++++++++++++
Her hand trembles as she squeezes the knife. Eyes on the target. Holding back tears.
schlk schlk schlk schlk!
Another onion diced. A bit of Ríona’s red hair slips free, and she sets her knife down to tie it back into her bun, bobbing along to the K-pop beats that play from her phone speaker. She’s mindful not to bump into the counter behind her, or the chairs crammed into her galley kitchen. Not ten feet away her boyfriend works at his laptop, perched on the single torn armchair that dominates the space.
Ríona’s landlord called the studio apartment ‘cozy’; anyone else would call it ‘cramped’. All open floor, filled to bursting with scavenged furniture. In truth, she doesn’t mind it. The rent is cheap, and the space feels… easy. Manageable. Not to mention all the little things: the sunsets she can see through the window, the sounds of the city, filtered four stories below. Turning around, and knowing she’ll always see him.
Erickson’s deep in work mode. He’s changed his clothes, at least: a flannel, jeans, and black undershirt, all a step down from the Kevlar and thick padding that make up his usual gear. But his brows are bent. His back’s arched forward. His mouth’s set in that way when he’s lost in his darker moods.
A sharp turn of the faucet, a quick rinse of her hands, and Ríona’s walking toward him. She’s in her comfy clothes; shorts and socks and a slouchy shirt, all tied under a black apron she stole from work. He twitches at her footsteps, which worries her, but… he’s like that. Always jumping at slight sounds.
“Heyyyy, big guy.” She runs a hand through his hair, setting herself on the armrest. Pressing into his chest. Stormy eyes staring back at her.
“Hey, cute girl.”
She kisses his head, and nuzzles against his cheek. His hand is warm as it grips her side. An easy smile, the ones he’s so good at putting on. Her eyes fan over to his laptop screen, a professional, white-faced website on what must be a decrypted browser. Knebeln and Sklav Model-
Klik! The laptop closes. Erickson’s hand remains firmly on it. “Don’t trouble yourself,” he smiles.
A chuckle. “What kind of a name is Kuh-neh-blun?”
“Neh-beln. And you should talk. What kind of a name is Ree-oh-na?”
“My name’s Ree-na.” She corrects, whapping his arm. “Ree-na, Ree-na. You know that!”
“Well, who put the ‘o’ there?”
“It’s Irish, Aquila.” She bats her eyebrows at his first name. “Where does that come from?”
“I dunno. Latin? You went to Catholic school, you tell me.” He pecks her cheek, then starts to stand up. “Come on. I’ll help with dinner.”
Ríona smiles back, but her eyes remain on the laptop. She doesn’t move. “... these the guys you and Raph were talking about?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.” He grabs the knife.
“Well, I’ve already overheard!” She stands up. “Seriously, Aq. Raph said they’re small time. What’s the worst they could do to me?”
He turns, giving her a sharp look. “You know what.”
A little look. “That was six months ago.”
“And you think things have changed?”
“Okay, fair. But…” She huffs, her hands wrung together. “Can you blame me for being curious? Not everyone’s boyfriend is a… vigilante.”
Vigilante. Erickson brightens at that word. Ríona could also call his outfit militant, insurrectionist… maybe terrorist, to some. But they like ‘vigilante’ best. They’re just trying to help people. They don’t hurt ‘civs’.
Los Perdidos is not a kind place. Corrupt, decadent, ridden with crime. Contraband’s rampant. Mob bosses become mayors. Cops would rather bash the little guy than the men who give them ‘bonus’ checks, and despite all the promises from the State and the Fed to ‘take back the city,’ to make the streets safe, this evil’s embedded, and everyone knows it. Especially the million-odd souls who can’t afford to leave.
“Firebrand won’t solve that problem, but it’s a start.” So says Ana, Erickson’s sibling, and the leader of his little group. What started as an information brokerage grew into something different, something pro-active. There’s five of them in all. Bjorn and Snow, spec ops vets, taught her some self-defense. Raph, their tech, stops by and checks on her at the diner. She ran into them by accident, but since then…
… well. Actually.
