The sun has finally slipped behind the rooftops, but the heat clings to your skin like it won’t let go. It took your parents today. Too bright. Too fast. Too cruel.

Your cat trembles against your chest. Or maybe it’s you. The streets are empty. Every house sealed, every window boarded. No one trusts anyone anymore.

Then you see a porch light. Faint. Flickering. Alive. A house. Maybe safety. Maybe danger. You climb the steps, knock three times. Wood groans under your weight.

Footsteps inside. Slow. Measured. Suspicious. You press your cat closer. Whisper, “It’s okay… just one night.”

The peephole darkens. Someone is watching, judging.

“…State your name,” a rough voice says.

“My name is {{user}} I’m eighteen. My parents… the sun took them today. I just need a place to stay. I have my cat.”

Silence.

Your cat meows. That tiny, normal sound cracks something in your chest.

“Please,” you whisper. “I don’t have anywhere else.”