Erica Sinclair - The Haven (M/F)

[Jenny_S]

Erica and Megan slide into Erica’s black Volvo, the familiar hum of the engine bringing a sense of calm to the moment. As they drive toward 250 Broadway, the towering glass Council building looms in the distance, just across the street from City Hall. Erica’s eyes remain steady on the road, but she can’t help noticing Megan beside her, buzzing with anticipation.

The drive takes just over half an hour, and they park a block away from the imposing structure. As they walk toward the entrance, the glass-fronted building glints in the late afternoon light, casting reflections of the world bustling below. Megan walks a little quicker now, her steps more purposeful. Erica, catching this shift, allows a small smile to tug at her lips. “Good.” she thinks. “She’s stepping up.”

At the entrance, they pass through security, their bags checked efficiently as they sign in. The familiar routine helps settle the nerves, and Erica exchanges a glance with Megan - steady, reassuring.

In no time, they receive clearance from Amanda Lee’s office and they are shown to the elevators, the soft hum of it rising to the 10th floor. Amanda Lee’s front office is modern but unassuming, with neutral tones and simple, elegant décor. The secretary greets them with a polite smile, offering seats.

“Councilwoman Lee will see you shortly.” she says, but they’ve barely sat down before the door to the main office opens.

Amanda Lee steps forward, a petite woman of Asian descent in her late fifties with sharp, kind eyes and in inviting smile. There’s something instantly approachable about her - a sense of warmth that cuts through the usual political stiffness. Erica recognizes the balance Amanda strikes, a blend of the professionalism of a career politician, genuine drive and a welcoming air.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Amanda Lee says with a smile, her gaze shifting to Megan, maybe wondering who the young woman might be. “Please, come in.”

The office is well-kept, with dark wooden furniture and a subtle but tasteful display of the American, New York State, and city flags behind her desk. It almost gives a presidential vibe, just like the Councilwoman herself who asks Erica and Megan to take a seat.

“Thank you so much for seeing us on such short notice.” Erica says as they claim the visitors’ chairs.
Her voice is firm but without the sharp edge she knows she can put on if required, knowing this meeting is about collaboration, not confrontation. “I’m Erica Sinclair, and this is my assistant, Megan Herold. My office is over on Park Avenue.”

Amanda Lee’s secretary quietly enters, placing a tray with a carafe of water and crystal glasses on the table before pouring for the three women. The room settles, and Erica begins the speech she figured out on the way to see the Chairwoman of the Children and Youth Services Committee.

“We happened to meet one of your streetworkers earlier today at Riverside Park, and he gave us some very telling insights about the challenges underprivileged youths are facing in this city right now.” Erica explains. She speaks clearly, but there’s a warmth to her tone, aware that the Councilwoman is someone who is well familiar with these problems. “Later, we visited the Youth Shelter on West 96th, and it was...eye-opening.”

Amanda nods, her expression neutral as she listens. Erica feels Megan shift beside her, sensing her assistant is fully present, absorbing every detail.

“Director Peters was upfront about the needs of the shelter, but what struck me most wasn’t just the material needs. These kids are desperate for more than a hot meal - they need opportunity. They need perspective and purpose.”

Erica pauses, glancing at Amanda Lee, whose eyes are now fully engaged. She leans forward slightly, encouraging Erica to continue.

“That’s what we’d like to offer them - a chance to build their own futures. Not through handouts, but through mentoring, education, and job opportunities. Miss Herold and I want to start a pilot project at the shelter, guiding these kids back into school or toward employment. We’re not looking to do this for them - we want to coach them how to do it for themselves. The costs would be minimal as I am sure we will be able to find local sponsors for the project.”

Amanda’s expression brightens. There’s a spark of excitement in her eyes, and she smiles softly as she leans back in her chair. She clearly recognizes a good idea when she sees it.

“Opportunity, perspective, and purpose.” she repeats thoughtfully, almost to herself. “That’s a beautiful concept. The OPP Initiative…I think it could be transformative, not just for that shelter, but as a model for others.”

Erica allows herself a small exhale. This is going better than she’d hoped. She meets Amanda’s eyes, seeing not just a politician but someone who might truly care.
“We might have to start small as not all of the kids will trust us to deliver, but if we can make it work with a few, the spark will catch.” Erica puts out a dose of reality, but that is something the Councilwoman clearly prefers to big promises of immediate success.

Amanda Lee stands, her movements graceful but unhurried. “I think you’re right. These kids need more than just food and shelter - they need a future. I’m thrilled you’ve come forward with such a practical plan and I’m sure professionals like yourselves are up to the task.”

Walking around her desk, Amanda shakes their hands again, her grip warm and encouraging. “I’m fully on board. Let’s get this started. How soon do you want to begin?”

Erica smiles, her tone gentle but resolute. “Tomorrow morning, if that works for you.”

Amanda’s smile widens. “That’s perfect. I’ll notify the shelter’s management, and, please, feel free to reach out if you need any assistance from this office along the way.”

“Thank you, Councilwoman.” Erica says as they stand. She nods at Megan, signaling it’s time to go. “We’ll send you progress reports every two weeks to keep you on top of things.”

Amanda opens the door for them, her expression still bright. “I’m really looking forward to seeing how this develops. Good luck.”

As they step back into the elevator, the weight of the successful meeting hangs in the air. The doors close behind them, and Megan can barely contain her excitement. She clenches her fists, a wide grin spreading across her face.

“One day.” she says to herself, glancing at Erica with admiration. “One day, I’ll be like her.”

Erica notices the look but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she offers a soft, knowing smile.

As the elevator descends, the city awaits them - full of opportunity, perspective, and purpose.





Megan’s excitement is palpable, her eyes gleaming with anticipation as she walks beside Erica toward the car. Erica moves with a more measured pace, her focus sharp, her energy quieter but intense. Megan feels it - the unspoken weight between them, the gravity of their next move that Erica carries with ease, but one Megan is just beginning to understand.

Unable to contain her enthusiasm any longer, Megan turns to her mentor. "We did it, Miss Sinclair! You actually got her on board! This is a huge step."

Erica offers a tight smile, her approval subtle but present. Getting Councilwoman Lee to back their plan was important, but she knows it’s just the beginning. The real battle will be at the shelter, where they’ll face Director Peters and kids like Slick - kids who’ve been through hell and won’t trust easily.

"We’ve made progress, yes." Erica says, her tone even. "But Peters won’t be doing cartwheels for joy when we show up tomorrow." Her eyes flick to Megan, gauging how much of the challenge she truly sees.

Megan nods quickly, trying to match Erica’s seriousness, though it’s clear she’s still riding a high. "Right, I know. It’s just... this feels like the kind of thing that really matters, you know?"

"It does." Erica agrees, her voice softening slightly. "But don’t expect those kids to open up just because we’re there. They’ve been burned before. Probably more than once." Her eyes darken for a moment, her thoughts drifting to other missions, other faces hardened by distrust.

As they approach the car, Erica glances at Megan. "I’ll pick you up at the office at 8 sharp tomorrow." she says, tugging at the lapel of her suit jacket. Her mind is already running through the details. "And we need to be smart about how we present ourselves. You saw how the kids looked at us today - dressed like this. We need to level with them. That means dressing down, but not too casual."

Megan looks down at her crisp, professional outfit and frowns slightly. "So... jeans, sweatshirt, and sneakers?"

"Exactly." Erica says, watching as Megan pulls up a photo on her phone, showing her in a more relaxed outfit with friends. "Just like that. Casual enough to blend in but put together. We don’t want to scare them off when we’re trying to earn their trust."

They ride in silence to the office building on Park Avenue, the hum of the car punctuated only by Megan’s quiet reflection. Erica can see it - the shift in her intern’s demeanor, the weight of the upcoming task settling on her. By the time they step into the elevator, Megan’s earlier excitement has been replaced by a more somber mood, the enormity of what they’re about to face pressing down on her.

"Do you think they’ll listen to us?" Megan asks, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. "I mean... we’re outsiders. They don’t know us. Why would they trust us?"

Erica’s eyes stay fixed on the elevator doors as they close, the familiar sound of the rising floors ticking by. "Not right away." she says, her tone calm, steady. "First they need to see that we’re not there to exploit them or make empty promises. We’ll let our actions speak for themselves."