She didn’t meet them by accident, so much as she was an enemy hostage during one of their raids. The first time she laid eyes on Aq, someone had a gun to her head.
That night feels like a whirlwind, now. She’d been a bartender there for a few months - a mob front, surely - and God, was it shit work. Violent, and loud, and the clientele were all awful. It was her fault, probably; if she had held out a little longer, saved even a little more cash, she could have avoided that dump like the plague. But she didn’t. And couldn’t. And wanted nothing more than to leave, but wasn’t able to, until them.
When she saw them swoop in through the windows, beat up the bad guys, burn palettes of drugs, she made assumptions. That these were people focused on bigger things. That as long as she hid beneath a table and stayed quiet, they wouldn’t notice. Or care. What she didn’t expect was that one of them would kneel down to her hiding spot. Ask her questions. Hear her story. And once she told them that she had run away from home, that she was swirling in debt, scared out of her wits, she didn’t expect them to pull down their bandana, say their name was Erickson, and offer her a hand.
After that, things moved quickly. The rent support, the charity visits, the calls about her loans. It felt like Firebrand knew every do-gooder in the city. Within a month, she had a new place, clothes that could last her a week, a calmer job at a nearby diner. And she had him.
Erickson.
He kept stopping by - ‘to check in,’ he said, though she guessed his other check-ins didn’t go on for several hours. Not that Ríona complained. It was nice, having someone thinking of her, though what he saw Ríona still doesn’t know. But she looked forward to his knock. Waited for him at the door. And now…
… now he’s here. The man who saved her life, calling himself her boyfriend and chopping the onions she abandoned. It makes her feel small. Too lucky. But that’s just been her life, of late.
Things always moving quickly.
“It’s really not that-” Erickson stops. Melting beneath her puppy-dog eyes. “... You won’t tell anyone I told you?”
She shakes her head.
“Promise?” He doesn’t trust her nod. “On your pinky?”
She lifts her hand so he can watch her wag her little finger.
“... alright.” He sighs. “It’s a trafficking ring.”
She pales. “Trafficking?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles without humor. “Warned you. It’s not a conversation starter.”
He works on the onions while he speaks. Confident with the blade.
“Standard affair. They call it modelling, or spa work, or, I dunno, Thai massage? That’s the honeypot they can put on LinkedIn, then put out ads for younger girls. It’ll seem like a sweet gig - easy work, lots of pay, no experience, no IDs. And, well, it’s on a job board, isn’t it? It looks kinda legit. Maybe too good to be true, but… they’re not reaching out to someone who’d spot that.”
Ríona moves closer to him. “Or someone too desperate to care.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “After that, it’s, uh, called entrapment. These guys, the first two or three times, they’ll snap some photos, hand over some cash, and the girl thinks it’s all easy. She tells family, or friends. Then, one session, they say, ‘take your top off.’ Or rip it off, if she says no. Take more photos. Make some threats. ‘I’m gonna send these to your family, your work, your school, unless you do exactly what I say and go exactly where I tell you.’” Erickson blinks a few times. “And ‘cause the cops will know you’ve been working there -”
“-they’ll think she consents.”
“Yeah. God.” Erickson shakes his head, pulls back. “That’s when shit gets a whole lot darker.”
Ríona reaches out. Rubbing his arm. She knows the part of his brain that’s beating him down is the same part that makes him help people. She knows… but that doesn’t make watching it any easier.
“I’m glad I got out,” she says.
“Yeah. Me too.” His voice is grave. “But there are so many we don’t save. So many suffering, right now, that wouldn’t be if I was faster and smarter and-”
She kisses him. It’s long, full of passion. At some point, he embraces her. Like he’s holding onto a life vest. A desperate squeeze.
“... you saved one,” she says, when they part. There’s a little spark in her eyes. Hoping it will catch, and a flame will grow.
It does. Erickson smiles a wolfish smile, and then pushes her, hard, until she’s up against the wall. Ríona yelps, cheeks turning red, and lifts her hands in mock-defense. Erickson moves quickly, grabbing her wrists with one hand, pinning them above her head. There’s a laugh in his voice, a hitch in her breath.
