Ava Jones was broken.

She was torn beyond help. All we could do was take cover as her walls crumbled down in shards, breaking everything standing before her. The gentle tick of the clock mocked her grief and the soft breaths of air turned to ragged gasps as she struggled to stay alive.

We simply watched as the things she threw broke to pieces before our feet. Crumbled to dust, just like the girl before us.

"I'm done." A sharp voice, much like the shards of glass scattered across the floor, rang out.

"I'm done. But we aren't," the girl with the dark-hollow eyes stated.

I took cautious steps to her, careful not to tinge the silver glass with the red of the blood of my own. When I reached her, I realized even her shadow was painted scarlet with the blood flowing from her hands, her legs, her face, her everything.

And the blue had long faded away.

I tugged at her elbow, the only part of hers still left unscathed, and pulled her towards the man. Together, we made her sit on the steps and cleaned the wounds. The man, dressing her wounds in white.

White, the color her mother was. White, the color of death. White, the very color Ava had been running from.

Funny how the 'impaired' noticed these things.

"We must get to the bottom of this," Ava muttered, her face stark white. "We must. Mia, yo-you're with me, aren't you?"

Schooling my features to one of complete seriousness, I gave a small nod in the affirmative.

Ava's face lit up with joy and for a second, only for a second, I thought I saw a glimpse of the old Ava with the yellow dresses. A ray of sunshine through the crack in the dark stormy clouds.

But then the clouds came together, hiding away what might have been the first spark of light in a long time.

"We'll take him down. She was murdered and I know exactly who did it."