Faith kicked off her shoes and untied her hair, allowing it to be teased by the mischievous breeze. A tired sigh. Faith rubbed at her eyes and looked up at the moon, admiring its steady glare.

There was blood dripping on the concrete from a cut on her forehead and there were bruises all over her slim body. All thanks to her drunkard of a father.

She took a step forward, curled her toes around the lip of the rooftop and stared not at the ground, but the sky. She had always loved the sky.

Faith jumped.


Merc felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up; it was that kind of night. He looked around suspiciously, waiting, his body tense for the sound of a police siren or a scream. His muscles flexed, his teeth bared and his eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, the faint moan of a dying girl hit his ears. She fell from the sky like a comet, and Merc debated for a moment if he would be able to catch her. Where she had fallen from was not too high up and the speed at which she was falling was not particularly violent.

The kind-hearted tracker hastened forward and reached out, wincing when she landed hard in his arms. Her bones made an odd sound, and there was blood everywhere from a cut on her head. She was beautiful if the right person looked at her. Petite, jagged cut hair that reached her shoulder blades, her lips parted.

She was limp and lifeless, but a Merc knew she was not dead. He could feel the flutter of a heartbeat beneath his fingertips, and when he closed his eyes and pressed his ear against her chest, there was a thud.

"Alright, kiddo," he murmured, holding her close. "Let's get your somewhere a little less dangerous."