“HOW COULD she be dead?” Flint’s hoarse voice echoed inside the empty cabin.
By the time we headed back to the cabin, the place was already empty. No signs of Rita whatsoever. It was like Rita was never there. Except for the fact that the half-filled pot on the stove was still warm, and the glasses we used last night were still in the kitchen sink, we would think no one lived in this place.
The cabin felt awfully still. There was no sign of struggle, which meant there were no fights between Rita and the guards who were there. But the man told us that Rita was gone. Flint’s grandmother was dead.
How?
There was no body, no evidence, and no sign of her at all.
Flint fell onto one of the wooden chairs. Her face was ashen white. Her lips trembled because of how much she sobbed. The young