Megan exhales slowly, nodding as the lesson sinks in. "Acta non verba." she echoes in Latin, as if committing it to memory.

The elevator dings, and they step into the quiet, polished lobby of Sinclair & Associates. The high ceilings and gleaming floors feel a world away from the gritty reality they’ll face tomorrow. The stark contrast isn’t lost on Megan, and for a moment, it feels like they’re crossing an invisible line - leaving behind the chaos of the streets for the presumed safety of the professional world.

Holly, the receptionist, looks up from her computer as they pass, her eyes darting toward Erica with a quick, discreet glance at the clock on the wall. Megan notices the exchange - the way Holly’s gaze lingers, as if she’s been keeping track of how long they’ve been gone.

"Claire will be back tomorrow, Miss Sinclair." Holly says with a bright smile, offering a small reprieve to her boss.

Erica nods, a flicker of appreciation crossing her face. "That’s good news, Holly. Megan and I will be out for the next few days, but you can reach me on my phone if the building’s on fire."

"Of course, Miss Sinclair." Holly replies, her voice crisp, efficient. But Megan catches the respect in her tone, the way people always seem to speak to Erica - like they’re in the presence of someone who commands attention. Megan can’t help but feel a swell of pride being associated with her.

As they approach Erica’s office, she turns to Megan, her expression softening. "Get some rest tonight, Megan. Tomorrow’s going to be a challenge."

Megan smiles, though there’s a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. "I will. And Miss Sinclair... thanks for trusting me with this. I won’t let you down."

Erica holds her gaze, a beat longer than usual. There’s something unreadable in her eyes - a flicker of concern, maybe, or doubt, though she doesn’t let it show. "I know you won’t."

But as she watches Megan walk away, the weight of responsibility feels heavier than usual. She’s putting Megan into a situation that could spiral out of control, and no matter how much she trusts her, Erica knows better than anyone how dangerous the streets can be. Her protective instincts flare, but she tempers them with logic. Megan has to learn. And Erica has to trust her - just as much as Megan is trusting her now.

As the day winds down and the sun sets over the city skyline, Erica stands by her office window, her mind already on tomorrow. The beginning of something big - and something dangerous. She knows, deep down, that not all of them might come out unscathed.

[Caesar73]

“That’s what we’d like to offer them - a chance to build their own futures. Not through handouts, but through mentoring, education, and job opportunities. Miss Herold and I want to start a pilot project at the shelter, guiding these kids back into school or toward employment. We’re not looking to do this for them - we want to coach them how to do it for themselves. The costs would be minimal as I am sure we will be able to find local sponsors for the project.”

Nicely done Erica! This is an Offer the Council Woman cannot refuse - and it allows Erica and Megan to have a closer Look at what is really going on at the Haven.

Reading this Tale, I think it is not only about The Haven, but also about Megan. Erica is a Mentor to Megan, and we can see already that Megan is beginning to begin a journey on her own.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, without giving away too much, I can tell you that you're on the right track.

[Jenny_S]

Erica unlocks the door to her apartment, pushing it open with the familiar creak that she’s grown used to. The late afternoon light filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over her tidy living room. The moment the door opens, the sound of little paws skittering across the hardwood floors fills the air. Her kittens, Spot and Tiger, come dashing out of the bedroom, tiny blurs of fur and excitement. They weave through the hallway, their enthusiasm contagious, and Erica can’t help but smile as they greet her.

Spot, black with the white tuft of fur on his chest, reaches her first, purring loudly as he nuzzles her leg. Tiger, with his tabby stripes, isn't far behind, getting on his hind legs and playfully batting at the hem of her skirt as if to say, Mom, you’re finally home!

“Hello, my loves.” Erica murmurs, crouching down to scratch them both behind the ears. They purr in unison, their soft fur like therapy under her fingers, grounding her at the end of the day.

For a brief moment, her mind forgets the weight of the case, the tension from the shelter, and the constant pulse of responsibility. Here, in this quiet sanctuary, with her little furballs tumbling around her legs, Erica feels a pocket of joy she never takes for granted.

She straightens up and heads toward the living room, the kittens trailing after her like shadows. As she picks up their empty food and water bowls from the corner mat, Spot meows in anticipation, and Tiger rubs against her ankles.

“Alright, alright.” Erica chuckles softly. “You’re both starving, aren’t you?”

She makes her way into the kitchen, rinsing out the bowls and filling one with fresh water. Then, she reaches into the cupboard, pulling out the small can of food she knows they love - chicken pulp, finely ground. The lid makes a soft popping sound as she opens it, and immediately both kittens are at her feet, their tails flicking eagerly.

With a practiced hand, she spoons the food into their bowl and sets it down on the mat in the living room. Spot and Tiger tumble over each other, paws skittering on the hardwood as they each try to get to the food first. Erica watches them with a fond smile, a soft laugh escaping her. They always make her laugh.

She stands there for a moment, just enjoying the sight of them. But as their purring fills the air and they settle into their dinner, the apartment grows quiet again. The contentment from her kittens lingers, but beneath it, there’s that familiar undercurrent of loneliness which sometimes strikes her in those quiet moments - the feeling she always pushes away.

She walks back into the bedroom, pulling off her business suit with precise, almost automatic motions, hanging it up neatly in the closet. As she slips into her well-worn grey "cat mom" sweatsuit, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror - a woman who seems to have it all together, but whose life has become a series of routines. Successful, yes, but sometimes a little too alone.
Erica shakes her head, forcing the memory back down into that locked compartment where she keeps all the other painful fragments of that past relationship with Nathan, because not too long ago she – literally – had kicked him out of her life after he had tried to scheme himself into it once more.
Without a significant other her life is easier…and less painful.

Erica sits down, the soft sounds of Spot and Tiger still eating nearby, the gentle tick of the clock on the wall, the muted glow of the setting sun casting a golden hue over her apartment - it’s peaceful. But even in this comfort, something feels missing. There’s a subtle ache, a void that neither work nor routines nor even her beloved kittens can quite fill. But there’s also the fear that she could be hurt again and as far as she is concerned, it outweighs that void.

She shakes off the thought again, just as quickly as it came, and she forces herself to focus on tomorrow. There’s always work to do. Always something to keep her busy.

But as she sits there, Erica thinks that tonight she might reach for that plastic bin under her bed, the one where she keeps some rope, a pair of steel handcuffs and other toys.





The grey, looming building on West 96th looks menacing even in daylight, and though it’s early, the street around it is already buzzing with the familiar hum of New York. Erica parks her black Volvo across the street, her eyes lingering on the shelter for a moment before she kills the engine. The same group of kids from yesterday hangs near the entrance, watching them with a mixture of curiosity and hostility.

Megan sits quietly in the passenger seat, hands resting in her lap, though there’s an unshakable resolve in her eyes. Her fingers drum against her leg, betraying her nerves, but she looks over at Erica with a hint of determination.

“The reception committee has formed.” Erica says with a dry tone, glancing at the group outside. “Are you ready for this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Megan replies, giving a small but confident nod.

Erica smiles briefly, adjusting the strap of her leather handbag before stepping out of the car. Together, they walk toward the shelter’s entrance, the kids’ eyes tracking their every move.

Megan blends into the crowd with her casual look: fitted blue jeans, a snug red hoodie, and crisp white sneakers. She could be one of them - young and on the edge of uncertainty. Erica, however, exudes a different aura: a blend of resilience and strength, wearing a well-fitted plaid shirt, jeans, and her scarred leather jacket - the one still bearing the mark of the night Tony Maze shot her. The unpatched hole and faint bloodstains are symbols of survival, reminders she carries with her.

The shelter’s reception area feels even colder than the day before, grey walls barren, the air stagnant as if hope had long left these halls.

Director Peters greets them with a strained smile, quickly leading them to his small office. The warmth in his tone fades as soon as the door shuts behind them. His arms cross over his chest as he stands behind his desk, his expression set in polite indifference. His eyes, however, reflect deeper frustration.

“Ms. Sinclair, Ms. Herold.” His tone is measured, formal. “I understand you’ve spoken with Councilwoman Lee.”