“Agh!” She strains against the grip. “Lemme out!”
“So…” His hand presses into her belly. “... how’s that combat training?”
“Sc-screw you!” She has to hide her amusement. “Anyone else, a-and I’d be tearing them apart! Snow’s taught me everything!”
“Has she?” He bites his lips. “Wanna try and break free?”
Ríona knows some girls who would be frightened if a man this size asked them that. But Ríona, mmm… There's a reason those little check-ins started getting so frequent.
Ríona tries to break free. And fails, like she expects. Erickson’s just so much stronger. She hisses, raising her right foot, kicking at his shins, but he quickly shifts and moves out of range. “H-Hey! Not fair! S-st-stand still!”
“What, so you can hit me?”
His hand slides up her chest. Fingers close around her neck. Another buzz of fuzzy warmth as the grip goes tight. “Y-... y-you caught me off guard,” she exhales. “I can do it!”
“Well right now, it looks like all you can do is fall in my arms.”
“Maybe I want to.” She smiles. “Catch you off-guard.”
“Oh, so the kiss is just part of the plan?”
“Yeah.” A sultry look, and she runs her tongue along her teeth. “Are you willing to risk it, Mr. Hero?”
He laughs again. Leaning close. “Maybe I am…”
It’s a shame she can’t hold him. Grab his face, bring their lips even closer. But Ríona takes what she can… until, suddenly, the warmth is gone. He’s moving back. Her wrists are free. “A-Aq?”
“Sorry.” He shakes his head, eyes on the floor. “Fuck. Shit. I really want to, I just… I thought about K&S, and-”
“No. No no no.” She walks back to him, a hand on his arm. “I-It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I-I’m sorry. I-I just wanted to help.”
“You’re fine.”
She’s not. “I-It was the f-first thing that popped into my head, a-and I wanted you to be happy, and I-I-”
“Ríona.” A hitch in her breath. Erickson’s holding her arms. “You do. You make me happy every time I walk through that door and see your face. You-... my work… urgh, I’m so bad at this.”
“N-no, no, it’s okay.”
“This isn’t your problem to solve,” he says. “It’s part of the job. A part that always sucks. That’s not gonna get fixed.”
“But I wanna fix it,” she says. “I’m your girlfriend.”
“Yeah, well, all the more reason to-” Erickson chuckles, then crosses back into the living room. Picking up his laptop and sliding it into his backpack. “There. It’s done. It’s gone. It’s outta my mind. God, it’s unfair of me to even bring it out, when I’m over here and-”
“Can I help?”
It makes Erickson freeze. He looks up, sees an expression full of hope. “Help?”
“With, uh, Knebeln and Sklav?”
Her foot bounces, and she fiddles her hands. She can already see Erickson souring.
“Y-you need to do recon, right? I’m the right age. I’m a good actor! A-And I look good in photos, you’ve said so yourself! Maybe if you put a mic or something on me, I-I could catch-”
“No.” His voice is sharp. “That’s out of the question.”
She blinks. “Wh-why not?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“You do dangerous stuff all the time!”
“Yeah. ‘Cause I’m in Firebrand. You’re not.” He walks back to her. “And you’re not joining.”
Ríona shrinks at the movement. He isn’t actually shouting, but it feels like he is.
“I-I don’t wanna feel like a dead weight.”
“You aren’t a dead weight. You have your own life.”
“B-but I-I need to pay you guys back for-”
“You don’t have to pay anything.” It sounds harsh, and Erickson realizes, the moment it’s left his mouth.
She wilts. Knows that it annoys him when she talks like this. Always wrong. Always bad.
He sighs. “It’s like the charities, Ríona. We’re here to be good for the sake of it.”
“So why can’t I? I’m being careful. I’ve gone through your training! Did you-”
“Two girls might have died.”
Ríona stares at him. “What?”
