Cat glared at the wilting houseplant before settling onto her knees in the centre of the bare room. The sand digging into her skin made her wince, but she pushed the pain to a faraway corner of her mind. If she could ignore the houseplant that set her on edge for reasons she’d rather not look too deeply into, if she could ignore the paint peeling off the walls...she could ignore the sand peppering her skin like tiny balls of fire. He put it there for her, and she would relish doing whatever he asked of her. She had an obligation to uphold, and wouldn’t be deterred by such trivial things as emotions. She breathed in to the count of four, then exhaled for the same amount. She did it again another six times, like always. Head up, eyes glued to the knife and flag set out on the only piece of furniture in the room – the table. It was such a beautiful image on that flag, Cat mused. All the colours of the universe and his eyes in the centre. A lovely, calming stormy grey. Always watching.
Her favourite colour, she’d decided when she first spoke to him and felt his presence wash over her. 
Cat smiled.
Finished counting her breaths, Cat stood.
It was difficult to resist the urge to brush the sand out of the welts in her legs, but she managed. Pain was good. Pain was genuine, and pain never lied. Just like him. She felt closer to him already after the meditation. Maybe after this, she’d get to see him again. Maybe he’d tell her how proud he was of her. She liked it best when he did that. Picking up the knife and twirling it expertly, she pocketed it and left the old room. She had a job to do. It didn’t take long to find her target. They went to the same school, after all.
‘Hey Claire!’ The girl turned at the sound of Cat’s voice. She wandered closer, hips swaying. Her skirt was shorter than he would have liked. Cat didn’t like that.
‘What’s up?’
‘There’s this really cool place down by Drinkwater street, come with!’ Claire shrugged.
‘Sure.’ Too easy.
It didn’t take them long to get there. The old Victorian cul-de-sac had a small pathway at the end. The fields would be bare next week, but at the height off summer they were chest high with wheat. All she had to do was point, and she had Claire where she wanted her. Head turned; neck exposed. It would have been too easy, if Claire hadn’t seen the flash of silver and pressed the damn button.
Detective Lale rubbed his temples. He’d been in there for over an hour and had gotten absolutely nothing from the girl covered in blood. He’d been kind, he’d been calm.
He’d even offered her a change of clothes from the lost property, but she adamantly refused, hugging the blood-stained sweater to her body like it was a lifeline. If Lale was a betting man, he’d bet she’d be emaciated and scarred underneath those baggy clothes. He caught a flash of her legs under the knee-high skirt and they were ruined. Everything about her was just...off. It gave him a headache.
Lale’s partner, Mike, sidled up to him, two coffee cups in hand. He passed one to Lale, who nodded his head in thanks. A nice cup of strong, black coffee. As long as there was one permanently in hand, he was happy. He sipped it and sighed in content. Mike opened his mouth and the contentment fled out of the front door. 
‘The girl’s confirmed dead. Been ID’d as one Claire Parr. Sliced right through the carotid artery. Fingerprints taken from the knife have been found on the system. Cat Rogers, 16. She’s been arrested a few times for loitering on street corners, but got released soon enough. Guess the council doesn’t want to be made aware of any sex trafficking going around, but it definitely seems that way looking at her file. Lot of gaps in it, Lale. Looks like someone was bribed to keep it fairly squeaky clean.’
Mike paused and slurped the coffee noisily.
It gave Lale a chance to think, and for that he was thankful.
It was a small town. Any murder would send everyone into a panic, but this wasn’t the first. He knew it wouldn’t be the last, and now to say some sort of trafficking ring was involved? Madness. He hated this job.

‘Cat knew what she was doing. Forensics found a clean bag of clothes and antibacterial wipes stashed by a rock near the scene. Reckon she’d have got away with it if the rape alarm wasn’t activated.’ Mike grimaced at the thought, and set the polystyrene cup down before continuing.

‘What kind of life does a young girl have to have to make her want to murder a friend in cold blood? I checked it out; they had most classes together, spent lunch together.’
‘What about the parents?’ He’d almost be inclined to bet that there weren’t any, or it was a troubled home. There were a few foster homes in Annscroft, it wouldn’t be a stretch if she’d been placed in one of them.’
‘Mother’s a doctor, Father’s a writer. Happily married from what I can tell. He’s got a pretty big following from his self-help series that he co-writes, and she’s one of our best surgeons. You got anything from her yet?’ Lale shook his head.
‘Seems like she’s in a trance. Just says one word over and over like a prayer.’ He shrugged. He was so, so tired.
‘What word?’
‘Come see for yourself. He grabbed the cup of lukewarm water he’d gone to get for her, and led Mike back into the interrogation room. The heating was on, but she was still shivering, still clutching to her shirt sleeves like she was drowning. She was in shock.
Mike sat down opposite her, slowly, like approaching a wild animal. Lale stood by the door, watching.
‘Cat.’ He said her name low and soothingly.
‘Cat, my name is Mike. I’m here to help you get somewhere more comfortable. Is there anywhere you’d like to go right now?’
‘Prestige.’ She whispered. Cat’s eyes flared wild, pupils practically blown as she shuddered in her seat. Mike turned towards Lale, his eyes widened in recognition.
‘Let’s get you a blanket, Cat. We’ll be right back’ Mike looked terrified.
‘Well, shit, Lale. Looks like we’ve got another cult killing on our plate.’
Lale grimaced. ‘Shit indeed.’

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