Elena’s POV

I woke with my heart racing like I’d been shaken out of sleep. For a second, I didn’t know where I was. The walls felt too close, the air too heavy. Somewhere below, washers hummed through the floor. Right. The laundromat. Not home. Not that the last place had ever really been home.

The dream again. Or not a dream more like a memory stitched back wrong. Marco’s hand slipping, the glass tilting, red spilling across velvet like it had always been waiting. His eyes half-shut, his mouth loose. And then, before the silence settles, it comes: that sound. A knife cutting air, then flesh. Always enough to snap me awake.

I dragged my hands over my face. My palms were damp. The sheets scratched at my skin, the room smelled of detergent and mildew. Still better than the other place, with its locks and stale air. At least here I could breathe.

Clara snored softly across from me, sprawled like she’d dropped from the sky and landed in sleep. One arm thrown out, her leg hanging off the side. Sometimes I envied her for that the way she could just shut off. Like the world wasn’t burning down around us.

I sat up, shivering though it wasn’t cold. The dream left a residue on me, like smoke clinging to clothes. I glanced at the window. Curtains drawn, orange light bleeding through from the sign outside. For a second I swore I’d see someone’s shadow there.

Of course, nothing. Just my own nerves eating at me.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. The thought struck sharp: we weren’t safe. Not here. Maybe not anywhere.

By the time Clara stirred, yawning and rubbing her face, I’d already decided.

“We should leave tonight,” I blurted.

She squinted at me, hair sticking up wild. “What?”

“This place. I don’t like it. We should go.”

She smirked, half-asleep. “What, the five-star laundromat inn isn’t doing it for you?”

I gave a shaky laugh. Usually her jokes made me breathe easier, but not this time.

“I’m serious,” I said. “We should go. Tonight.”

She sat up, dragging the blanket around her shoulders. “You had the dream again?”

I looked away. “Yeah.”

“Lena…” Her voice softened. I hated the sound of it too close to pity. “Dreams don’t mean anything. We covered our tracks.”

“Did we?” The words came out sharp, harsher than I meant. She blinked at me. I pulled back. “Sorry. I just what if someone saw us?”

“They didn’t,” she said firmly. “We’re fine. Just a few more days here. Then we move.”

She sounded so sure. Too sure.

She padded to the kitchenette, digging through the grocery bag chips, noodles, bottled water. She opened the chips and crunched one. “If we do leave, we’ll need money. More than what I scrounged up for this palace.” She gave me a look. “Did you try the bank again?”

My stomach twisted. “Not yet.”

“You should. It’s just sitting there, frozen. Maybe if we went in person”

“No.” I cut in quick. Too quick. “Not in person. That’s asking for trouble.”

She shrugged. “Still feels stupid to let it sit. We could be long gone by now if you’d just clear it up. Explain it or something.”

Explain. To some clerk who’d type my name into a system? Leave a trail behind us? My chest tightened.

“It’s too much attention,” I muttered.

Clara sighed, chewing another chip. “Maybe. Still, it’s enough money to start fresh three times over. And you’re letting it rot.”

Her words grated. We. It should’ve made me feel less alone, but it didn’t.

I looked at her. Messy hair, easy grin, the girl who’d always been my anchor. But her eyes lingered when she said “money.” And lately, she brought it up more and more.

“You’ve mentioned it a lot,” I said quietly.

She froze, then laughed too quickly. “Because it’s sitting there, begging us to use it. Don’t tell me you’re not thinking about it too.”

Of course I was. That number burned into me every time I closed my eyes. Enough to pay off everything. Enough to disappear. Enough to breathe. But saying it out loud felt like putting blood in the water.

“I’m just saying,” I murmured.

Clara rolled her eyes, tossing me the chip bag. “Relax. I’m not plotting a heist. Eat something before you faint.”

I caught it, but my appetite was gone.

Later, while she hummed in the shower, I sat at the window with the curtain cracked. The street below was too still. The laundromat sign buzzed faintly. A stray cat slipped between dumpsters.

It felt wrong. Too quiet. Like something was coiled just out of sight, waiting.

And Clara’s words kept circling in my head:

We could be gone already if you’d just figure it out.

I told myself I still trusted her. She was all I had.

But for the first time, that didn’t feel like enough.