Erica nods, meeting his gaze evenly. “That’s correct. She’s fully on board with our initiative.”

Peters's lips thin, his jaw tightening. “I’ll provide you with a room for your…program. You’re also welcome to address the kids in the lounge this morning.” His eyes narrow slightly. “But don’t expect too much. These kids…” he pauses, choosing his words carefully, “…are not easily influenced by outsiders.”

Erica’s voice remains calm. “I’ve dealt with difficult situations before. We’re here to help, and we’ll make it work.”

Peters nods stiffly, saying nothing more as he leads them down a dimly lit corridor. Megan glances at Erica, sensing the tension, but Erica’s expression is unreadable, her pace steady.

The small room they’re given is bare - just a few chairs and a table stacked in the corner. Peters gestures toward it before retreating, leaving them alone.

“He’s not thrilled.” Megan whispers.

“No.” Erica agrees, setting her bag down on the table. “But we don’t need him to be.”

Minutes later, they stand in the lounge. The air here feels as stagnant as the rest of the shelter. About a dozen kids are scattered around - some slouched in worn-out chairs, others lingering in the corners. Their faces are a mixture of indifference and suspicion. A tall boy with his arms crossed leans against the wall, eyeing Erica and Megan with a smirk of defiance.

Slick, the unofficial leader of this ragtag group, stands slightly apart, leaning against the back wall with his arms folded across his chest. He’s seen speeches like this before - empty promises from people in suits, here today and gone tomorrow. His eyes narrow slightly as he watches Erica, though his expression remains cool, detached.

“Good morning.” Erica begins, her voice steady but authoritative. A few kids glance up, but most stay as they are, uninterested.

“You’ve probably seen us around yesterday.” she continues, ignoring the kids’ standoffish body language. “My name’s Erica Sinclair, and this is Megan Herold. We’re not here to tell you what you’ve heard a thousand times before. We’re here because we believe you deserve better.”

A ripple of skepticism passes through the room. Erica notices the way Slick shifts slightly, his eyes narrowing further, though he remains silent. The other kids exchange glances, waiting for her to fail like all the others.

“I know you’ve had people come through here, talk big, then disappear.” Erica’s voice remains firm, but there’s a new layer of warmth beneath it. “But I’m not interested in making empty promises. I’m here to give you a chance to take control. To take back your life.”

The boy against the wall scoffs softly, crossing his arms tighter. Slick gives a small nod of approval in his direction, but Erica doesn’t react. Instead, she focuses on the group as a whole.

“This shelter - look around,” she gestures to the grey walls. “It doesn’t feel like home, does it? It feels like a place you’re forced to be in. A last resort.”

Several kids glance around at the dingy surroundings, their expressions softening just slightly.

“But it doesn’t have to stay this way.” Erica continues. “We’re going to start small - by making this place look better. And as we do that, you’ll start to feel better. We’ll get paint, brushes, and we’ll turn this place into something you can actually stand being in. And maybe, just maybe, if you stop feeling like outcasts, you’ll stop acting like outcasts.”

There’s a moment of silence, then a girl with jagged black hair stands up slowly. “What’s the catch?” she asks, her voice laced with suspicion.

“No catch.” Erica says calmly. “Just effort. You’ll have to roll up your sleeves and put in the work. But if you do, you’ll see a change - not just here, but in yourselves.”

Slick’s eyes narrow further. He leans toward the group, whispering something to a boy next to him. The boy frowns, clearly skeptical, but doesn’t say anything.

Erica presses on. “This is just the beginning. We’re not stopping at paint. We’re going to help you find jobs, get back into school, and figure out what you want out of life. It’s not going to be easy - it’s going to be hard work, and there will be setbacks. But I promise you, if you stick with it, it’ll be worth it.”

There’s a long silence. Then, slowly, the jagged-haired girl nods. “Alright. I’m in.”

A lanky boy in the corner stands up as well, his expression a mix of hope and uncertainty. “Yeah…I’ll give it a try.”

One by one, a few more kids nod their heads. Some still look skeptical, unsure if they’re ready to trust again. But enough of them are willing to give it a shot.

Slick remains against the wall, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes flash with something unreadable - resentment, perhaps, or the fear of losing control over the group. He knows these kids, and he doesn’t like the idea of outsiders coming in and changing things.

Erica catches his gaze, holding it for a moment, silently acknowledging the challenge he represents. But she turns her attention back to the group.

“Great.” she says, her voice steady. “We’ll meet in the room down the hall to start planning. This is your opportunity. Let’s see what we can make of it.”

As the group disperses, some kids head straight for the door, but others linger, exchanging whispers as they glance back at Erica and Megan. Slick watches them go, his jaw clenched, clearly weighing his next move.

Megan leans in close to Erica, whispering, “We’re making progress.”

Erica’s eyes remain on Slick as she responds quietly, “Yes…but it’s far from over.”

[LunaDog]

It seems a good idea on Erica's part to involve the Councillor. makes her moves almost 'official.' Mind you, as she observes herself, there's still a long way to go here.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, let's see if Erica and Megan can get the kids motivated.

[Jenny_S]

Erica and Megan settle into the small room Peters provided. The space is bare, the walls dingy and cracked, but Erica doesn’t seem to mind. She steps to the front, her presence commanding despite the plain surroundings. A few of the kids have followed them in, some standing around awkwardly, others sitting on the few available chairs. The mood is tense – uncertain - but there’s a flicker of something else in the air: hope, maybe.

Erica surveys the group for a moment, her eyes meeting theirs one by one. "This isn’t a project." she begins, her voice steady but filled with conviction. “This is an initiative. And do you know what that means?”

A few kids shift uncomfortably. One, a boy slouched against the wall, rolls his eyes. Erica doesn’t let it faze her.

“An initiative means we’re not sitting around waiting for good things to happen.” she says, leaning forward slightly. “It means we’re taking action. Getting active. Moving and shaking things. And that starts today - not tomorrow, not some day in the future. It starts now.”

Megan watches as the kids’ eyes start to flicker with something new - maybe curiosity, maybe doubt. But they’re listening, even if they won’t admit it yet.

“I’m not here to give you handouts.” Erica continues. “I don’t have easy solutions or quick fixes. What I do have is the willingness to help you - really help you - if you’re ready to step up. If you want to get back into school, I’ll go with you. I’ll sit in the principal’s office with you and help get you enrolled. But you have to be ready to work. School isn’t just something you show up for - you need discipline. You need to work hard.”

A few of the kids nod slightly, as if they’ve heard this before but maybe never from someone who seems like she might actually mean it.

“I’ll talk to employers, too.” Erica says, pacing slightly as she makes eye contact with each of them. “I’ll help you find jobs, even if it’s just something small to start. But again, it’s going to take effort. It’s going to be step by step, but I’m willing to walk that path with you - every step of the way. But you have to take that first step.”

The room is quiet now. Even the ones who were skeptical seem a little more focused, as if they’re considering her words. Megan glances at Erica, impressed by her unwavering confidence, and she can’t help but feel that, for the first time, these kids might actually be hearing someone who’s offering them more than just empty promises.

“This isn’t about waiting for your life to get better someday.” Erica says, her voice rising slightly with intensity. “This is about starting to change your life right now. Today.”

There’s a long pause as Erica’s words hang in the air. Some of the kids exchange glances. A few still look doubtful, but there’s a shift. A sense that maybe - just maybe - this time could be different.

Erica takes a breath and softens her tone. “Now, I want to get to know each of you. I want to know your name, your age, where you’re at with school, what skills you’ve got, and what you’re interested in doing next. Whether that’s getting back into school or finding a job.” She gestures to Megan, who’s standing nearby, ready with a notepad and pen. “Megan’s going to write it all down so we know exactly who you are and what kind of help you need.”

At first, the kids hesitate, unsure if they should trust her or if they even want to participate. But Erica’s patience is unwavering. She waits, her eyes calm but expectant, giving them the space to decide if they want to take that step.

Finally, one of them - the girl with dark, short-cropped black hair and a hardened expression - speaks up. “I’m Chloe. I’m seventeen. I dropped out last year.” Her voice is gruff, but she seems relieved to get the words out. “I don’t know…I like animals, I guess. Maybe I could work at a shelter.”

