Eva did not sleep.
She lay on her side, facing the window, counting the faint shifts of light as night surrendered to early morning. Every sound felt deliberate now—the tick of the clock, the soft creak of the house, the distant bark of a dog that didn’t belong to her street.
The paper with the date and time remained in her pocket.
She had not removed it.
She wanted to feel its presence, the thin proof that the house she had trusted had already betrayed her.
When dawn finally arrived, it brought no comfort. Only clarity.
Eva rose, showered, and dressed with care—not elegance, not armor. Neutral colors. Comfortable shoes. A coat that blended rather than announced. She tied her hair back, exposing her face fully to the mirror.
“You don’t get to hide today,” she told her reflection.
H
