Ava didn't open the envelope on the bus. She couldn't. She sat stiff-backed on the cracked plastic seat, purse clutched in her lap like a life raft while the city lurched past outside the scratched window. Her fingers drummed over the flap again and again, but she couldn't make herself tear it open with so many eyes around her, so much stale air pressing against her throat.
Lila's photo on her phone screen stared up at her every time she checked the time. Every second dragged her closer to the apartment she might not have tomorrow, closer to the tiny bed where her daughter lay burning up because her mother couldn't afford a simple bottle of medicine.
She pressed her thumb to the envelope's edge, feeling the grit of cheap paper, the corner softened from her worry. What could be inside? She half-hoped it was cash, some impossible solution to everything. But deep down, she knew it wouldn't be that easy. It never was.
She stepped off the bus three blocks from her building, the driver's silent reminder that her stop was past due because she'd been too deep in her head. The sky spit cold drizzle that seeped through her jacket in seconds. She hunched her shoulders and walked fast, eyes darting to shadows she didn't trust anymore.
The envelope felt heavier with each step,
She climbed the narrow stairs to her floor. The same smell, mildew, someone's stale cooking, the faint tang of cigarettes she could never place. The hall light flickered when she passed under it. Maybe the landlord would fix it when he kicked her out.
She unlocked her door, her key sticking twice in the cheap lock she'd asked to have replaced last year. Inside, the quiet pressed down on her. She could hear Lila's soft coughing from the bedroom, the sound that anchored her and hollowed her out all at once.
She hung her coat on the single hook by the door and dropped her purse on the table, staring at the envelope like it might bite her if she blinked wrong.
She should check on Lila first,She should.
Instead, she slid into the wobbly kitchen chair and forced her fingers to rip the flap open.
Inside: a single sheet of paper and a photo. She pulled the paper free first, a typed note, short and ugly in its plainness:
"You don't know me yet, but you need to listen.
Someone is making you their scapegoat.
This is what they're planning,Look closer."
— E
No signature beyond the single letter. Just E. Ethan.
She set the note aside and lifted the photo. It was grainy, probably taken from a security camera. It showed her, her, standing at the bank downtown. She was at the teller window, her purse open, her expression tight and tired. It was from two weeks ago, when she'd gone to beg for a loan she hadn't gotten. Behind her in the photo was a man in a black hoodie, face turned just enough that she could make out a patchy beard, an earring. He looked like nothing. Nobody. But the red circle drawn around him in pen made her stomach flip. Her eyes darted back to the note,scapegoat.
She shuffled the paper aside and saw another photo tucked behind the first. This one punched the air right out of her lungs.
It was the same bank, but the image was darker, night-time, maybe from an alarm camera. The same man in the hoodie was there again, only this time he was stuffing something into a black duffel bag. Cash. Her breath caught when she saw it, stacks and stacks of money. She flipped the photo over. On the back, in the same scratchy pen, Ethan had written three words:
THEY'RE FRAMING YOU.
Ava felt the walls shrink around her. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. Her mind spun so fast it made her stomach turn. No. No, no, no. She'd been at that bank to beg for help, not to plan a robbery. She barely had five bucks to her name, now she was somehow connected to this?
Her phone buzzed,She nearly dropped it, hands fumbling before she could answer. Miss June's name flashed on the screen. She answered on instinct, voice hoarse.
"Miss June?"
"Ava, honey. I just checked on your little one for you, she's sleeping, but she's warm. You still at work?"
Ava pressed her eyes shut, fighting for calm. "No, I'm home. Thank you, Miss June. Really."
"Just try to get her to eat something when she wakes up. You need anything?"
Ava's eyes flicked to the photos spread on the table, her fingers brushing the corner of the envelope Ethan had left. Help me fix this, she wanted to say. But Miss June couldn't fix this. Nobody could.
"I'm fine. Thank you."
She hung up before the older woman could hear her voice crack.
