The flat looked even smaller than usual when I walked in, as if the walls themselves were shrinking in anticipation of my departure or trying to offer some last‑minute comfort for my ordeal.
It felt like the place already knew I was abandoning it for some fancy house hidden away in the woods, somewhere far quieter and far stranger than anything I’d ever known. The familiar clutter, the soft hum of the fridge, the faint scent of my lavender candle — all of it suddenly felt like a life I was stepping out of rather than living in.
The air felt heavier too, thick with the weight of everything I hadn’t processed yet, and my nerves were still buzzing from the attack earlier.
My hands shook when I tried to lock the door behind me, and for a moment I just stood there, forehead pressed to the
