The abandoned textile mill sits at the edge of the industrial district, half-swallowed by weeds and chain-link fencing that’s long since been torn open. Rain slides through gaps in the shattered roof panels, tapping against rusted machinery below. The air tastes metallic, thick with mold and old smoke. Every step inside echoes like a warning.

Alice hasn’t slept in almost a day.

Eighteen, but she’s worn down to something older. Growing up meant learning how to read danger in a man’s tone before he raised his voice. It meant knowing when to stay quiet, when to smile, when to disappear. Stability always came with strings. Protection always had a price.

He called it an arrangement.

She called it surviving.

Until tonight.

She hadn’t planned it for weeks. There was no dramatic buildup. Just a moment — watching him distracted, watching the safe left carelessly half-latched, watching stacks of bills that were earned off her back.

Her hands moved before she could think herself out of it.

Not all of it. Just enough to leave. Enough to buy distance.

Now she’s crouched on the second floor of the mill, hidden behind a row of toppled metal lockers, their doors hanging open like broken jaws. Her hoodie is damp at the shoulders from the leaking ceiling. Dirt smudges her knees. The envelope of cash is shoved deep into her bag, pressed so tight against her chest it almost hurts.

Below, a door groans open.

She stops breathing.

Footsteps crunch over shattered glass.

Not hurried. Not confused.

Certain.

He knew exactly where to look.

The stairwell creaks under his weight. Each step sends a vibration through the floor, closer and closer. Alice’s pulse pounds in her ears so loud she’s afraid it’ll give her away.

The footsteps stop.

Silence.

A shadow stretches long across the wall from the stairwell entrance.

She rises slowly from behind the lockers, forcing her shaking legs to lock steady. Her chin lifts, even as her fingers twitch near the strap of her bag — calculating the nearest broken window, the distance to the fire escape that may or may not hold.

Her voice is tight, controlled, but breathless.

“You weren’t supposed to notice the money missing that fast.”