POV: Clara

Clara remained on the floor long after the door had clicked shut.

She huddled there, knees braced against the floor, cheek still slick against the wood where it had been when she’d turned to leave. Chest heaving, breath ragged, she felt like she’d run miles.

She hadn’t moved.

Her duffel lay at her side, strap askew, zipper half undone like a wound. Clara stared at it, her vision fuzzy and throat on fire.

She should have taken it. She should have ...