She stared at the photos again. Her brain replayed that day at the bank, the line that never moved, the bored teller who barely looked at her application. The man behind her, had she even seen him? She couldn't remember. He'd been so ordinary. Invisible.
She thought of Ethan's eyes on her this morning, the calm certainty in his voice: They're using you.
Ava felt her pulse spike. What if the cops came to her door tomorrow? What if they already had her face on some list, her file a neat little package labeled accomplice?
A soft whimper pulled her out of her spiral. Lila's cough, faint from the bedroom.
Ava scraped the photos together, stuffed them back in the envelope, and shoved it deep into the junk drawer by the sink. She'd figure it out later. She had to. But right now her daughter needed her.
She slipped into Lila's room. The tiny bed was a nest of rumpled blankets and stuffed animals missing fur and eyes. Lila's face was flushed, her forehead damp. Ava brushed her hair back, feeling the warmth that hadn't broken.
"Mommy?" Lila's voice was so small it nearly snapped Ava's spine in half.
"Hey, bug," she whispered. "Mommy's here."
"Did you work today?"
"Yeah, baby. But I'm home now."
Lila coughed weakly, her eyelids fluttering. "Hungry."
Ava forced a smile she didn't feel. "Okay. Let's get you something good."
In the kitchen, she scraped together soup from a can she'd been saving for herself. She counted the coins in her pocket while the water simmered, rent, overdue bills, and now this… this nightmare with Ethan Cross's warnings.
She didn't know what scared her more, that he was right, or that she'd waited too long to stop it. She set the bowl by Lila's bed, coaxed her to sip it slowly, whispered promises she wasn't sure she could keep. When Lila drifted back to sleep, Ava sat on the edge of the mattress, her fingers curled tight around the edge.
The envelope burned in the back of her mind. Ethan's face did too, the way he'd looked at her like he knew the storm she was about to walk into.
Maybe she should run. Take Lila and vanish. But run where? With what money? She couldn't even keep the lights on past tomorrow. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment, too tired to fight the fear anymore.
In the quiet, she heard her own heartbeat whispering the truth she didn't want to hear:
There's no way out but through.
Ava didn't sleep. She lay curled next to Lila on the narrow bed, listening to her daughter's shallow breathing, counting each cough like a ticking clock counting down to something she couldn't name yet. Every time her eyes drifted shut, her mind dragged her back to the envelope in the junk drawer, the blurry bank photo, the hooded stranger, Ethan's scribbled warning.
Outside the cracked window, the streetlight flickered on and off like a heartbeat. Somewhere down the hall, someone's TV blared an old sitcom laugh track that made her skin crawl. It all felt wrong, like she'd stepped into someone else's nightmare and couldn't find the door back to her own.
At some point, exhaustion won. She drifted in and out, half-dreaming of sirens and locked doors, of police pounding on her apartment, of Lila reaching for her with feverish hands she couldn't hold.
She woke to the sharp rap of knuckles on her front door. Three knocks,Firm,Familiar.
Her heart jackknifed in her chest. She slipped out of bed without waking Lila, padded barefoot to the door. Through the peephole, the hallway light painted a halo around Ethan Cross's face. Of course it was him.
She cracked the door but didn't open it fully. "It's late."
He didn't flinch. Didn't apologize. Just stood there in that same dark coat, the collar turned up against the drafty hall, his eyes locked on hers like they hadn't left her apartment since the diner.
"You looked at the envelope?" he asked.
Ava pressed her palm against the door, like that would stop him from stepping inside her life any further than he already had. "I don't want this."
His expression barely changed, a flicker of frustration under the calm. "You don't have a choice."
"I didn't do anything wrong." Her voice cracked, too loud. She winced, glancing back at the bedroom where Lila slept. Softer, she repeated it: "I didn't do anything."
"I know," Ethan said. His voice was so calm it scraped her nerves raw. "But they don't care. They needed someone no one would miss. Someone whose story wouldn't hold up if it went to court."
Ava's laugh was hollow. "So I'm disposable."
