KAIA

I stare at the moon through Vincent's bedroom window, my knees pulled to my chest. The clock on the nightstand reads 3:47 AM. I haven't slept. Can't sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, I see that mother's face. The one who lost her seven-year-old son. The raw hatred in her eyes when she looked at me.

Forty-seven dead. Twelve children.

And the number keeps climbing in my head, even though I know that's all of them. My brain won't stop adding imaginary bodies to the count. What about the next ...