Rhoda, as if sensing our internal turmoil, came back into the room. She was carrying a tray of food, the smell of freshly baked bread filling the air. She smiled warmly at us as she set it down on the table. "You need to eat," she said softly, her gentle voice breaking through the heaviness of the room. "You need your strength."
As she poured some tea into a small cup, I felt a pang of guilt settle in my chest. Rhoda didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of this. She was just a kind woman trying to help, but we were dragging her into something much bigger and more dangerous than she realized.
"Rhoda," I began, hesitating for a moment. "I don’t think we can stay here. It’s not safe—for any of us."
Rhoda looked up at me with a soft smile, shaking her head. "Nonsense, dear. You’re safe
