Chapter 1: June

My eyes fix on the dark sky as I stroll down the dim lit streets. The darkness seems to recede, shying away and growing faint. The sun will come up soon- eight minutes to be exact, at 6:03 a.m. My apartment in Ruby is approximately 756 steps away, which means that I can catch a glimpse of the sunrise before entering the building if I walk slow enough.

The sky is tinted light pink, the sun tiptoeing over the horizon like it's climbing metal rungs of a ladder, not stopping until it finally reaches the top. It drags up shades of red and orange that clash in the sky until they have completely devoured the soft pink color.

It's the start of a new day, a start of a new life. I close my eyes, his voice running through my head again and again: "Each day means a new twenty-four hours. Each day means everything's possible again. You live in the moment, you die in the moment, you take it all one day at a time...You try to walk in the light." A shiver runs down my back at his words. A pang of sadness stabs my heart as I think of Day. I miss him. I miss him so much.

I shake the last trace of him before turning my back from the sun. I reach for my keys.

I'm about to open the door when I hear shouts. "Commander! Commander Iparis!" I look over my shoulder to find two cadets running towards me. "What's wrong?" I ask, studying the distraught looks in their eyes.

The two give me quick salutes before a cadet answers, "It's Captain Amy Ross. She's severely injured. The ambulance is coming but she requested for you." As if on cue, the high pitched wail of an ambulance pierces the morning air.

I follow the sound, running straight to the Emerald Sector which is only three blocks away. The cadets are right at my heels.

Medics are strapping a young woman with blond hair to the stretcher, applying pressure to the bleeding wound on her torso. The gaze of her green eyes meets mine. "Commander," she whispers through bloody lips, her hand weakly stretching out towards my direction.

I get into the back of the ambulance, right by her side. The engine rumbles, the siren screaming as it drives off. "Amy," I say, out of breath as I look at the blood that stains her uniform.

"Commander," she cries out again.

"I'm here, Amy. I'm right here," I say, trying my best to comfort her.

"She's not going to make it," a Medic murmurs in my ear but I brush him off.

Amy's eyes are wide and glassy. Tears run down her cheeks, mixing with dark blood. "My sister-" she chokes out. "S-Selene. You have t-to take care of h-her," she forces out, her chest heaving with effort. I hold her hand tightly as she begins to spit up blood.

Amy holds on to me firmly, her hand almost crushing the bones in my left hand. "P-Promise me," she whispers. "Promise you'll take c-care of her."

I look into her fading eyes. "I promise."

She relaxes at that. "Thank you," she murmurs, her eyelids beginning to flutter shut. "Thank you." Her words faint at the end as she grows still. For a moment, I'm numb, feeling the warmth fade from her hand. I blink away tears. Not here. Not now.

I swallow hard and let go of her hand. Before a Medic covers Amy with a white sheet, details rush in. There's blood on the back of her head, meaning the killer must've grabbed her from behind, smashed her head against the wall, before sinking their knife an inch above her navel. The gash is deep, trailing four inches upwards. The clean stroke tells me that the killer is trained, and probably used a standard 10 inch military combat knife to kill Amy. What confuses me is this: if the killer is trained, why hadn't they killed her quickly? The cut was deliberate- an inch more and it could've pierced her right lung.

The ambulance jolts to a stop two minutes and twenty-four seconds after Amy's death. The driver jumps out of the vehicle and opens the back doors. He pulls out the stretcher and as he does, I see the flash of a strange marking on Amy's pale hand. Instinctively, I grab it, studying what appears to be the number 53 carved into her palm.

The killer must've made that, too, since the cuts are fresh. But why? Why the number 53? What is so important about that number? What does it mean? And why her? Why Amy? None of my questions are answered.

I jolt out of my thoughts when I realize that a doctor is speaking to me. "Ma'am? Commander, can you please let go of the victim's hand?" I notice that the stretcher is still halfway out of the ambulance. I obey, dropping Amy's cold hand.

The doctor takes a quick look at Amy before shaking her head. "Bring her into the morgue. We'll examine the body for any evidence later."

"I want you to do it now," I order the doctor, jumping out of the back of the ambulance. "I need to know who's responsible for this."

"We must contact her relatives before we can do any of that. Her sister's already waiting in the lobby," the doctor answers. My face grows pale at that. I am nowhere near ready to tell Amy's sister that she's dead.

I wash Amy's blood off of my hands before walking into the hospital lobby. Nurses bustle around, passing by the young blond girl (about 16 or 17) without a second thought. Amy's sister is curled up in a gray chair, her legs pulled into her chest. Her fingers drum against her knees anxiously.

I exhale a deep breath, reciting the words I'll say to her in my head. But how am I supposed to deliver the news? How am I supposed to look into her eyes and watch her world crumple and burn down?

Get rid of your emotions. Get rid of your emotions, I repeat in my head over and over as I walk up to the girl.

"You must be Selene," I say, sitting down in the chair next to her. "I'm Commander Iparis."

Selene looks stunned, straightening her posture and sending me a respectful salute. "It's an honor," she stammers out, her green eyes wide. I can already tell she'll be a loyal soldier like her sister.

I cringe inwardly as I say, "I came here to talk about your sister."

The awestruck smile on her face shatters. "Is my sister hurt? What happened?" she pounces on me with urgent questions.

"We should go somewhere more private," I say, standing up and leading her into an empty hallway.

"Is Amy hurt? Is that why I'm here?" Selene asks, desperate for answers.

I inhale a sharp breath as I face her. "Your sister was a good soldier. She died a noble death," I say.

"No." Selene shakes her head vigorously, strands of blond hair falling out of her once neat bun. "No. You're lying." She raises her voice. "You're lying! Amy's not dead. She can't be! My sister isn't dead!" her voice rises to a scream. It echoes down the vacant corridor.

I feel tears forming in my eyes. "I know what you're going through. My brother was murdered when I was your age. But Amy's still with you. She'll always live in your heart-"

"Liar!"

A nurse comes, leading Selene away to a room where the body of her sister lies. I reluctantly follow. By the doorway of the small, stark white room (10 feet by 11.5 feet), I watch Selene begin to freeze and her breathing pattern slow down. She touches her sister's lifeless face before lets out a guttural scream of grief and sorrow. Selene crumples to her knees, beginning to sob.

Tears pour down my face as I turn my back from the room. It hits too close to home.

Life seems like a cruel joke, allowing history to repeat itself to mock us. It is all too familiar. A good soldier has been murdered in an alley. A young girl is left an orphan. But this time, this time, I will not mess up. I will find the killer. And I will avenge her death.

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