Elena’s POV

I’d been staring at the ceiling crack again, but this time it didn’t look like a rabbit or Italy or anything at all. Just a jagged line splitting plaster.

Clara burst in like a gust of cold air, cheeks pink, eyes bright, a strange glitter in her smile. “Lena. You won’t believe it. We can get out.”

My chest tightened. “Get out?”

“Money. The bank finally released it.” She tossed a folded printout onto the bed. “They unfroze your account. We can go tonight, no more hiding.”

The words hit like a drug. Freedom. Air. My heart wanted to believe so badly it hurt.

But part of me hesitated. “Why now?”

Clara’s hand found mine, fingers warm, nails digging just enough to anchor me. “Does it matter? We’ve waited long enough. They can’t keep what’s yours forever. We’ll split it up, disappear. I know people who can move it quietly.”

My throat dried. Split it up. We’ll disappear. I forced a nod, trying to smother the old, slow coil of suspicion.

We packed fast, what little there was to pack. I wore a hood and glasses at the bank, my pulse thundering under the fake calm. Clara handled the papers, the transfers. It felt unreal like moving through fog while alarms blinked somewhere out of sight.

Hours later, back at the room, she pressed a cheap coffee into my hands. “Just wait here while I take care of the last transfer,” she said lightly. “We’ll meet at the station in an hour.”

“Why not together?”

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s smoother this way. Trust me, Lena. One last errand, and then we’re free.”

She left. The door clicked.

I sat with the coffee, hands shaking. One hour turned to two. Then three. No messages. No footsteps.

When my phone finally buzzed, it wasn’t a call, just a bank alert. My account emptied except for a single transfer: a pitiful token. And an attached message:

> I’m sorry. I can’t do this. They’ll kill me. Unlike you, I have a family. Please understand. Don’t look for me. – C.

The room spun. My heart slammed so hard I thought it would crack my ribs.

I dropped the phone. It clattered to the floor and slid under the bed. The ceiling crack blurred above me until it became a smear of nothing.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the empty space where Clara should have been. The walls closed in tighter with every heartbeat.

I had saved her. Betrayed myself for her. I took the job to keep her safe.

And she had run.

My breath came shallow. The radiator hummed. The clock ticked. The ceiling crack widened.

And for the first time, I realized there was no one left between Damian Moretti and me.