Megan jots down the information, and Erica nods thoughtfully. “We can look into that. But I’m also going to encourage you to think about finishing school. It’ll open more doors for you down the line.”

Chloe shrugs but doesn’t push back, could that be a sign that she’s at least considering it?

One by one, the others start to speak. Dennis, a tall boy with tattoos creeping up his neck says he’s good with his hands - he used to help his uncle with construction work. Another girl, barely sixteen, says she’s always liked math but dropped out because she fell behind. Slowly but surely, they begin to open up. Their answers are cautious, but there’s a quiet sincerity in their words, like they’ve been waiting for someone to actually care about what they have to say.

Slick remains silent at the back, his arms crossed, eyes hard as he watches the others. But he seems to be listening more intently now, despite his outward aloofness.

Megan’s pen moves steadily, documenting each story, each hope, each piece of the puzzle that will help them get these kids moving in the right direction.

When they’ve all had a chance to speak, Erica steps forward again. “Alright. Now we know who you are and what you need. And here’s what I need from you: commitment. This isn’t going to happen overnight, but if you’re serious about changing your life, I’ll be right here with you. Every step.”

For the first time, the room feels lighter. It’s subtle, but the shift is real. The kids aren’t just listening - they’re considering. They’re thinking about the possibility that this might not be like the other programs they’ve seen come and go. Maybe, just maybe, this time it’s different. This time, someone actually wants to help them.

Megan, standing off to the side, can feel it too. She glances at Erica, her admiration growing. Erica wasn’t here to offer false promises or charity - she was offering something far more valuable: an opportunity.

[LunaDog]

It's a start, even if at this stage, that's ALL it is.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, question is not just if the kids are really invested in the initiative, but also if it can eventually gain the support of Director Peters - and what about Slick? He doesn't seem to be overly thrilled about outsiders on his turf.

[Caesar73]

Dear @LunaDog, question is not just if the kids are really invested in the initiative, but also if it can eventually gain the support of Director Peters - and what about Slick? He doesn't seem to be overly thrilled about outsiders on his turf.

Surely Slick isn´t very pleased - and the People he works for, won´t be neither.

But what Erica did and how she did it? It was impressive. She set a process in Motion. A Process which has just started, but which might give those young People a Perspective, something that is working for. But Erica makes also clear: This will not work without serious Commitment.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, Erica told them the initiative is not about handouts. We'll see how things progress...

[Jenny_S]

Megan scans the list of names Erica had jotted down as she stands at the edge of the room, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration. The kids had been surprisingly open - more than she expected - and now Erica is poring over the details, trying to figure out what can be done right away to get them moving in the right direction.

“Take Chloe with you.” Erica says suddenly, her voice snapping Megan out of her thoughts. “See what we can start renovating first. We want to get active, right away. Chloe will know what needs to be done first.”

Megan nods, catching Chloe’s eye. The girl looks up, brushing a lone bang out of her face and back into the cropped part of her hair. “You ready?” Megan asks, trying to sound casual.

Chloe shrugs, pushing off the wall where she’s been leaning. “Yeah, sure.”

The two of them leave the small office room, stepping into the shelter’s dim hallway. As they walk toward the lounge, Megan can’t help but feel a strange mix of responsibility and discomfort. Chloe is only three years younger than her, yet there’s a gulf between their experiences. Still, there’s something about the way Chloe walks beside her, her hands shoved in her pockets, that makes Megan feel like an older sister or cousin - someone Chloe might look up to, even if she’d never admit it.

“You’ve been here long?” Megan asks, her voice casual, trying to chip away at the silence as they reach the lounge.

“Few months.” Chloe mutters. Her eyes dart around the room, taking in the shabby couches and the cracked walls. “It’s not home, but it’s better than the streets.”

Megan takes it all in: the lounge, with its threadbare furniture and stained carpet, the air heavy with neglect. “What do you think we should tackle first?”

Chloe shrugs. “This place could use a lot, but the dorms are probably the worst.”

Megan feels a tight knot in her stomach as she walks alongside Chloe through the dingy hallways of the shelter. The cold grey walls and worn-out furniture feel suffocating, but she does her best to focus. It’s not just the dismal state of the shelter weighing on her - it’s the responsibility she now feels. Chloe walks quietly at her side, her usual defiance softened, as if something about Megan has piqued her curiosity. They are supposed to be surveying the rooms, but Megan can’t help feeling like they’re being watched.

When they enter the so-called "game room," Megan immediately recognizes it from the day before. Slick had been lounging here with his crew, his presence as dark and unsettling as the room itself. Today, it’s empty - at least at first glance - but Megan’s instincts are on high alert. She scans the space, half-expecting to see the boy who had approached her yesterday, the one with the haunting, lost expression. But there’s no sign of him.

As she and Chloe inspect the worn-out tables and scuffed floors, Megan can’t shake the growing tension. Her eyes flick around the room, but Chloe’s voice breaks the silence.

“I never spend time in my room.” Chloe mutters, almost to herself, kicking at the chipped paint on the floor. “It’s…better out in the city. Anything’s better than being stuck in here.”

She opens the door to her dorm room, a small place, not unlike a jail cell, walls painted dull grey, holding an old bed with a worn mattress, a dresser from the junk pile and nothing else.

Megan’s heart sinks at the admission, a sobering truth about how bleak life here really is. She can see it now, clearer than before - Chloe, a tough exterior hiding layers of frustration and abandonment. Megan’s mind races with ideas. If they could just make these spaces feel less like a prison…
Maybe, just maybe, the kids would start to believe that things could get better.

But before she can respond, Megan senses movement behind them. Slowly, she turns.

Slick is standing there, a sly grin spreading across his face, and another boy - bigger, broader - stands by his side. They’re blocking the only exit. Megan feels her pulse spike.

“You two having fun?” Slick’s voice is low, mocking. His eyes flicker between Megan and Chloe, but it’s clear he’s focused on her. The challenge in his posture makes Megan’s skin prickle. Chloe stiffens beside her.

Megan forces herself to breathe, remembering how Erica had stood her ground when surrounded by that gang yesterday. “But I’m not Erica.” Megan reminds herself, feeling the pressure of the moment. “I don’t have her confidence.” Yet, something in her refuses to crumble. She can’t afford to back down, not with Chloe depending on her.

She straightens her spine, trying to make herself appear taller than her small frame allows. Her hands slide to her hips, her heart pounding in her chest as she meets Slick’s eyes directly.

“If you don’t want to be part of the initiative, that’s fine.” Megan says, her voice surprisingly steady despite the panic swelling inside her. “But let us go now.”

Slick’s grin widens into something darker, more menacing. He takes a slow step forward, his presence dominating the room. “You better be careful, girl.” he whispers, his tone laced with malice. “Bad things happen when you’re not careful.”

The threat lingers in the air like a heavy cloud, and Megan’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t look away. She can feel Chloe’s fear beside her, but she refuses to let it show in her own expression. “You can do this.” she tells herself, though every instinct screams at her to flee.

For a long, agonizing second, nothing happens. Then, to her astonishment, Slick steps aside. His grin never fades, but the other boy moves, too, opening the door to Chloe’s dorm room without a word.

The tension in the air is palpable as Megan grabs Chloe’s arm. “We’ve seen what we needed to see.” she says, her voice tight, but she keeps her tone firm. She doesn’t dare glance back as she pulls Chloe out of the room, her heart pounding so hard she feels dizzy.

They walk quickly, back down the hallway toward the safety of the initiative’s room. Megan’s hands tremble, the adrenaline coursing through her veins making it hard to think straight. “Was that really a victory?” she wonders. She had stood up to Slick, but the unveiled threat still hung in the air.

Chloe is silent as they walk, but Megan can feel her gaze. She’s not sure if it’s fear or respect in Chloe’s eyes, but either way, she’s grateful they’re out of there. Her mind races, replaying Slick’s words, his unsettling smile. She knows this is just the beginning of a larger battle within the shelter.

When they finally reach the initiative’s room, Megan exhales, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her legs feel shaky, but she keeps her expression neutral, trying to hide just how rattled she is. “You did it.” she tells herself, though the small victory feels fragile, like it could crumble at any moment.

