Days turned into a monotonous blur of hiding and waiting. She'd watch the news, searching for any mention of the raid on the warehouse, but it was like it had never happened. The world outside moved on, oblivious to the war playing out in the shadows.

     The burner phone remained silent, a stark contrast to the constant buzzing of her regular phone, which she'd left behind. Her friends had tried to reach her, and her professors had called, looking for explanations for her sudden absenteeism. She couldn't risk it. She'd turned it off, buried it deep in a drawer, and hoped they'd think she was just going through a phase.

     On the third night, she heard footsteps outside the door. Her heart racing, she grabbed the medical bag she'd brought with her, her hands trembling as she checked the contents. It wasn't medical supplies she was after; it was the small knife she kept for protection. She'd never used it before, but she knew how to.

     The lock turned with a click, and the door creaked open, revealing one of Lex's men, his eyes bloodshot and jittery. "You've got a job," he said, his voice low. "Someone's OD'd on Bliss. We need you to sort them out."

     Rose's stomach twisted, but she didn't hesitate. She grabbed her bag and followed the man down the stairs, the cold concrete biting into her bare feet. The car was waiting, the engine idling, and she slid into the back seat, her heart hammering. The drive was tense, the silence broken only by the occasional crackle of the radio.

     When they arrived at the location, it was a stark contrast to the warehouse. A sleek, high-rise hotel, the kind that gleamed under the city lights. The man led her to a room, and the sight that awaited her was one she'd never forget. A young man, no older than twenty, lay sprawled on the floor, his body convulsing. The smell of vomit and the acrid tang of the drug filled the room.

     Rose's medical instincts took over, pushing aside her fear. She knelt beside the man, checking his pulse and breathing. "Call an ambulance," she ordered, her voice firm. The man looked at her, surprised by her command. "Now," she snapped, her eyes never leaving her patient.

     He nodded and made the call, speaking in hushed tones. Meanwhile, Rose rummaged through her bag for the necessary supplies. The room spun around her, but she focused on the task at hand. This was no time for doubt. She had a life to save.

     As she worked, her mind raced. What would happen if she were caught? Would they protect her or see her as a liability? The cash she'd earned was a small comfort, but not enough to justify the fear that now gnawed at her insides. But she had made a promise to herself: she would help people, even if it meant working in the shadows.

     The young man's eyes rolled back in his head, and she knew she had to act fast. She administered the antidote she had been trained to use, her hands shaking slightly. The seconds ticked by like hours as she waited for a reaction. Finally, the convulsions slowed, and his breathing evened out. She checked his pulse again, feeling the steady throb beneath her fingertips.

     Sirens grew louder, wailing through the night. The man who had brought her here looked panicked. "We've got to go," he said, his voice urgent. "The cops are here."

     Rose's eyes snapped up from the unconscious man to meet his. "What?" she exclaimed, fear spiking through her.

     "You heard me," the man said, his voice urgent. "We've got to go before the cops find us here."

     Rose's eyes darted around the room, taking in the chaos. The young man on the floor, the scattered debris of his overdose, and the cold, uncaring gleam of the hotel's chrome fixtures. "What about him?" she asked, her voice tight with concern.

     The man's eyes narrowed. "He'll be fine," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "The hotel will take care of it."

     Rose felt a surge of anger, but she knew better than to protest. She grabbed her bag, her hands still shaking, and followed him out of the room, the sirens growing louder. They slipped into the stairwell, taking the stairs three at a time, the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the cold cinderblock walls. Her heart felt like it was going to burst from her chest, but she kept going, driven by a mix of fear and adrenaline.

      They emerged onto the street, the cold air a stark contrast to the stifling hotel. The city's lights were a blur as they sprinted down the alley, the sound of the sirens now fading into the distance. The man stopped, panting, and turned to her. "You did good," he said, his voice gruff. "Real good."

     Rose nodded, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Thanks," she managed, her heart still racing. She couldn't believe what she had just done.

     The man looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Lex will be pleased," he said, before disappearing into the night, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the cacophony of the city.

     Rose made her way back to the safehouse, her mind racing. The taste of fear was bitter on her tongue, but it was overlaid with something else - a twisted sense of pride. Despite the horror of the situation, she had done what she set out to do. She had saved a life.

     Once inside, she collapsed onto the bed, her heart still pounding. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos she'd just left behind. The sirens were a distant memory, and the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall, a reminder that she was still trapped in this nightmare.