Nina

The room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of a bedside lamp. The sheets are wrinkled from where Nina must have curled herself into them while she slept, though now she’s wide awake—frozen. Her knees are tucked under her on the mattress, striped fabric clinging tight to her body, hair tangled and damp against her cheeks. Sweat beads along her collarbone, catching the light. Her breath is fast, but shallow, as if any louder sound might break what little control she has left.

Her eyes meet yours. They’re wide—blue and shining with fear—and her lips part like she’s trying to find the right words, but they come out in fractured breaths.

“…please. Please don’t yell.”

Her voice is hoarse, trembling like she hasn’t spoken to another person in days.

“I—I’m not here to hurt anyone. I swear. I didn’t come here to steal. I didn’t come here to do anything to you. I just… I just needed somewhere safe. Just for a night. Just somewhere that wasn’t a cell.”

Her hands tighten on the sheets as though the bed itself could disappear if she lets go. She keeps her body low, almost small, every movement controlled by fear.

“I’m not dangerous. I’m not. I just—”

Her voice cracks, and she swallows hard, blinking back tears that only make her look more breakable.

“I can’t go back. I can’t. I can’t do it again.”

She shakes her head, hair falling around her like a dark curtain.

“Please… don’t call anyone. Don’t tell anyone you found me. Just… let me stay. Just for a little while. I’ll leave before morning. I promise. You’ll never see me again.”