“Are you okay?” Megan finally asks, glancing at Chloe.

Chloe shrugs, her tough-girl act back in place. But there’s something different in her eyes - just the faintest flicker of admiration. “You didn’t let him scare you.” Chloe says, almost in disbelief.

Megan forces a small smile. “Maybe I’m learning.”

But as she opens the door to rejoin the others, Megan can’t help but wonder what Slick’s next move will be - and whether they’re truly ready for what’s coming.

[LunaDog]

Surely Slick isn´t very pleased - and the People he works for, won´t be neither.

Good point, something i hadn't considered. There's possibly more to this than meets the eye. However, kudos to Megan!

[Caesar73]

Surely Slick isn´t very pleased - and the People he works for, won´t be neither.

However, kudos to Megan!

Amen! We will probably how Slick will act .... I wonder who else is lurking in the Shadows!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, dear @Caesar73, we'll see how slick Slick really is. Shall we press on?

[Jenny_S]

Megan and Chloe step into the initiative room, their footsteps heavy with the tension of what just happened. Megan's heart is still racing, but she forces herself to breathe evenly, to keep her face calm. Chloe shoots her a glance, her eyes asking the question that Megan knows is coming: “Aren’t you going to tell Erica?”

Megan hesitates, her eyes flicking over to Erica, who is still engrossed in the list of kids, reviewing names, ages, and skills. She takes a breath, then glances back at Chloe. Without making a sound, Megan silently forms the word “later”. Chloe frowns slightly, clearly uncomfortable, but nods.

Stepping further into the room, Megan clears her throat. "Miss Sinclair," she says, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her, "I think it would be best if we started with the dorm rooms. They’re really…well, they’re depressing. If we make them feel more livable, I think it’ll make a big difference."

Erica looks up from the list, considering Megan’s suggestion for a moment. Her eyes scan Megan’s face as if searching for something unspoken, but she doesn’t push. "How do the others feel about that?"

The room stirs with murmurs of agreement. A few of the kids exchange glances, some nodding. A couple of them are still hesitant to speak up, but overall, it’s clear they’re on board.

"Alright then." Erica says, pulling a few bills from her pocket and turning to Chloe. "Think you can go to the store and grab paint and brushes for us?"

Chloe blinks, clearly surprised by the trust Erica is showing. "Uh, sure." she says, a little uncertain. "I mean, yeah, of course. But, um…would someone come with me?"

One of the boys, the tall lanky one with the tattoos who had been quiet most of the time, speaks up. "We all go. Initiative, right?" His voice is calm but resolute, and a ripple of energy runs through the group.

Erica smiles faintly, handing Chloe the money. "You’ll figure out what kind of paint you want. Whatever feels right."

Chloe stares at the bills in her hand, clearly taken aback by the amount Erica just trusted her with. For a moment, she looks like she might ask if Erica is sure, but instead, she pockets the money with a small nod. "Okay. Yeah, we got this."

With a newfound sense of responsibility, Chloe and the others head out, leaving Erica and Megan alone in the room. The door swings shut, and for a moment, the silence feels louder than anything else.

Megan swallows hard, feeling the weight of what she needs to say pressing down on her. Now’s the time. She turns to Erica, her fingers nervously tapping against her leg. "Miss Sinclair…there’s something I need to tell you."

Erica raises an eyebrow, her expression shifting from relaxed to focused in an instant. "What’s up?"

Megan hesitates for a beat, her mind racing through the scene with Slick, the cold look in his eyes, the threat barely hidden behind his smile. She’d stood up to him, but it had rattled her more than she wants to admit. "Slick...he cornered us. Me and Chloe. Just before we came back here."

Erica’s eyes narrow, her jaw tightening. "Cornered you? What happened?"

Megan forces herself to keep calm, recounting the encounter in a steady voice. "He blocked us in Chloe's dorm room, said some things…nothing physical, but it was a threat. He made it clear he didn’t like what we’re doing here."

For a moment, Erica doesn’t say anything. Her eyes remain fixed on Megan, assessing, processing. Then, slowly, she lets out a breath. "You okay?"

Megan nods, though her hands still tremble slightly. "Yeah, I mean…I handled it. I just thought you should know."

Erica leans back in her chair, her expression hard to read. "I’m glad you told me." She pauses, her eyes softening a little. "And you did well. Standing up to someone like that isn’t easy, especially in a place like this."

Megan exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. "I just…I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but it felt important."

"It is important." Erica says, her voice firm. "I’ll keep an eye on Slick. But Megan…" She leans forward, her gaze serious. "If you ever feel unsafe, you come to me right away. This initiative - this “work” - doesn’t mean putting yourself in danger. Understood?"

Megan nods, grateful for the reassurance. "Yes, ma’am. Understood."

Erica gives her a long look, then glances back at the list of kids, her mind clearly turning over the new information. "Alright. Let’s keep moving forward. But from now on, we’ll be extra cautious with Slick. He’s testing the waters, and we’ll have to be ready."

Megan nods again, feeling the weight of the moment. The tension hasn’t completely left her, but she knows she made the right decision in telling Erica. As they settle back into their work, the room feels a little more secure - like they’re prepared for whatever comes next, together.


Erica glances at the list of names she’s compiled and, after a moment’s thought, looks up at Megan. “Can you start by calling the animal shelters in the area? Chloe mentioned she’d be interested in volunteering with animals, and it could be a good starting point for her.”

Megan nods, grateful for a task that feels straightforward, though she’s still reeling from her encounter with Slick. Taking a steadying breath, she grabs her phone and begins researching nearby shelters, trying to shake off the tension from earlier.

After a few minutes, she dials the first number and waits, the phone ringing in her ear. As she listens to the dial tone, she glances up at Erica, who is deeply engrossed in her notes, mapping out next steps for each of the kids. Megan can’t help but feel a surge of admiration. Erica moves with purpose, handling each challenge with calm confidence that Megan hopes to learn herself.

When someone picks up on the other end, Megan straightens up. “Hello! My name is Megan Herold. I’m reaching out on behalf of an initiative we’re running for local youth, and I was wondering if you’re open to volunteer opportunities for a young woman interested in working with animals?”

As she talks through the details, Megan begins to settle into her role. Each shelter she contacts offers a slightly different range of opportunities, and she scribbles down notes for Erica, listing out any potential openings, requirements, and contacts.

Erica sits back, watching Megan make calls for Chloe’s possible animal shelter job, then scans her own list of tasks. Her eyes settle on Kevin’s note of interest in firefighting. Joining the FDNY would be a bold move, but it requires a high school diploma - something Kevin doesn’t have - yet. If he’s serious about it, he’d need to go back to school. And she knows that getting any of these kids enrolled could be a hurdle.

With a sigh, she grabs her phone and the handwritten list of schools she’s already started scouting. She stands, nodding to Megan, who is fully focused on her own calls, and quietly slips out into the hallway. Once outside, she begins dialing the first number, mentally preparing herself for the resistance she half expects.

As she lifts the phone to her ear, she catches Director Marvin Peters watching her from down the hallway. His stare is unreadable, but she senses his skepticism. Brushing it off, she turns her attention back to the call. The phone rings twice before a voice answers. It’s a school secretary, and she asks to speak with the principal.

After a moment’s pause, the principal picks up, but Erica’s hopeful introduction about enrolling kids from the youth shelter is met with awkward hesitation. “We, uh...we don’t typically have the resources to work with those types of students here.” the principal says, his voice thick with polite reluctance. “It might disrupt the other students, and we don’t have any programs in place to handle the…particular challenges they’d bring.”

Erica’s jaw tightens, but she keeps her tone steady. “I understand. Thank you for considering it.” she says, then hangs up.

Frustration lingers, but she pushes herself to keep going. She glances down at her list and dials the next number, determined to find a more open-minded response. This time, after a short wait, she’s connected to the principal himself.

“Principal Harrison.” he says. His voice sounding kind and inviting.

