The air inside St. Gabriel's was warmer than Ava expected.
It didn't smell like home — whatever that was supposed to be — but it didn't reek of alcohol or sweat or blood. That was enough.
She kept her eyes low, guiding Tess through the narrow hallway where muted conversations echoed and flickering ceiling lights cast tired shadows on the walls. The front desk worker, a young woman with tired eyes and a name tag that read Angela, raised her brows as they stepped forward.
"We were told to ask for Maria," Ava said, her voice low.
Angela glanced at the clock, then disappeared down the hall. A minute later, a tall woman with thick, graying hair in a loose bun appeared. Her eyes immediately softened when she saw Tess.
"Come with me," she said gently, leading them down a side corridor.
Maria didn't ask many questions, and Ava was grateful for that. She just brought them to a small shared room with four narrow beds and said, "This one's yours, girls. There's food downstairs if you're hungry. Bathroom's down the hall. Shower's free. You're safe now."
Safe.
Ava didn't believe in that word anymore. But she nodded anyway.
That night, they ate sandwiches with actual meat and hot soup that didn't come from a can. They took the longest showers they'd had in months, and Ava finally let herself breathe — if only for a moment.
They slept in beds that didn't sink or creak or smell like Marcus's cologne.
And though she had told herself this was only for one night, just until we figure something out, they stayed.
Two nights.
Then three.
Then four.
The staff didn't pry, but they watched. Ava could feel it — the assessing looks, the hushed tones between the counselors when they thought she wasn't listening. She kept her guard up, and her shoes always by the door.
But for Tess... it was the closest thing to peace she'd known in years. She smiled more. Slept better. Even started drawing again, doodling little flowers and stars in the margins of her notebook.
Ava tried not to think about how easily Tess could get used to this. That maybe she was the one who couldn't.
Then came the fifth morning.
Ava had just come from the hallway vending machine when she paused near the office. The door was ajar. She wasn't trying to listen. But the words drifted through, clear and sharp:
"...the young woman and the little girl who came in this week. They've been here long enough without ID or proper paperwork. We need to report their case to social services. If there's been any abuse, they need intervention—"
Ava didn't wait to hear the rest.
She backed away like she'd been burned, stormed up the stairs two at a time, and shoved open the room door.
"Tess. Pack your bag."
Tess blinked from the bed, pencil mid-sketch. "What? Why?"
"They're reporting us. Social services. They're calling someone." Ava was already stuffing clothes into her backpack. "We have to go. Now."
Tess jumped up. "Wait—wait, Ava! Maybe it's not what you think—"
"It is. I heard them."
Tess grabbed her hand. "But they're trying to help. You're acting like they're the enemy."
"They are," Ava snapped, louder than she meant to. "They'll send us back to a house like Marcus's, or worse. We'll be split up. I'll age out in weeks. They'll send you anywhere they want."
"But Ava—"
"No." Ava's voice cracked. "I can't risk that."
Tess stared at her, eyes wide. "What are we going to do now?"
Ava paused, breathing hard. And then she said quietly, "I think I know where we can go."
---
They sat at the back of the city bus, Ava clutched her notebook. It was old, the pages dog-eared and soft. Inside, scribbled in blue ink, was an address.
"She was in the foster home I lived in before Marcus," Ava explained. "She was older. She left the day she turned eighteen. She told me... if I ever needed someone, I could find her. She even gave me this."
Ava held up the notebook, like it was proof that the memory was real.
Tess wanted to believe it. She didn't want to crush the fragile hope in her voice.
So she said nothing.
They got off two stops later and walked to the building — a worn-down apartment complex with cracked bricks and paint peeling from the balcony railings. Tess didn't know what she expected. Certainly not anything fancy. But it looked... livable.
They climbed the steps to the second floor and knocked on the door.
Nothing.
Ava knocked again. Then waited.
Still silence.
After a while, Tess gently touched her arm. "Come on. Let's go. Maybe she moved—"
"Ava...?"
"Tesd," Ava whispered, her eyes wide. "Did you hear that?"
Ava turned. Footsteps. Then a voice — hesitant, soft, but clear.
"...Ava?"
They spun around.
A young woman stood at the end of the hallway, keys in her hand and a grocery bag tucked under one arm. Her face lit up as she took a step closer.
"Ava. It's really you."
Ava stared at her for half a second — then dropped her bag and ran.
"Vera!"
Tess stood frozen as Ava collided into the woman's arms, nearly knocking the groceries to the floor.
Vera hugged her back tightly, smoothing her hair, laughing through something that sounded a lot like tears. "Look at you. I almost didn't recognize you. You're so tall now."
Tess took a cautious step forward, unsure.
Vera looked down — and her smile didn't fade. "Who is she?"
Ava stepped forward, her voice low but certain. "Vera, this is Tess, my sister." She placed a protective hand on the younger girl's shoulder.
Ava raised an eyebrow clearly confused.
"She's not really my sister... but she is. We've been through everything together."
Then she looked at Tess and added softly, "And Tess, this is Vera. My best friend."
There was a beat of quiet — something tender passing between them.
Vera stepped back and held the door open. "Get inside, both of you."
And for the first time since they left Marcus's house, Ava didn't hesitate.