"You're not disposable," he snapped. The sudden heat in his voice startled her. He took a breath, reined it back in. "You're just easy to blame. A broke single mom. Bad luck, overdue bills. The perfect fall girl."
Her throat went tight around the tears she didn't want to let him see. "Why are you here, Ethan? Why me?"
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the rasp of stubble loud in the hallway silence. "Because you don't deserve what's coming. And because if you don't listen, they'll bury you."
Ava leaned her forehead against the edge of the door, fighting the nausea twisting her stomach into knots. "You want me to believe some stranger who shows up with a blurry photo and a threat?"
"It's not a threat," he said. "It's a warning."
She looked at him then, really looked. The lines under his eyes. The weariness in his shoulders. Whatever he was tangled up in, it wasn't new. It wasn't easy.
"You think you can fix this?" she asked.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "I can try."
Ava barked out a laugh that turned into something closer to a sob. "Try. That's funny. You know how many people have promised to help me? To fix everything? And you know what happened? Nothing. Worse than nothing."
He didn't flinch. Didn't look away. "I'm not them."
Ava wanted to slam the door in his face. Wanted to tell him to disappear and take his warnings with him. But behind her, Lila coughed, a small, ragged sound that dragged the fight right out of her bones.
She stepped back, just enough to open the door wider. "You have five minutes. Talk."
Ethan stepped inside, careful not to brush against her shoulder. He scanned the tiny living room, the peeling linoleum, the scattered toys, the stack of unopened bills on the table. His eyes softened when they landed on the bedroom door cracked open behind her.
"How sick is she?" he asked quietly.
Ava's fists clenched at her sides. "Don't."
He held up a hand. "I'm not here for her. I'm here for you."
She crossed her arms, hugging herself. "Then talk."
Ethan sank onto the edge of the couch that sank under his weight. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You were at that bank two weeks ago. Do you remember the guy in the hoodie?"
"I didn't see him," Ava said. "I was… I was begging for a loan. I wasn't paying attention."
"That's the point," Ethan said. "They knew you wouldn't be. You were desperate. Distracted. The security cameras have you and him in the same frame. He used your presence as cover. Now they're tying the money to you."
She shook her head, fighting the panic clawing up her throat. "Why would they? I don't even know him."
Ethan's eyes locked on hers, unwavering. "Because they needed a name. And yours was easy to stick it to. You have no alibi, no lawyer, no money to fight it when it comes down. It's perfect."
Ava sank into the chair opposite him, her knees knocking against each other. "How do you know all this?"
He hesitated, just long enough for her to see the crack in his calm. "Because I used to work for them."
The world tilted sideways. "You what?"
Ethan's mouth pulled into a tight line. "Not the bank job, the people behind it. I did freelance work. Finding people. Making problems disappear. Then I found out what they really do."
Ava's mind reeled. "So you're a… what? A criminal?"
"I'm trying not to be," he said. "I'm trying to stop what's about to happen to you."
She wanted to laugh in his face. To scream at him for dragging this into her already ruined life. But she couldn't. Because in the pit of her gut, she knew he was telling the truth, or at least a truth close enough to swallow her whole.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered.
Ethan's eyes didn't waver. "I want you to trust me long enough to stay alive."
A soft cry echoed from the bedroom. Ava turned, every muscle in her body drawn toward her daughter's voice like a magnet she couldn't fight.
When she looked back, Ethan was on his feet.
"Go to her," he said. He slipped a small card onto the table. A phone number. Nothing else. "When you're ready to listen, really listen, call me. But don't wait too long."
She opened her mouth to tell him no, to tell him to leave her the hell alone. But her throat refused to form the words.
Ethan's eyes softened once more, the first crack in his armor. "Lock your door, Ava."
He stepped out into the hallway, the broken overhead light flickering once more before swallowing him in shadow. Ava stood frozen until she heard his footsteps fade down the stairs. Then she locked the door, turned the bolt twice, and pressed her forehead against the wood.
Inside her chest, something fragile splintered.