Bound By Bellarmine

It wasn’t cold yet. Not really.

Some people still walked around in shirts with nothing but a blazer on top.

But once the sun went down, that stopped working.

By midnight, the street was nearly empty. One or two cars tore past, too fast to read the plates.

No pedestrians. Just the buzz of the streetlamps and the crunch of my boots on the pavement.

I wasn’t in a hurry.

My flat was close enough—fifteen minutes, maybe less—and I’d worn a proper coat.

Heavy wool, belted at the waist, warm even in the wind that whipped through Aethelburg after dark. I’d zipped it to the collar.

The walk back wasn’t bad.

I’d left late because my supervisor, fresh off a flight from Westmarch, had decided to call every single postgrad he’d ever ignored to a last-minute meeting.

Food was involved, which softened the blow.

We started at the Autogrill near the station around seven.

By half-nine, we were still going, so someone suggested The Corner.

Espresso and unfinished arguments dragged us past eleven.

I left just before they closed.

I lived alone. Had to keep myself in one piece, so I brought a coat, stuck to lit streets, didn’t drink. Standard protocol.

When I looked up, the sky was the colour of old paper, darker above the buildings. No stars. No moon.

Just a faint smell of fuel and something burnt. A bus had probably passed recently.

Then I heard it.

Faint. High-pitched.

Someone shouting for help.

It was coming from a side street just ahead.

The sound bounced off the walls, then dropped out again, like whoever it was had been dragged further in.

I ran.

The voice came again, closer this time.

Female. Young.

The alley was narrow. Concrete walls, metal bins, two flickering bulbs above a steel door.

A delivery entrance, maybe.

I stepped in far enough that I could see the shadows move. ‘I’ve already called the police.’

No one answered.

I stepped further in.

Two men. Both in dark jackets, one with a shaved head, the other in jeans stiff with something spilt down the thigh.

A girl was on the ground between them, curled in. Her arms were up, trying to cover her head.

One of the men kicked her in the ribs, then turned when he saw me.

He stared for half a second, then barked a laugh. ‘Back off, bitch. Unless you want the same.’

I stepped closer. ‘Two of you beating up a young girl doesn’t make you tough. It just makes you stupid.’

He scoffed. Took a step forward.

I moved first.

My boot caught his side and sent him into the wall. His shoulder hit with a crack.

The other one lunged at me, grabbed for my collar.

I ducked, twisted, and elbowed him in the throat.

He coughed and swung, wild and wide.

He pulled a knife from under his coat. Thick blade. Military-style.

I didn’t stop, drove my foot into his wrist.

The knife clattered onto the pavement. I caught it.

‘Leave. Now.’

The first man had blood on his mouth. He pushed off the wall, limped over, and grabbed his friend by the arm.

He pointed at me as they backed out. ‘You’ve no idea who we are. You’re fucking dead.’

The knife was still in my hand. I threw it.

It missed his ear by less than a centimetre and buried itself into the cement wall behind him. The handle vibrated.

He stared at it, then grabbed his friend tighter and ran.

The girl hadn’t moved.

She was on the ground, breathing in short, shallow bursts.

Her hands were pressed to her ribs. Sweat clung to her hairline, catching the weak light from the alley entrance.

She looked up, blinking hard.

I stood still. ‘Can you walk?’

Her voice scraped out. ‘Thank you… I don’t think I can. Could you take me to a clinic?’

I crouched beside her.

Her skin was grey under the dirt. She was curled tight, every movement stiff.

Up close, her lips were cracked, and one cheek was already swelling.

Her eyes, though, were alert.

‘There’s a clinic two blocks ahead, but it’s probably closed. I’ll call an ambulance.’

She reached for my sleeve. ‘Please don’t. I can’t go to a hospital.’

I looked at her. ‘Why not?’

She swallowed. ‘I can’t afford it. I don’t have anything on me.’

I helped her up.

She kept her head down. She leaned against me, barely touching at first, then more when her knees wobbled.

She was smaller than I’d thought, just reached my collarbone.

After a few steps, she started talking.

‘Miss, seriously, thank you. If you hadn’t shown up, they… they were going to strip me and leave me tied up all night. I’d have ended up with pneumonia or worse. It’s freezing. Do you know how cold it gets back there? And they’d already—’

‘Why were they after you?’ I asked.

‘My mum borrowed from them. Loans with interest stacked on interest. She gave them the house. Still wasn’t enough. Every time they find me, they do this.’

I looked at her properly then.

Her fringe stuck to her forehead. Her hair was dull chestnut, scraped back badly, parted off-centre. One cowlick sat stubbornly at the crown.

‘Where’s your mum now?’

She hesitated. Her hand tightened on my sleeve.

‘She jumped.’

The clinic was just ahead. Flu season had kept it running past midnight—fluorescent light poured from the glass doors.

A line of metal chairs sat empty inside. Someone coughed behind the partition.

I walked her in. ‘You can get looked at here.’

She kept her eyes down. Her grip on my coat didn’t loosen.

‘Thank you. I won’t forget this.’

Inside the light, her face looked clean. No cuts. No swelling left a mark.

But when the doctor had her shirt off, it was different.

Bruises lined her ribs, the kind that didn’t break skin.

Whoever did it had practice.