More regret flashes across Erickson’s face, but there’s no going back now. “You wanna know what Raph and I talked about? There. There it is. Two girls in Paradiso, they had appointments with K&S the same week they went missing. What happened to them? We don’t know. They could be kidnapped, trafficked, cut up in IKEA bags, and we might never, ever, ever learn. And you’re asking me if you can go in there?”
“Th-that wouldn’t happen,” she shakes her head. “Not to me.”
“How do you know that?”
A shaky exhale. “I just know.”
Even she doesn’t believe her words.
Erickson closes his eyes, and puts his hand to his forehead. “... Ríona, I’m being an asshole right now. I know. I’m sorry. But what I do… it’s not an action movie. Things don’t always go like they did at the bar. We don’t always stop the bad guys.”
“I-I know that, Aq.”
“Okay, so, why? Why do you keep…?”
Ríona’s hands fall over her heart. She knows why, clear as day. Because Bjorn always goes easy on her in training. Because Ana leaves her out on their visits, whispering in Erickson’s ear. Raph’s pitiful look; Snow’s fake smile. They’re kind people. Friendlier than most. But they aren’t very good at hiding that she isn’t one of them.
They look at her, and see someone helpless. Another victim to be saved.
But how does she explain that? How can she call them out for that, when they’ve given her so much, and the evidence says they’re right?
So Ríona just stands there, anxious and quiet. As small as she was in that bar, and in her parents’ house, before. Erickson looks guilty. Holds her arms, tries to comfort. But it’s not the same guilt he had before. The relief flows freely.
“Hey. We’ve really ruined the mood.” He offers a smile. “How about you go and wrap up the dinner, and I’ll grab some beers from the shop. Then we can settle down and watch some of your TikToks, or something, okay?”
He’s right. They’re on a date. She’s putting him under all this pressure while he… “... I thought you hated TikTok.” She smiles, extra cutely.
“Yeah, well, for you? I’m trying exposure therapy.” He pecks her on the lips and turns around to grab his pack. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck!” She waves him goodbye. Watching as he slides out the door, like he does every day. The handle clicking behind him.
Leaving her alone.
++++++++++++
Erickson and Ríona don’t actually share a bed here. Another quirk of the ‘cozy’ space; there’s only room for a twin. As such, he’s tossing and turning on a nearby cot, deep in sleep. Never feeling her, or bumping her. Which is good for tonight, Ríona thinks. She’s sliding out of her covers, and it’s important that she doesn’t wake him.
She uses the light of her phone to get around. Pulling a pot from her cabinets, adding water, setting to boil. She’s exhausted. It was hard, staying awake while pretending to sleep, but… again. This was important. In another cabinet, she finds a tea bag, sets it in a mug. Should make the rest of this a little easier.
Once her tea’s prepared, mug steaming in her hands, Ríona sits down on the kitchen chair that doesn’t creak, and reaches for his backpack. Pulling it closer, careful to be quiet. His laptop’s easy to find, and she pulls it out first, sets it down gently. The rest… she’ll need some luck. She knows Erickson doesn’t bring his guns over, but she’s hoping… yes! There’s a dozen pockets, maybe more, and after a few minutes of phone-light searching, black plastic pieces are at last reflecting back at her. Microphones. Recorders. Wires.
Ríona grabs what she thinks she needs. She’s seen Raph set these up for Aq, and tries to replicate that in her mind. There’s a cute shirt with a flap where she can hide the mic, and if she can keep the recorder by her belt… yes, yes, yes.
Step three. Hesitantly, she takes Erickson’s computer, opens it on her lap. Spamming the brightness button so that the screen stops blinding her. Passcode? It briefly makes her short-circuit. Of course he has a passcode! Stupid, stupid! It’s only four digits. She tries his phone’s, gets an error. Tries his birthday. No dice there.
Two attempts remaining.
Fuck. Come on, Ríona, it’d be really fucking lame if you got stuck on this part! Maybe his sibling’s? Ana and Erickson are close, Ríona knows, closer than she ever was to her sisters. They went for drinks on Ana’s birthday in April, right? No. March, it was March. Ríona pulls out her phone, searches her messages. Must have been something about it, some sort of invitation or… there.
