The lightbulb flickered for the third time that week.
Ava Morgan lay flat on her back on the cold floor of her apartment, her mattress too thin to offer real comfort. She stared at the cracked ceiling, watching a tiny patch of mold creep closer to the light fixture. She counted the cracks out loud.
"One, two... three."
She always stopped at three. The third crack curved like a question mark, like the world itself was asking her: how much longer can you survive like this?
It was past midnight. The streets of Brooklyn still buzzed with city noise, but up here in apartment 2C, all Ava heard was the soft breathing of her little sister, Emily, fast asleep in a cocoon of second-hand blankets.
Her stomach growled.
She pressed a hand against it, wincing slightly. She'd given Emily the last of the rice they had left that night, lying through her teeth that she'd eaten earlier at work.
She hadn't eaten at all.
---
Ava had two jobs, both exhausting in different ways.
Every morning at 5 a.m., she'd put on a reflective vest and clean the streets. She swept broken glass, picked up soggy flyers, and dodged rude commuters who acted like she was invisible.
Then, after a quick stop home, she'd change into black jeans and an old white shirt to work the night shift at "The Brick House," a rundown bar with sticky tables and customers who stared too long and tipped too little.
She did it all just to make ends meet for her and Emily.
It wasn't enough.
---
Her phone buzzed under her pillow.
She sighed and checked it.
> RENT DUE: $950
Final Notice.
Another message followed:
> CHILDREN'S HOME: URGENT. No funds for Emily's after-school program. Please reply.
Ava's heart clenched. The after-school care program kept Emily off the streets while Ava worked late. If she lost that...
She closed her eyes and exhaled shakily. No tears tonight. Tears didn't change bank accounts.
---
Two days later, Ava stood at the front desk of the local children's outreach center, her shoulders tense, hands gripping the straps of her worn backpack.
"I'm not asking for much," she said softly. "Just give me a week. I'll find the money, I promise."
The woman behind the desk gave her a tired smile. "You've been saying that for two months, Ava."
Ava's throat tightened. "Please. She's only nine. She needs this place."
The woman sighed, looked away, then finally nodded. "One week. But after that…"
"I understand. Thank you," Ava whispered.
She walked out with her head down, holding back tears. Emily was waiting outside on the steps, hugging her sketchbook like a stuffed toy.
"Are we in trouble?" Emily asked quietly.
Ava forced a smile. "No, baby. Everything's fine."
---
That night, as she dragged her sore body down the sidewalk after her shift at the bar, something felt... off.
Her street was quiet. Too quiet.
She looked up—and froze.
A sleek black car was parked directly outside her apartment building. Glossy. Expensive. Way too fancy for her neighborhood.
A man leaned against it, tall, dressed in a dark coat. Under the streetlight, his features looked sculpted, sharp, perfect. His presence didn't fit here. Not at all.
Her heart skipped.
Was he lost?
But then... he looked at her.
And didn't look away.