughtering monsters. From headless horse riders to vulture-like demons, my adventures have been recorded in pictures.

There was no doubt a witness saw them in action. A part of me wanted to hate myself from being exposed, but the other was surprised that the witness snapped photos of me in an unflattering light.

"That wasn't us," I lied. "They must be a group of shapeshifters or something."

Lila gives me a skeptical look. "Really? There's no need...