‘0317’ she types in. The homescreen pops up, and her eyes alight.
“Oh, yeah,” she grins. “Who’s the sleuth now?”
But then Erickson turns, and Ríona briefly panics. Was that too loud?! Did she fuck it up!? But no, no. He turns, landing on his back, and lets out a little snore.
Even with her new code-breaking skills, most of the files on Knebeln and Sklav are inaccessible, buried beneath walls of encryption. What Ríona does have - accessed, she notes, by a VPN - are the modeling agency’s website, and news clips on the missing women. The articles are vague at best, barely a few lines. Shanelle Clark. Sofia Aguirre. The former has a suspended license. The latter’s father is being detained by ICE.
Erickson wasn’t lying about the website. It’s all corporate sleek, simple fonts, bright designs. There’s even a page about diversity and inclusion. The homepage photo catches her eye. A woman with wavy brown hair, tight clothes, large eyes. Who was she, Ríona thinks. A stock photo they stole? A girl they kidnapped? Or maybe it’s a photo of someone who doesn’t know yet. Smiling innocently at the men who will one day ruin her.
Applying is easy. Name. Availability. Links to her Insta, her TikTok, her Whatsapp. Ríona’s not too comfortable with them knowing all that, but she doesn’t have time to make convincing fakes, and with the lengths Ana goes to cover their tracks, Ríona doubts K&S even know they’re being monitored. She’s only planning to go the one time. Erickson said it’s always bait. The demands won’t start ‘till after.
Submit. It’s done. Ríona’s in… or at least she hopes she is. If those selfies aren’t good enough for these creeps, her self-esteem might never recover. She goes back to the homepage, closes the laptop, and notes that her hands are trembling with fear. She could stop. She’s got something. They’ll send her an email, an address, a phone number, and that will be more than what Firebrand had. But…
Her eyes move to Erickson, still fitfully asleep, back on his side. Even like this, he looks worried. Burdened at night by all he has and hasn’t done in the day.
Walk in. Snap some photos. Record some voices. Walk out. Learn the layout, too, if there’s time. She’ll run if things go sour, or fight them off until she can. It’s a safe plan, she thinks. Safer than what he’ll do on most Thursdays. And it’ll prove she’s committed. Prove that they’re not right. She’s tired of being another waitress or runaway. Tired of living in this city like a rabbit hiding from wolves. If this little plan means she won’t, for even an hour…
…
… why do people always tell her they’re sorry for her?
Why do people always say she’s so brave?
Ríona sips her tea, puts the laptop back in his pack, and runs over the steps until she knows she won’t forget them.
++++++++++++
+1 677 839-5502 - last seen today at 05:15
The number doesn’t have a profile picture. Just an empty face, staring at her from the WhatsApp DM. The app is quick to inform her that he has no shared contacts or groups. Cute how even the app warns her, and so many will still toss it aside.
Good morning, Ríona. This is short notice, I know, but we like what we see. Any chance you can swing by Malaga today for prelims? Really like how you work your make-up! - 05:15
That’s all. A bit of text, and even that’s enough to send chills through her spine. Her eyes flitting to Erickson, Ríona shifts in her covers, types out a reply:
Thank you! I’m really excited to try this! I can probably make it there by 4:30. Do I need to get anything special? -05:23
She notes that the contact reads her message immediately. 4:30 works! And no, not at all. It’s just prelims, like an interview. Wear whatever makes you comfortable. - 05:24
“Oh, don’t worry.” Ríona whispers, and grins. “I’m planning to, Mister Guy.”
++++++++++++
The older woman looks up from the diner’s ePOS screen. “Twenty minutes early?” Her wrinkled brows furrow.
“S-Sorry!” Ríona nods. “I-I know it’s last minute, Deb, but, uh…” She’s still so new to this city. Bus to Malaga takes longer than she thought. “... I can work through lunch, if I need to! O-Or take overtime later, b-but-”
“Ah.” Deb lifts her hand, pushes up her glasses. “Don’t need to know.”