“Good morning, Principal Harrison.” Erica replies, introducing herself. She explains her purpose, a cautious optimism underlying her words. “We’re running a new initiative through the youth shelter to help at-risk kids get back into school, gain employment, and find purpose again. I have several kids interested in attending classes, and they’re willing to work hard for the chance.”

Principal Harrison is quiet for a moment, considering her words. “That sounds like a worthwhile effort.” he says finally, and Erica’s heart lifts. “I believe every kid deserves a second chance, Miss Sinclair. If these young people are serious about going back to school, I’m willing to meet with them. We can sit down together, discuss their interests, and assess their needs.”

Erica lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “That’s…that’s wonderful. Thank you, Principal Harrison. I can assure you, they’re ready to work for this opportunity.”

“Glad to hear it.” he replies warmly. “If I may ask, Miss Sinclair, what’s your role in this program? Are you a social worker?”

Erica can’t help but smile. “I’m a lawyer, actually. Erica Sinclair of Sinclair & Associates on Park Avenue. I’m spearheading this initiative on my own time.”

“Well, it’s refreshing to see someone of your experience doing work like this. Tell our Head Admin when you’ll be able to stop by with the students, and we’ll take it from there. Looking forward to meeting you, Miss Sinclair. All of you.”

After thanking him sincerely, Erica ends the call, a surge of satisfaction settling in. She tucks her phone away, looking down the empty hall, wondering why this felt like pulling teeth for the shelter. Why did Marvin Peters, with his years in youth services, struggle to do what she just did in minutes?

Erica steps back into the room she’s already starting to think of as “the wigwam”, a name that seems to fit the little hub of activity, plans, and ideas they’ve started building here. She finds Megan with a notebook open, her phone beside her, and a pen flying across the page as she jots down notes from her last few calls.

As Megan notices her, she breaks into a smile, giving Erica a thumbs-up. “Looks like a few animal shelters are open to volunteers if Chloe’s interested.” she says, her voice carrying a spark of excitement. “One of them even has a program that pairs youth with rescue animals for training. They’re actually looking to bring on people with a passion for animals.”

Erica’s face lights up with approval. “That’s exactly what Chloe needs - a chance to work with animals and channel her interests into something real. She’s going to love this.”

Megan grins, her cheeks warming as a flicker of pride takes root. She hadn’t been sure that calling around would amount to much, but now it feels like she’s truly making an impact. Though doubts and fears still linger, this small victory is a reminder: she’s learning, growing, and maybe, just maybe, able to rise to meet the challenges ahead.

Erica claps her lightly on the shoulder. “Good work, Megan.” she says. “This is what the initiative is all about - giving them something to hope for.”

With that, Megan glances back down at her notes, her heart a little steadier, and Erica, thinking ahead to what’s next, lets herself savor the small but powerful moment.

[LunaDog]

Light at the end of the tunnel?

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, that light might well be a freight train coming their way...we will see.

[LunaDog]

It could be. No doubt you will let us know in time. And knowing you, in some style as well!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, thank you very much for your kindest of comments. I'll not let you wait for an Easterly dose of Erica longer today.

[Jenny_S]

With the noise outside the Wigwam growing louder, Erica and Megan look toward the door just as the kids file in, each carrying their load of paint buckets, brushes, paint thinner, and drop cloths. The group fills the room with energy and a hint of paint fumes, and the air seems to shift, alive with something more hopeful than before.

Chloe, leading the way, reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled receipt and a handful of loose change. She hesitates just a bit before holding it out to Erica. "We spent most of the money on paint and all the other stuff." she explains, almost apologetic. “I…I didn’t think paint would be so expensive.”

Without even a glance at the receipt, Erica drops it and the change into her handbag, her face calm. She’d trusted the kids with two hundred dollars to buy what they needed, and she’s certain they wouldn’t cheat her over a bucket of paint and a few coins. Her belief in them, though unstated, is clear.

“Great.” she says with a nod. “So, you’ve got everything you need to make your rooms look a lot brighter.” She turns to Chloe, a small smile playing on her lips. “Chloe, I think Megan has some news for you. And once she’s filled you in, I have news for all of you.”

Chloe’s eyes flick toward Megan, a hint of anticipation breaking through her usual guarded expression.

Megan smiles warmly and steps forward. “I called a few animal shelters in the area, and they’re all open to bringing on volunteers.” she says, her voice upbeat. “One of them even has a program specifically for youth volunteers working with rescue animals. If you’re interested, we can go tomorrow, get you introduced, and see which one feels like the right fit.”

Chloe’s face lights up, her surprise and excitement clear. For a moment, she looks almost vulnerable, as if afraid to believe this opportunity is real. But seeing Megan’s genuine smile, she nods, her usual tough exterior softening.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” she says, a touch of wonder in her voice.

With the others watching intently, Erica steps forward, her expression serious yet encouraging. “Now,” she says, looking at each of them in turn, “I have news for all of you. This initiative isn’t just about painting walls. It’s about new beginnings. And from what I’m seeing here, you’re all ready to make that happen.” She nods at the paint buckets and supplies, a tangible symbol of the changes they’re about to create together.

It’s a small step, but one that matters, and the look on the kids’ faces tells her they’re ready to take it.

Erica glances at the kids, waiting until she has everyone’s attention before she continues. "I made a few calls of my own while you all were out." Her tone is casual, but there’s an underlying excitement in her eyes that piques the kids' curiosity.

“So, here’s the news.” she says. “Principal Harrison from West Manhattan High School is on board with what we’re doing. He’s invited all of you to come by, sit down with him, and talk about what grade you’d be placed in, where you’d start from.”

A few of the kids exchange wary glances, but Erica presses on, her gaze steady. “Mr. Harrison believes, just like we do, that all of you deserve a second shot at a diploma. He’s not just saying it, he’s offered to personally meet with each of you to see how he can help you make this happen.”

Chloe blinks, her eyes widening a bit, as if struggling to reconcile this unexpected chance with her past disappointments. One of the boys shifts uncomfortably, unsure whether to hope or to guard himself against another letdown. The room goes quiet, and Erica waits, letting her words settle.

“Now,” she says, softening her voice, “I’m not saying it’ll be easy. Going back to school, staying disciplined, sticking to a schedule - all of that takes commitment. But if you’re willing to do it, Mr. Harrison is there to support you, and so am I. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

As Erica’s words sink in, the initial skepticism gives way to something softer. Megan watches the room, seeing a flicker of something she hasn’t seen much in these kids - hope.

“Starting with these walls,” Erica adds, nodding at the paint and brushes, “you’re all going to make changes - changes to this place, and, more importantly, to yourselves.”

A quiet courage seems to spark in each of the kids, one by one, as they look at Erica, at Megan, and at each other, feeling for the first time in a long time that a future worth pursuing might actually be within their reach.

Erica takes a steady breath, looking at each of the kids, her gaze unwavering. “You won’t be doing this alone.” she says, her voice strong but warm. “Megan and I will be right there with you when you go see Mr. Harrison.”

The kids nod, some relief flickering on their faces, but Erica’s not done. She pauses, feeling the weight of her father’s words she rarely shares with anyone, and her hesitation shows - a vulnerability that’s rare for her. But she pushes through, letting the words find their way.

"There’s something else I’d like to tell you.” she starts, her voice gentler now, drawing their full attention. “When I was about your age, my dad gave me one of the hardest lessons I’ve ever had to learn. He told me, “Never quit, Erica. Remember that winners never quit, and quitters never win.” He didn’t mean it in a flashy, motivational way; he meant that each day would hold new challenges and every day, I’d have to choose what I wanted to be - a winner or a quitter. That choice would shape everything in my life.”

The kids shift, listening more intently now, sensing this moment is something deeper. She continues, her voice stronger, looking directly at Kevin and Chloe as she speaks. “Going to school five days a week, paying attention, doing homework, studying - it’s tough. I know it will be hard. That kind of pain, though, it’s temporary. But when you reach that graduation day, the pride you’ll feel, that sense of knowing you earned it - it’ll stay with you forever. Kevin, with that diploma, you’ll be able to go after that FDNY job if that’s what you still want. And you, Chloe,” she says, catching her eye, “maybe one day you’ll find yourself working in a vet clinic or even become a veterinarian. You have that chance, and the pride of building something for yourself is like nothing else in this world. It’s something no one can take from you, something that’s earned.”

