Morning came softly, like it was afraid to disturb the silence that hung heavy in the apartment. The air smelled faintly of rain and detergent, the kind of clean that felt temporary — as if it belonged to a place you'd only ever pass through.
Ava sat on the small couch, her elbows resting on her knees, her fingers drumming restlessly. The dull light filtering through the half-closed blinds caught the edge of her hair, her expression distant but not lost. She had been awake for hours, replaying everything from the moment they got on that plane — Vera's rushed voice, her cryptic warnings, the look in her eyes when she said, trust me.
Trust.
Ava wanted to. She really did. But trust didn't sit well with unanswered questions.
Vera emerged from the small bedroom, her hair still damp from a quick shower, wearing one of those oversized sweaters that made her look both tired and soft. Her steps were quiet, measured. She stopped when she saw Ava sitting there, eyes sharp and unreadable.
"You didn't sleep?" Vera asked, voice calm but weary.
Ava shook her head. "Couldn't."
Silence stretched between them like a thread pulled too tight.
Vera crossed the room and sat beside her. "You're thinking too much again."
Ava let out a short, humorless laugh. "Isn't that what you told me to do? Think before I act?"
"That's not what I meant," Vera sighed, rubbing her temple. "You've been through a lot, Ava. You should rest. Try to let things settle first before you—"
"Before I what?" Ava cut her off, turning toward her. "Before I face reality?"
Vera blinked, the tone catching her off guard.
"I know you don't want me to ask," Ava continued, voice steady but burning beneath the surface, "but I need to know. What are we really running from, Vera? What kind of people are they? And why—" she paused, searching Vera's eyes— "why does it feel like you're hiding more from me than from them?"
Vera's expression softened into something unreadable. "It's not about hiding," she said quietly. "It's about keeping you safe."
"Safe?" Ava echoed bitterly. "How? By lying to me?"
The words stung more than she expected. But Vera didn't lash back. She just sat there, silent, her jaw tightening slightly.
Ava looked away, exhaling shakily. "I'm not stupid, Vera. I know what you do. The lies, the men, the money — I know enough. Maybe not everything, but enough to see what it is."
Vera closed her eyes. "You shouldn't—"
"But I want to," Ava interrupted again, louder this time. "I need to. You said you didn't want me rushing into this, but, Vera, look around. What life do I have to rush back to? What am I supposed to do? Flip burgers? Sell fries? Wait for the world to be fair?"
Her voice cracked slightly, but not from weakness — from frustration. From the exhaustion of someone who'd spent too long being powerless.
Vera looked at her long and hard, the kind of look that saw past the words and straight into the pain behind them. "Ava…" she started, then stopped. "You don't understand what this life takes from you. You think it's about power or control, but it's not. It's about losing a part of yourself every time you pull someone into your game. You stop seeing faces. You stop feeling anything. One day, you wake up, and the girl you used to be is gone."
"I already lost her," Ava said quietly. "A long time ago."
That silenced Vera.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The rain outside grew heavier, tapping gently against the glass — rhythmic, almost soothing.
"I'm not asking you to let me in," Ava said finally, her tone calmer but more determined. "I'm asking you to teach me. Teach me how to survive the way you do. How to read people, how to lie without shaking, how to walk into a room and make them believe what I want them to believe. I don't want to keep running blind."
Vera's brows furrowed, her fingers tightening around the edge of the couch. "You're seventeen, Ava. You shouldn't even be talking like this."
Ava smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Then I guess I've been seventeen for too long."
The room felt smaller after that. The kind of silence that made every breath sound loud.
Vera stood abruptly and walked to the window, her reflection caught against the rain-smeared glass. She could see Ava's reflection behind her — that stubborn look, the same one she'd worn since the first day she'd found her. It broke something inside her every time.
"You won't stop until I say yes, will you?" she asked softly.
Ava shook her head. "You know I won't."
Vera turned around, her face shadowed by resignation and a flicker of fear. "Fine," she said, though her voice lacked conviction. "But on my terms. You'll listen. You'll follow. You'll think before you act. If I say stop, you stop. Understand?"
Ava nodded, relief and fire mixing in her chest.
"But listen to me, Ava," Vera continued, stepping closer until they were face-to-face. "This isn't a game. The people I deal with — the people you'll meet — they don't forgive mistakes. They don't care how old you are, or what your reasons are. Once you step into this world, there's no walking out without leaving something behind."
Ava held her gaze, steady. "Then I'll make sure it's something I can afford to lose."
That broke Vera's heart a little. She wanted to scold her, shake her, save her — but the look in Ava's eyes told her it was already too late.
"Alright," she said quietly. "Tomorrow. We start small. Observation, control, patience. I'll teach you what I can."
Ava nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. She didn't smile — not really. But there was something like determination in her face.
When Vera turned away, her own mask cracked for a moment. She pressed her palm to her face, breathing deeply, her thoughts spiraling. She's still a child… and I just agreed to destroy what's left of her.
But deep down, she knew Ava had already made that choice herself. All Vera could do now was make sure she survived it.
---
Later that night, long after Ava had gone to bed, Vera sat alone at the small dining table, a single lamp casting warm light across the room. She reached for a cigarette but stopped halfway, fingers trembling slightly.
She thought about lying again — about telling Ava that the institution wouldn't take her until she turned eighteen, that she wasn't ready, that there were rules. But even lies had limits. Ava would find out eventually.
If I can buy her two months… maybe she'll change her mind by then, she thought. Maybe she'll see this life isn't worth it.
But when she looked toward the small bedroom, the faint outline of Ava asleep beside Tess barely visible through the half-open door, she realized the truth — Ava had already chosen her path.
And Vera… was just trying to slow her down.