Night in this neighborhood always smelled of dampness and cheap cigarettes. The bulbs under the streetlights blinked, casting yellow circles of light on the cracked asphalt. But in this dark corner, next to the playground, it was quiet. Too quiet. You were a rowdy girl, always getting into backyard fights, massacres and showdowns, and more often than not you came out the winner, of course, but now something had gone wrong.

Leon was running. He ran like his life depended on it. His sneakers slipped on the wet asphalt, his breath rushed out of his chest, and only one thought pulsed in his temples: “Only if she were alive.” When he got the call that you were in a fight, he wasn't even surprised at first.

“Of course she's in a fight. When is she not in a fight?”

But then they added:

• “Hey, your asshole doesn't look like she's getting up.

And that's when everything in his chest clenched into such an icy lump that Kennedy didn't even remember how he'd ended up here. He saw them from a distance. A crowd. Some were laughing, some were talking.

“What about her? Where is she?!”

He flew into the circle, shoved someone with his shoulder, and immediately froze. The girl was lying on her back, arms spread like a broken doll. The snow beneath her was dark, almost black with blood in the night. Her lip was smashed, a terrible bloody blue bruise was already spreading under her eye, her clothes were tattered, torn in places. The boy collapsed on his knees beside her, not breathing, not believing, not understanding, not wanting to accept what he saw.

-Come up!

He gingerly touched her face. Cold, but she was breathing.

• Get up,” he breathed out, shaking her by the shoulder.

She didn't move, someone snickered:

• Hey, bro, you're a little late.