NOW
The door was kicked open.
Flashlight beams cut through the darkness. Three men pushed inside. Uniforms. Badges. Boots stomping on the concrete floor.
The lead cop grabbed Kasia's father by the collar. "Where is she?!"
Kasia's father pointed a shaking finger toward the room. "In—inside! The illegal worker! No papers! She was just here eating—"
"Search it!"
The cop shoved him aside and stormed in.
FOUR HOURS EARLIER
Anna had never been invited to anyone's home before.
Three years in Poland. Three years of hiding, working, surviving. No one asked where she lived. No one cared.
Until Kasia.
"Come on. My mom makes bigos. You'll love it." Kasia smiled, tugging Anna's sleeve. "You can't eat factory bread forever."
Anna hesitated. But Kasia had been kind—sharing soup, covering for her when the supervisor came around, never asking too many questions.
So she said yes.
Kasia's apartment was on the fifth floor of a gray concrete building.
The elevator smelled of cabbage and cigarettes. The hallway lights flickered.
Kasia unlocked the door. "Mama? Tata? I brought a friend."
The apartment was small but warm. Kasia's mother came out of the kitchen. Plump, quick eyes, a fast smile—but her fingers kept twisting her apron, knuckles going white.
"Welcome, welcome. Sit. Eat."
Kasia's father stood up from the living room. Tall, thin, a big smile—but his left hand stayed in his pocket, gripping something.
Anna sat down.
Dinner began.
Soup came out. Bread was sliced.
Kasia's mother talked nonstop. The weather. The factory. How hard it was to find good workers these days. But her eyes kept darting to her husband. Every time Anna looked down at her soup, the mother glanced at him. Every time Anna looked up, the mother looked away.
Kasia's father barely spoke. His right hand held a spoon. His left never left his pocket. The spoon clinked against the bowl. His hand trembled.
"What's your name?" he asked suddenly.
"Anna."
"Anna what?"
Kasia cut in. "Dad, why are you asking so many—"
"Last name?" He ignored his daughter.
Anna tightened her grip on the spoon. "Kamińska."
Kasia's father and mother exchanged a half-second look.
In that half-second, the corner of his mouth twitched.
Anna felt it. A prickling at the back of her neck.
Something was wrong.
Dinner finally ended.
Anna stood up. "I'll take out the trash."
"The chute is down the hall." Kasia's mother stood too. "Kasia, go with her."
Kasia led Anna to the stairwell. "It's around the corner. I'll wait here."
Anna walked alone to the end of the corridor. The trash chute was rusted. She pushed the bag in, heard it fall.
Then she turned—
And stopped.
The old woman stood at the top of the stairs.
Same gray coat. Same worn scarf. Same shopping basket.
Anna's heart slammed against her ribs.
"You—"
The old woman raised a finger to her lips. Quiet.
She came down a few steps, close enough to whisper.
"Don't trust people too easily."
Anna's throat tightened. "What do you mean?"
The old woman glanced toward Kasia's apartment. Her eyes were sharp. Brighter than they should be for someone her age.
"Not everyone who feeds you wants you full." Her voice was barely a breath. "Some just want you close enough to hurt."
Anna wanted to ask more.
But the old woman had already turned and walked downstairs. Her footsteps faded into the empty stairwell.
Anna stood there, cold sweat on her back.
She walked back to Kasia. Kasia was still waiting, leaning against the wall, scrolling her phone.
"What's wrong? You look terrible."
"Nothing." Anna said. "Let's go back."
They returned to the apartment.
Kasia's parents were watching TV. Her mother looked back at them. "Took you long enough."
"Ran into a neighbor." Anna said.
She stepped close to Kasia and lowered her voice. "Can I use your room to change? The factory dust is all over me. And maybe... rest for a minute. I'm really tired."
Kasia nodded. "Go ahead. I'll wait in the living room."
Anna walked into Kasia's room and closed the door.
Kasia sat on the sofa and picked up the remote.
Anna didn't change.
She went to the window. Old-fashioned. No screen. She pushed it open. Cold air rushed in.
She remembered the old woman's eyes. That wasn't a warning. It was a prophecy.
She climbed onto the sill. Her fingers turned purple from the cold. The iron railing burned like ice. She swung herself out, crouched on the narrow ledge, and pulled the window shut—leaving a crack, not fully closed.
Then she climbed down the fire escape two floors and tucked herself into a recessed corner.
An old cabinet blocked the view from outside.
She crouched there, knees pulled to her chest.
She didn't know why she was running.
But she believed those words. Don't trust people too easily.
Kasia waited in the living room for ten minutes.
She stood up, walked to her bedroom door, and knocked.
"Anna?"
No answer.
"Anna? You done?"
She pushed the door open.
The room was empty. The window was cracked open. The curtain flapped in the wind.
Kasia froze.
"Anna?"
She turned to call out—
And heard it.
The doorbell. Then a crash. Boots stomping on the floor. Men shouting.
Kasia spun around.
The living room was full of people. Uniforms. Badges. Flashlights swinging.
The cops were already inside.
Kasia's father was pinned by a cop, his face pale as paper.
"Where is she?!" the cop barked.
"In—inside! The illegal worker! No papers! She was just here eating—"
"Search it!"
The cop shoved her father aside and stormed toward the room.
Kasia blocked the doorway, her whole body shaking.
"What—what are you doing?!"
She saw her mother in the corner, hand over her mouth, eyes red. She saw her father's hands trembling, his lips trembling.
Then she understood.
"You..." Her voice cracked. "You called the police?"
"Kasia, listen—"
"You sold her out?!" Kasia's voice shattered like glass. "She's my friend! She did nothing wrong!"
She lunged at her father, fists pounding his chest.
"Why would you do this?! Why?!"
"Kasia, calm down—"
"I won't calm down!" She was crying now, tears streaking her face. "She just came for dinner! Why are you trying to destroy her?!"
She spun and ran at the cop, arms spread wide, blocking the bedroom door.
"You can't take her! She's not even here!"
The cop frowned. "Move."
"No! You have no right—"
He grabbed her arm and yanked her aside.
Kasia fought, her nails scratching his sleeve.
"Let go! Let me—"
Another cop came over, hooked his hands under her arms, and lifted her off the ground. He tossed her onto the sofa.
Kasia bounced once, stunned. For a second she just lay there.
Then she buried her face in the cushion and sobbed, her whole body shaking.
The cops kept searching.
Kasia's father stood in the corner. Too afraid to move. Too afraid to look at her.
NOW
Anna crouched in the corner downstairs.
She could hear the sounds from above—not the words, just the shouting, the crying, the boots stomping on the floor.
She looked up through the gap between the dumpster and the wall. Flashlight beams swayed in the fifth-floor window.
The cops were still searching.
She didn't know if they would come down.
She didn't know if they would search outside.
She didn't know what to do next.
She only knew—
Don't move. Don't make a sound.
A flashlight beam swept across the dumpster.
Right above her head.
Anna held her breath—