Elena’s POV

I’d been staring at the ceiling crack for so long it felt like my personal Rorschach test. First, it was a rabbit. Then I swore I saw Italy. By the tenth minute, it just spelled leave every time I blinked. Subtle, subconscious brain thanks for the pep talk.

The knock nearly sent me through the mattress. My pulse jumped like I’d been caught stealing cookies from a jar.

“It’s me! Open up before I become an icicle out here.”

Clara. Always with the theatrics.

I opened the door just a crack and hissed, “Do you want to broadcast us to the entire block?”

She slipped past me with a grin, holding a plastic bag that rattled suspiciously. “Relax. The laundromat’s dead. Only guy down there was losing an argument with a vending machine.”

“Maybe the vending machine won.” I shut the door fast and bolted it.

She dumped the bag onto the bed and collapsed beside it like a tired bookshelf. “Snacks. Chips, chocolate, and… ta-da—” she pulled out a neon can, “mystery soda from that sketchy corner store. Might kill us, might give us superpowers.”

I gave her a flat look. “Bold of you to assume either is an upgrade.”

She smirked. “What’s life without a little risk?”

I bit back a reply that tasted like don’t ask me that right now. Instead, I sat and opened the chips. The bag crinkled, radiator hummed, and for a few stolen minutes, it almost felt like normal life.

“So,” Clara said between mouthfuls, “what’s the first thing you’ll do when the bank finally unfreezes your money?”

I froze mid-bite. “Haven’t thought about it.”

“Liar.” She nudged me with her elbow. “Don’t tell me you’ve never daydreamed. New apartment, new city… heck, new haircut if you’re feeling wild.”

“Right now, I’m just trying not to choke on these chips.”

She groaned. “God, you’re impossible.”

“I’m alive. That should count for something.”

She studied me, then shook her head. “Barely. You look like the ghost in a Victorian painting.”

“Wow. Romantic.”

“You’re welcome.”

The banter went back and forth, light and sharp, and for a moment it was enough to keep the heaviness away.

Then she had to go and ruin it.

“You know,” she said, too casually, “if we figured out a way to move that money, we wouldn’t have to keep living like this. I mean, it’s ridiculous they froze it. It’s our money.”

I blinked at her. “Our money?”

“Well… your money. But you know what I mean. We’re in this together, right?”

“Right.” The word tasted like dust.

She kept rolling. “I heard if you split transfers into smaller chunks, banks don’t notice. Or we could set up something offshore. No rules, sunny beaches…”

“Or,” I cut in, eyes back on the ceiling, “you could stop talking about money before the dryers downstairs decide to listen in.”

Her laugh was too quick. “Who’s gonna hear me? The vending machine guy?”

“I’m not joking.”

Her grin slipped for half a second. Then she snapped it back into place. “Fine. Dropping it.” She mimed zipping her lips and tossing the key.

But I noticed the way her fingers kept shredding the chip bag into little pieces. Clara didn’t fidget. Not unless something was crawling under her skin.

“Remember that time you cut your own bangs and ended up looking like a broom?” I asked, just to break the tension.

She groaned loud enough to rattle the window. “You swore we’d never speak of that again.”

“I lied.”

A pillow hit me in the face, and for five minutes we were just idiots in a cheap room, laughing like nothing outside existed.

Then the laughter faded, and silence dropped in heavier than before.

Clara curled onto her side, voice softer. “We’ll figure it out, Lena. We always do.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. My stomach didn’t buy it.

When she finally drifted off, I stayed awake, staring at the ceiling. The rabbit was gone, the map gone too. Just a crack now. And wider than it had been.

Our money. The words clung like smoke.

And for the first time, I wondered if maybe I wasn’t hiding from the right people after all.