A wave of quiet but determined nods ripple through the kids, their skepticism softened by a newfound conviction. Erica gives them a brief, proud smile, then claps her hands once, shifting the mood. “Now,” she says, grinning, “let’s get those walls painted.”

The kids jump up, the room buzzing with fresh energy, ready to make their mark - not just on the shelter, but on their own lives.


As they walk down the hall, the kids still buzzing from the speech Erica just gave, Dennis, the boy with the inked arms barely concealed under his sweatshirt, lingers beside Erica. His eyes fall on her leather jacket, specifically the ragged hole on the back and the faded stain, unmistakably brown - the residue of old blood.

“Doesn’t it bother you to have a hole in your jacket?” he asks, breaking the silence. His voice has a mix of curiosity and respect, as though he’s aware that jacket has stories sewn into it.

Erica looks down at him, a hint of a smile playing at the edge of her mouth. “You know, I thought about getting the hole patched up.” She gives a small shrug, her gaze drifting forward. “But it reminds me of something.”

Dennis raises his eyebrows, intrigued. “Like what?”

She glances at him. “It was a night I’ll never forget. Some time ago, I got shot in the back by a guy who wasn’t exactly fond of the justice system - or me, for that matter.”

Dennis’s eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief mingling with admiration. “Seriously?”

Erica nods, her tone casual but edged with the memory’s weight. “It’s my way of remembering what I was up against. And that I made it through.” She gives him a quick, knowing smile. “So yeah, it stays the way it is.”

Dennis nods slowly, clearly impressed. “That’s intense. I’d like to hear the whole story.”

Erica chuckles, glancing around at the rest of the group as they shuffle ahead, buckets and brushes in hand, filling the hallway with a new sense of purpose. “When we get this painting done, we’ll celebrate with pizza, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Dennis grins, the idea clearly lifting his spirits. “Deal.”

The rest of the group looks back, curious about what’s been said, and Erica, with a nod, gestures toward the dorm rooms. “Alright, team,” she says, her voice a mix of authority and warmth, “let’s make these rooms somewhere you actually want to be. And tonight, we’ll trade stories over pizza.”

They exchange glances, excitement flickering in their eyes as they move forward, eager for both the work ahead and the chance to uncover the layers of a woman who, they realize, may understand them more than they thought.

[LunaDog]

Nobody says it's going to be easy..... But, now thanks to Erica's efforts, well supported by Megan, those kids maybe feel they have a chance. For possibly the first time in their lives. But have we seen the last of Stick and his cronies?

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, I don't think we have. But let's see how the story unfolds further.

[Jenny_S]

Erica surveys the painted rooms, noting how each has a distinct personality now, the once drab walls transformed by the colors and brushstrokes of the kids’ own choosing. Dennis is at the center of it all, moving from room to room, his face dusted with smears of white and blue paint. After a brief pause when Erica put him in charge, he seems to have found his stride, directing the others as he checks on each room, instructing them to stir the paint and thin it when necessary. As each of the kids finishes their own space, they migrate to Dennis’s room, picking up rollers and brushes to help him finish. The subtle shift from individual work to team effort isn’t lost on Erica.

She leans toward Megan, her voice low, “This is huge. They’re starting to work together.” A flicker of pride crosses her face, a warmth growing as she watches Dennis accept help with a reluctant nod, a boy unused to relying on others.

But the moment tightens when Director Peters appears, strolling down the hallway just as the last few brushstrokes are applied. His gaze sweeps over the painted rooms, his expression unreadable. The kids’ voices go silent, each of them glancing over their shoulders with a mix of pride and apprehension as Peters surveys their work. His slow, methodical steps echo against the freshly painted walls, and Erica can see a flicker of tension ripple through Dennis’s posture.

When Peters reaches her, he stops, hands behind his back, eyes still on the brightened spaces. His voice is low and almost expressionless. “Where did the paint come from?”

Erica meets his gaze, unfazed. “I paid for it.”

Peters’ eyes narrow, and he gives a short, barely audible hum, neither approving nor disapproving, before turning on his heel and walking back down the hallway without another word.

Erica watches him go, her expression firm. She’s about to turn back to the others when she notices Megan with her phone out, searching for a pizza delivery service. Erica smiles, grateful for the way Megan picks up on these moments without needing direction. As Megan finds a local Italian place, she goes around to each of the kids, offering the menu and asking what they’d like. For many of them, choosing anything they want off a menu is foreign, and she has to nudge a few of them, reassuring them to pick what they truly want, not the cheapest item on the list.

When she reaches Dennis, he gives a hesitant shrug, glancing at the menu as if he’s never considered such a choice before. “You mean…I can get whatever I want?”

“Anything you like.” Megan says, smiling encouragingly. “Really. What’s your favorite?”

He hesitates, then mumbles, “Pepperoni…and maybe extra cheese.”

She grins, jotting it down. “Pepperoni with extra cheese, coming right up.” Moving down the line, she notes each order with care, from Chloe’s adventurous choice of prosciutto and arugula to a simple margherita pizza for one of the younger kids, who shyly whispers his choice.

Finally, with the orders in, Megan steps over to Erica, a note of excitement in her voice. “Pizza’s on the way. This is…well, probably their first pizza party, huh?”

Erica nods, her eyes following the kids as they admire their work, exchanging quiet, proud smiles in the fresh, vibrant rooms they’ve made their own. “First of many, if we can keep this momentum going.”






The kids sit cross-legged in a loose circle on the floor of the wigwam, pizza cartons open in their laps. Erica glances around the room and feels a pang of something close to nostalgia. When was the last time she ate pizza sitting on the floor? College or maybe high school? The memory feels oddly distant, but here, among this unlikely group, it comes back to her, bringing a soft smile to her face.

“We’ve come really far today.” she says, settling into her slice. “Now enjoy your dinner, everybody.”

“Thank you, Miss Sinclair.” Chloe says, a string of cheese stretching from her mouth. “For everything you’re doing for us.”

Erica smiles again, touched, even if a little bashful. “My pleasure.” she says, though her words are muffled by a bite of pizza.

As the room quiets back down, Dennis puts his slice down, his gaze serious. “You were going to tell us how you got shot, right?”

The kids’ heads turn sharply, eyes growing wide. Erica freezes, the question feeling like it came out of nowhere, though she can’t deny that Dennis has a look of intense curiosity - and maybe respect.

“What?” one of the girls asks, her jaw practically hitting her lap. “You’re kidding. That didn’t happen.”

Erica shakes her head, feeling the weight of the moment settle on her. She can feel her pulse quicken, the memories creeping in unbidden. She hasn’t talked to anyone about that night since it happened, and now, surrounded by these eager, questioning eyes, she hesitates, the horror of that night swirling back into her mind.

A a quick succession of images flashes before her inner eyes: the dark warehouse, the sudden spotlight illuminating her friend Drea sitting on a chair in the middle of that empty warehouse, her wrists tied behind her back, her ankles lashed to the chair and a rag stuffed into her mouth as a gag. Her eyes reddened from the tears, wide with panic, and her glasses before her on the ground crushed under Mazes’s heel.

But as she looks at the kids, she knows this is a story they need to hear. “Alright.” she says, taking a steadying breath. “This started ten years ago when I testified in Court against a man named Tony Maze. He was a dangerous criminal and connected in all the worst ways, but due to my testament, he was sentenced to life in prison. Then, one day, during a transfer to another prison, he escaped.”

Chloe’s eyes are huge, and Megan looks at Erica like she’s seeing her in a whole new light. Erica closes her pizza box, setting it aside as her voice softens. “Before he was locked up, Maze had promised that he’d kill me one day. And he meant it. First, I started getting anonymous text messages and the police said they couldn’t do anything, telling me they thought it was just a prank. In the end, he tracked down my friend Andrea and kidnapped her, leaving me instructions to meet him at an abandoned warehouse, alone if I wanted her to live. No police. It was my life for hers.”

“Weren’t you scared?” one of the girls asks, almost breathless.

