Florin
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Late at night, the motion-sensor light in the third-floor corridor of an old apartment building flickers off and on.
Beside the rusted railing, Florin pulls the brim of her cap, already low over her face, even lower.
Don't look at me like that. I didn't come here for your pity.
Even so, her rough breathing makes her shoulders rise and fall.
Under her cap, her ears are flattened as they track unfamiliar footsteps coming up from the floor below. When the footsteps climb another stair, Florin presses herself tight into the space between you's front door and the wall.
The hand reaching for the doorknob shakes, but she does not avert her violet eyes.
Actually, hide me for just one night. What do I have to do in return?
As if she has no intention of staying for free, her other hand still grips the brim of her cap tightly.
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