She punches a few keys in the machine. Ríona can see Santi rising out from the window beyond, a space of palm trees and strip malls, Jarritos ads and squat - no, ‘cozy’ - apartments like hers. Deb wears the same big green dress she always wears, and if the simmering June heat bothers her, it doesn’t show in any way.
“You’ve been good with your time, Ríona. I’m sure it’s important. I’ll ask Li to come a bit early.”
“And I’ll pay her back.” Ríona brightens, already heading back to the dining room. “Thanks so much, Deb! I-”
“Wait.” Deb cuts her off again, freezing her in place. “Before you go… are you doin’ alright, girl? Seem even more jumpy today.”
Ríona turns around, grinning. “I’ll be a lot better tomorrow.”
“Good. Good, good, good. Been nearly half a year, thought I’d check in.” Deb tugs on her dress, suddenly awkward. “Um, your parents, have they-?”
“N-no.” Ríona’s small, holding her hands. “Th-they, uh, they haven’t reached out.”
And wouldn’t know how to, if they tried.
“Mmm. Shame.” Deb sighs, not making eye contact. “But you’ve got good people. Raphael, Aquila. I’ve known them since they were boys, did I tell you that? They were real menaces to the State, back then, but… well, when you look at the other boys who were in House of God, I’m proud to see how they’ve grown.”
Ríona chuckles. “Honestly, I’m just speechless about it all. He’s amazing. N-no idea why he’s into me, but-”
“Oh, stop that. You're always beating yourself up.” Deb puts on an impish smile. “Remember early on, how I had to tell you to stop apologizing to the customers?”
Ríona’s cheeks flash red. “Oh my God. I was terrible! Gosh, I’m still so sor-”
“Ah.” Deb waves an accusatory finger. “What did I say?”
Ríona pouts at her, then laughs. Her shoulders are going easy. “I’m fine, Deb.”
“Good.” The manager gets back to her screen. “Now, get out there, and stay that way.”
++++++++++++
Erickson envies people that don’t need alarms. Ana’s like that; always wakes up at ten; functions as well on four hours as they do on twelve. By the time Erickson can keep his eyes open, it’s mid-afternoon. He knows he needed that sleep - with all the recent recons and raids, he’s been napping in vans more than beds. But it still weighs hard. Everything has to move on a shorter timeline. Train with Bjorn. Chat with Raph. There’s equipment to clean, tires to check, reports to file, and all before he can even start… hero-ing.
He gets to his feet, not wasting more time. Ríona’s not in; hell, her shift’s nearly done, but that’s fine. All he needs is a splash of water on his face and some Arizona Tea. He’ll get to HQ before he worries about food.
As the water boils, he bends down to grab his laptop, yesterday’s promise to keep work out forgotten. A little series of passwords and passcodes to get the full network, and…
… he stalls.
That woman on the homepage is watching him.
The thoughts enter his mind unbidden. That’s the best photo they ever took. They don’t look this pretty when he finds them. She’ll never smile like that again.
He’s so tired. So fucking tired. It would be so easy, if he didn’t know. If he could walk these streets like all the rest, and not know the names of these monsters.
Erickson snaps his eyes shut, forces himself to be calm. He doesn’t think that. He doesn’t want that. He’s glad he knows, and he’s glad he’s doing something, and he’s glad he’s not alone. He’s got his sibling, his best friend, Bjorn and Snow and Ríona.
Ríona.
He opens his phone, sees her beaming up from the home screen, tucked between Ana and Erickson, with the Grand Canyon at her back. Red hair, bright eyes, winning smile. She’s here. Here, and not there, on the streets, at HQ. She won’t see the bodies. She won’t feel the fear.
She’s something he can have. Have, and hold, and know won’t be torn from his fingers.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This story was written by Lehanna!
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This story was illustrated by HeartGear!
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Feel free to leave a comment or stop by my Discord to share what your thoughts about the story or art!
New chapters of The Knebeln Girl (2026) will be released every Friday at around 3.00pm IST / 10:00 AM EST, starting with Chapter 2: Knebeln and Sklav.