Erica feels her heart quicken, the memory of that night vivid. She can almost hear the hollow echo of her footsteps as she crossed that dark warehouse, her flashlight barely cutting through the shadows. “You bet I was. Terrified. But I had no choice - Maze would have killed Andrea, and I couldn’t let that happen.” She pauses, taking in the kids’ faces. “My father used to tell me, “Stand for something or fall for anything.” and in that moment, I knew what I stood for. I just had to go.”

“What happened next?” Dennis whispers, transfixed.

Erica’s voice drops, the scene clear in her mind as though it’s happening again. “When I reached the center of that dark, cold warehouse, a spotlight suddenly clicked on. There was Andrea, tied to a chair, scared to death. And there was Maze, a gun in his hand, his eyes on me. He grinned and said he’d kill Andrea first so I’d have to watch my friend die.”

The room is still, every face around her horrified and captivated.

“Maze lifted his gun,” she continues, “and I saw in his eyes that he was going to pull the trigger. I didn’t think, I just acted. I threw myself over Andrea to shield her, and that’s when I heard the gunshot and felt the impact.” She points to her right shoulder, then holds up her jacket, showing them the small, frayed hole near the seam. “The bullet tore into my shoulder.”

The kids stare, a mixture of shock and awe in their eyes. Megan’s jaw drops, and Dennis leans forward, wide-eyed.

“Doing the right thing isn’t always easy,” Erica finishes quietly, “and it might be outright dangerous. But when it’s something worth standing for, the choice doesn’t feel like a choice. It is just the right thing to do.”

For a moment, no one speaks, the silence filled with the unspoken understanding that this wasn’t just a story - it was a lesson.

The kids sit in rapt silence, their pizzas forgotten as they hang onto Erica’s every word. Even Megan, who’s heard snippets of Erica’s past at the office, is wide-eyed, captivated by the gravity of Erica’s story. Erica, sitting cross-legged on the floor like the rest of them, looks more approachable, like one of the crowd - and at this moment, she's become more than a mentor. She’s a survivor, someone who has faced dangers most of them can only imagine.

Erica shifts her gaze from the ragged hole in her jacket to the circle of young faces around her. She touches her shoulder where the bullet hit her, and for a moment, the room feels thick with the weight of her story. She’s drawn them into her world - one where life, loyalty, and courage are tested. “I keep the bullet hole as a reminder.” she says quietly, the words carrying a gravity that none of them expected. “It reminds me that the hardest choices are often the ones that matter most.”

The kids are quiet, their pizzas forgotten for a moment as they take in Erica’s story, her voice stilling them all with the weight of what she’s just shared. Dennis stares at the bullet hole in her jacket, wide-eyed, as if trying to imagine what it would take to dive in front of a gun. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice almost a whisper.

“That’s…that’s crazy, Miss Sinclair.” He looks down, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’d have had the guts to do that.”

Erica nods, meeting his gaze with a soft look that doesn’t quite disguise the depth of her memories. “It wasn’t about guts, Dennis. It was about not running away from what mattered.” She glances down at her jacket and then at her own half-eaten pizza. “I didn’t know what would happen to me that night, but I knew what was right.”

One of the other boys, Jamal, leans back, crossing his arms. He looks from Erica to the other kids, then back to her. “But, Miss Sinclair, you’ve got guts, though. Just the other night - you got threatened again, right? When that kid pulled a gun in that corner store down on 72nd Street.”

The room stiffens, the kids’ eyes back on her, wide with a mix of admiration and worry. Erica’s gaze softens as she nods, and she tries to brush it off with a small smile, but the kids don’t look away.

“It wasn’t anything like that other night.” she says. “Tony Maze, he wanted to kill in cold blood. The boy in Mr. Leslie’s store - he was scared, desperate and I just happened to be there to buy groceries.” Her voice is calm, but there’s a tension in her jaw. “But I don’t take risks lightly. And I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think it mattered.”

Chloe shakes her head, still looking awestruck. “I don’t get it. You didn’t have to get involved. Why would you even…?” Her words trail off, unsure how to finish the thought.

Erica breathes out slowly, her expression thoughtful as she looks around the circle. “I’ve learned that when you care about something enough, you make choices that others might not understand.” She glances at each of them. “And that’s what I want you to feel here - a reason to choose something good, even if it’s not easy.”

The kids exchange glances, each looking affected by her words in their own way, even a little humbled. Dennis finally nods, breaking the silence again with a new determination. “Well…I guess that makes you one of us, huh?” He smirks a little, trying to lighten the mood, but there’s a respect in his tone, one Erica doesn’t miss.

Erica smiles, and the tension in her face eases. “I guess it does, Dennis.” She lifts her pizza slice. “So now let’s finish up this dinner - because we’ve got work to do tomorrow. And we’ll do it together.”




Later Erica and Megan walk down the hallway of the shelter, their footsteps tapping softly against the worn linoleum floor. The quiet satisfaction of a productive day hums between them. Rooms that had felt desolate hours earlier now show glimmers of life and color, and laughter still echoes faintly from the kids’ pizza party. Erica feels Megan’s pride beside her, even as she notices the slight sag in her shoulders - a day well spent.

As they near the end of the hallway, the lights above flicker, casting jittery shadows before sputtering out, leaving only the dim glow of the emergency exit sign at the end of the corridor.

“Power outage?” Megan murmurs, casting a glance back down the darkened hall.

“Possibly.” Erica replies, eyes narrowing as she scans the space around them. There’s an instinctive sharpening in her gaze as she goes on forward, her movements slowing a little.

They continue toward the exit, the emergency light casting long shadows against the worn walls. Just as they reach the door, a tall figure steps forward from the shadows, blocking their path. Two more figures flank him, arms crossed, expressions hardened - it’s Slick and two other guys, each radiating silent aggression.

Megan tenses beside Erica, her breath catching. It’s subtle, but Erica feels the slight shift, a ripple of hesitation. Without looking, she rests a reassuring hand on Megan’s shoulder, her touch grounding, her grip firm.

“No retreat, no surrender.” she murmurs, just loud enough for Megan to hear. Her tone is calm, steady - a promise, meant as much for herself as for Megan.

Megan nods, her spine straightening, the fear replaced by something sturdier as she stands a bit taller beside Erica.

“Going somewhere?” Slick’s voice drips with mockery, his sneer barely visible in the half-light, but his posture stiff, purposeful. His gaze flicks from Megan to Erica, eyes glinting with some unspoken challenge.

Erica fixes her gaze on Slick, meeting his stare with a cool, unflinching calm. “If you’re here to talk, make it quick. We’ve had a long day.” she says, her voice flat but unyielding, every syllable carrying the quiet authority she’s honed over years of facing down much tougher opponents.

Slick’s smirk wavers, just slightly. “So, this is it?” he sneers, his voice thick with disdain. “You think you can buy them with pizza and a little story?”

Erica’s expression doesn’t change. “Not buying anyone, Slick. I’m offering something real - a chance at a different life. Maybe you should consider that sometime.” She takes a step forward, placing herself between him and Megan, her eyes never leaving his, radiating an unspoken warning.

Slick’s friends glance uneasily at each other, shifting, as if the silent confidence in Erica’s gaze is unsettling them. Slick’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, he seems caught off guard. But the arrogance returns swiftly, his posture stiffening as he clenches his fists.

“Think you’re saving the world, huh?” Slick retorts, jaw gritted.

Erica’s voice is low, but resolute. “I’m here for the kids - all of them, Slick. So if you’re planning on making this harder for them, you’ll have to go through me first. And I can promise you, that won’t end well for you.”

The hallway is silent, her words hanging heavy in the air. Slick’s bravado slips, his shoulders tense as he realizes that whatever intimidation he had planned is failing to hit its mark. He huffs, stepping back reluctantly, his sneer fading as he makes way for them to pass.

“Come on, Megan.” Erica says, her tone softening slightly as she guides her forward. Megan holds her head high, her steps steady, her confidence bolstered by Erica’s quiet strength.

As they step outside, the crisp night air fills Erica’s lungs, cooling the remnants of tension that lingers. They’re safe, for now - but it’s clear to her that Slick’s presence is a shadow they’ll have to deal with sooner or later.

[LunaDog]

Yet again Slick tries to intimidate, and yet again he fails. Something has to give, surely?