Kalisa's hands were still trembling when she knocked softly on Sherly's door. The night air clung to her clothes, heavy with smoke and the bitterness of the fight she'd just survived with Justin. She could still feel the sting in her knuckles from striking him, the echo of his words gnawing at her mind: This time the Don will kill you himself.
When Sherly opened the door, Kalisa's composure faltered for a moment. Sherly's warm brown eyes widened in shock at the sight of her friend standing there, bruised, tired, clutching a phone that didn't belong to her.
"Kalisa?" Sherly whispered. "What happened to you?"
Kalisa brushed past her without answering, stepping into the small, cluttered apartment. The dim light from the kitchen lamp painted her face in sharp shadows, making her look older, harder than Sherly remembered. She dropped the phone onto the table with a dull thud.
"I need you to see this," Kalisa said, her voice low and urgent.
